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.”
Kezmur would snort at the lady talking to him as he arrived. "Who are you to question me?" the egotistical orc would speak in response, not entirely trusting of the women. Assuming he warmed up to her inside this tattered tent, he would tell of his great desire to become a name renowned across Aevos for his great strength and renown. "I wish to topple every obstacle and become a great man. I want to become a figure of greatness while protecting my people and to be rich in gold and silver alike. ", waiting for her response and wisdom.
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