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.”
He does not sit, but stands tall by the chair. He opens his lips unavailing large sharp teeth and begins to speak "I come from a land of war and blood". He adjusts the axe on his back like it might need to be used soon and takes a long breath in and out. "I was a Warrior in a tribe, I was knocked out in battle and when I awoke I was covered in blood alone. I had the urge to return home but didn't knowing I would banished for surviving. I am now a mercenary so that i can make a living and put my combat skills to use". Without another word he turns for the exit.
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