psychra_notte

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 rather large and stocky dwarf sat himself down, his orange eyes flickering like flame in the dim light as he glanced to the woman. He adjusted a large, ashen pipe in his mouth before speaking "My story, eh? It isn't one of valor or w'at 'ave ye.. I'm just a simple blacksmit', all t'at I am in 'onest." Inbetween each breathe, he let out a small puff of smoke which floated carefully to the roof of the tent, before creeping its way out. The man contuined "I've worked 'n lived 'n Kal'Darakaan for all of my life. Raised by my parents to be a good blacksmit', makin' weapons 'n tools for the Kingdom 'n the like. Never plan to go farther than that if I'm 'onest. Long as I can prove useful to my clan." With that, he adjusted the pipe once more in his mouth, taking one final puff from it, finishing with his own question of sorts "An' w'y mig't my story be of use to ye?"