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?))
Hemlock sits down on the cushion "My story? That is a rather uneventful story but if you insist. I wandered around my entire life, with the first half of it being with my mother and older brother. When our mother died we began to go around aimlessly. We parted ways when I was... 17 I think?" Hemlock closes his eyes, remembering events as he continues talking " About 2 years after we got separated i found a small fishing village, and in the tavern there was a old man looking to set out on a voyage, I offered to come along and spent a good 4 years with him. Jim I think was the name of the man. The boat ended up going down, with only me making it out alive on a piece of driftwood. When I got to shore I wandered once more, and that is what brought me here."
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