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?))
Thorrik grunts as he lowers himself onto the cushion, his armor creaking slightly. He eyes the hag warily, but not without a hint of curiosity.
"Didn’t think anyone’d be waitin’ for me in a place that smells like a troll’s armpit... but here I am."
He adjusts the warhammer at his side, brushing soot from his beard before continuing.
"Name’s Thorrik Coalbeard — smith by trade, wanderer by circumstance. I left the halls of Khaz’Karag after the stone turned silent and the forge grew cold. Now I seek flame, steel, and stories... and maybe, just maybe, a reason to light the forge again."
He leans forward slightly, eyes catching the candlelight like embers.
"So tell me, crone — what is it ye know that’s worth expectin’ me for?"
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