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?))
Maralyn grinned as she stepped inside the tent, sitting on the surprisingly comfortable cushion "Me? Me stery?" Her face scrunched as she laughed slightly before realizing this woman was serious. Maralyn was suspicious, at first, but she enjoyed talking about herself whenever anyone had asked, which was very infrequently. "Ah well, I'm a sim'le halflin'. A farmer from the coun'ryside who in'erited 'er farm from 'er late parents. Farmin's de lot of what I like ter do. Dat 'n carin' for my darlin' son. No time fer nothin' else." She paused, studying the lady's face to spot any disinterest. "I sp'ose yer expect some great warrior, not at all lady, jus' a humble farmer like ma parents. Me 'usband was a great thief, maybe one of de greatest! Al'ough it was thieven' that let to 'is demise since he was slain by a man who found 'im stealin' somethin', unfortuna'ly." Reminicing on these things never made her feel good, and she sought to change the topic away from herself now. "What about ye lady? 'ow a t'ing like yerself end up in such a town?" She smiled kindly, awaiting the womans response.
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