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.”
Max would sit down on the cushion, crossed legged. He would look up at the elder. 'I suppose I should tell you my story, I am Maximilian. I've been on a quest around this here world, and have seen many a country, many a kingdom, many a monster, but this place.. it is quite honestly no different to any other. I am, how you would say, a wandering traveller, of sorts.' He would adjust himself, putting both hands together. 'Honestly, I came to this town, in an interest to see what lays under the swamp this small.. hamlet, and what it offers.. If thou happens to have an insight into what was here, this will be quite interesting into my studies. Also, would you possibly have a quill I could document my findings in, this would be.. divine.
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