Mymyr

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 dwarf briefly scans the space of the tent, curious of any notable trinkets that would be indicative of the purpose of this tent. Upon meeting eyes with the resident of the tent, Myrek tenses for a moment and grips the small pouch of semi-precious gemstones on his waist-belt. He cautiously approaches before slowly and gently lowering himself onto the cushion. "Expecting me? I barely know where this town is, much less that I am known here. Perhaps that is simply a portent of things to come..." Myrek briefly pauses to look over his shoulder, wary of the sounds of the swamp outside, "I find it respectful for one to give their own name before asking someone else for theirs. Words hold power, you know. If you are truly curious, however, I have come to this town in search of opportunity. I have spent my life living in the walls of public libraries, pouring through as much of an education as I could take. The orphanage that I hailed from offered little more than food and shelter, but I seek for something else. I wish to travel to my homeland and learn of my people, and find a purpose greater than vagrancy and drifting. I will take whatever path fate deals me, if it is meant to be so."