Your character has just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As they look around, their gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. They 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?))
Rowan steps into the tent and gives a quick nod, keeping his hands visible. “Evenin’,” he says, a bit cautiously. “Rowan Halloway.” He shifts his pack and pulls out a small, scuffed ledger like it’s a habit. “Grew up in the family trade back in Norland. Market stalls, moving stock, doing errands, learning what people actually pay for.” He glances around the tent, then back to the woman. “But I didn’t only learn from honest traders. I fell in with a few crowds who didn’t like handling things nicely. Not proud of it, but it taught me a lot.” Rowan shrugs slightly. “I’m not scared of people. I just understand how they work, what they want, what they’ll do for it.” He speaks a bit quieter after that. “I’m here to work. I want to set up a stall. Food, basic supplies, that sort of thing.” “And if people need things sourced or moved between towns, I can sort it. Quietly. No drama.” He pauses, then adds, “I’m not here to cause trouble, but I’ll help out however people need me. So… if you’ve been expecting me, just point me at who I need to speak to and tell me what this place is short on.”
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