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?))
Clyrik briefly inspects the cushion, and, seeing nothing out of the ordinary, takes a seat. "Thank ye, ma'am. My journey's not been an easy one, as I'm sure ye can imagine."
He continues, "Ye must already know, but I am Clyrik of the Grandaxe. I've come to ye all the way from Kal'Darakaan, if you'd believe it. If I'm bein' honest with ye, it's my first time really leavin' the city. Quite the adobe ye've got 'ere." He pauses take in your surroundings, nodding to himself. Everything around him seems so peculiar and derelict compared to the splendor of his city. He's never been this far from home, or this close to sea level, for that matter.
After a long and uncomfortable silence, he continues, "I should probably explain what brought me here, though, shouldn't I?" He begins again, with more urgency and a hint of desperation, "I'm just a city guard, a nobody. A simple dwarf with an axe. Only been serving for 3 years or so, ever since my 19th. Even I'm a bit confused as to why they sent me, I'm not much of an emissary! Before I started serving, I was a silversmith's apprentice. Not much use to me now!" He pauses to take a deep breath, and continues in a more concise manner, resolving to not ramble, "I am here to ask for your help. My commander told me there're whispers of hostile forces mounting in the South, and I'm afraid we might need all the allies we can get. Can you help us?"
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