You’ve just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As you look around, your gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. You duck and step into a tattered tent, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the tent, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town? she begins, then pauses to study your face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a cushion, “Tell me your story.”
((How do you respond?))
"My story? Ah, 'fraid I will bore you." The dwarf plops on the cushion, bare feet worn by the mud and swamp. "Names Vandrus, Son of Vandor. The forest seems to have brought me here faster than expected, lass. My siblings run my folks place back home but I ain't one for sitting and becoming moss. Eight of them, My siblings. Ma passed few seasons back, buried her under rock and stone and got her own saplin growing. My ol' man still kickin' though, bloody stubborn stump.. I ain't wanting to sit there so I wander, learn from the forest and from others wandering as well. Learned lots in my time here, but not nearly as much as I wanna know. Wanna know more about the world. About other folks. And Maybe get a few special lil trinkets to decorate my hearth with, hehe..." He clears his throat and looks back at the hag.
"You wanna know something specific? I'll tell you pretty much anything for a good pint and maybe something rare or shiny... I'm even partial to a seed or plant we ain't got in my hometown. Been gathering quite the selection of seeds to plant back home." He pats his hip pouch, the dull sound of seeds shifting in the leather.
"So, lass." Vandrus starts then smiles, . "What do you got for me?"
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