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?))
Markus Frederick steps inside the tent, the damp canvas brushing against his shoulders as he glances around. He removes his gloves slowly, revealing scarred hands, and lowers himself onto the cushion with a quiet exhale.
"Work," he says at first, voice low and rough. After a pause, he continues, eyes drifting towards the candlelight. "I was a blacksmith once... for a village that doesn't exist anymore. Orc raid took my wife... and my boy."
His jaw tightens, but he does not raise his voice.
"I couldn't save them. But I can still shape steel. And as long as I can do that, I have a reason to keep breathing."
He looks back to the woman.
"I heard this town needs tools. Weapons, repairs. I don't ask for much. Just a forge and a chance to earn my keep."
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