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?))
The Halfling steps up onto the cushion, leaning back on her hands as she sits down, her toes barely even making it off of the edge. She tilts her chin up to look at the hag in the face, even her fragile frame towering over Erin's own.
"Name's Erin Smallburrow. Pleased ter make ya acquaintance."
She flashes a smile, an attempt at cutting through the tent's ominous air.
"Ye see, t'is 'ole 'travellin'' t'ing- isn't somet'ing ah'm really used to. Especially not travellin' to talk to a bigg'un like yaself. But, well, ah'm 'ae now. "
Erin makes a dismissive gesture with her right hand before returning it to its position, limp at her side.
"I've lived in me town me entire life. No golden fortress, but it don't need to be. Also don't mean you can't 'ave fun."
With an expression of pride, she leans forward, lifts her left arm and taps on the faint jagged scar.
"Got this tryin' to put some ivy on a sheep's 'orn for a dare. T'rew me off and into a pile of farmin' kit. Worth it, thoug'. Now,"
She gestures towards the candle-lit hag.
"Why don't ya tell me a little about yeself?"
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