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?))
Gwynnestri pauses, inspecting the dirty cushion with mild disgust, before subjecting herself to the damp seat. She has grown weary from her travels and it feels good to rest her legs a bit. "My name is Gwynnestri Yesyra. I've travelled far to meet with you. I am of the Mali'aheral, as you may have deduced. I understand you hold an invaluable piece of knowledge that will aid in enhancing my magical abilities so I may contribute to the prosperity of my kind. May I ask your price?"
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