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?))
Farian observes the tent's interior, the candlelight flickering across his figure. After a bit of pause he replies with a nervous chuckle, "Ah, I didn't think I'd become that well known yet." Slowly allowing himself to kneel upon the cushion, he meets the gaze of the hag after situating himself. A sigh precedes his words, "I'm but a traveler, as many tend to be, seeking his fortune wherever it may be." His eyes flicker towards the flowing candle fire before continuing, "My voice carries me across these lands, or at least gathers me enough minas to." A forlorn expression befalls his face as he looks down at his knees, then back up again, "soon enough my purse may run empty. But enough of myself, what is your story?"

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