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?))
He took a seat on the cushion, letting a gust of air through his lips as a sigh before finally beginning to speak. ” Well, where do I even begin? I grew up deep in the mountains in a village with my father and an old blacksmith my entire childhood. That all changed when the orcs attacked…. They came more swiftly than we could've ever imagined, slicing us down one by one until I was the only one to remain. I retreated out of the mountains and began wandering through forests, deserts, and oceans. Throughout my trek, I honed my skills with a blade day after day, and still do. Now I travel the lands, looking to make sure the fate that fell upon me happens to no others.”
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