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?))
"Yorrek... tha..." the Dweds words come slowly and drawn out, his muscled neck tensing at the crones unexpected greeting. "Rumol-" the Dwed pauses, a deep frown creases his grey face "Ye' ar da... collactoor... ov' harek bokk'mar?" nodding at his own words the Dwed tentatively steps towards the cushion, swinging his pack around as he lowers himself onto the seat "Tha ave' te' karzul. Our kved'a, fimm tigir.. aye?" at this the Dwed slowly pulls out a small pouch of coins, nodding towards it with a grunt... silence fills the small room as he waits for the crones reply.
The Dwed slowly nods in appreciation of the large collection of precious stones carefully laid out on the table before him. Deftly plucking one from the collection and eying it carefully. "Dak yol-mer thorok" the Dwed mutters, his emerald eyes fixated on the fine stone. "Many ways t' tira dak bokk... would mak' a thorok khain... t' bokk yol-mer soft enuf' to carve finely.." The Dwed carefully inspects each stone, muttering to himself about what each would be best suited to and how he might work it.
With a satisfied nod the Dwed points out a handful of the precious stones and places his pouch of coins on the table "We make it atta tigir fo' 'dese. Tha will work dem' well.. Many anart!" he declares as a broad grin cracks on his stoney visage. As the crone sits staring in contemplation the Dwed pulls a small worn book from his pack. Flicking through pages littered with notes and sketches of myriad crafts, he comes to an empty page. "Aye... a nahibelk forr t' ahran one... an' t' ardoth one..? hmm.." the sound of charcoal on paper fills the small room as the Dwed begins to swiftly sketch out various new designs... patiently waiting for the crones reply.
((OOC: The physical description wouldn't let me input enough text to write a proper description which is why it's so barebones. Let me know if I've done something wrong, and how I can correct it!))
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