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.”
Almerd would sit on the chair that was offered to him, the chair would creak as he sat on it. "Expecting me?" Almerd say in a questioning attitude before continuing. "My name is Almerd, a farmer from just out of the Duchy of Adria. I've been caught up in the civil strife that has rippled across the Heartlands and decided to come South to find new lands and I stumbled across your small tent. Who are you?" The man would ask.
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