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?))
Hopping off his cart with a dung-eating grin, Kushor was under the impression that he was getting his fortune read. Once he realized that this was just an old hag, he quickly pivoted. One thing about Kushor- he loves to talk about himself.
"Ah! Hello hag woman! Looking for a story, eh? Well, I have a juicy tale for you, I do. Back when my book worm brother and I were kids, we lived comfortably with our 9 other siblings in Hyspia. Being such a large city, we had to find many ways to keep ourselves busy, you see! Me personally, I found myself in the markets most days, because I couldn't stand the stench of that rotting mildew in the library that my brother grew so fond o- who am I kidding?! This tale is about me, not Balthazar! "
He grabbed two spare chairs in the tent, sitting on one while propping his feet on the other to get comfortable.
"Anyways, I learned the art of the bargain through collud- I mean observing thieves, beggars, merchants, and gypsies as I always found them to be a riot to drink with. My specific instructor was an old playwrite who fancied himself a "distinguished" author."
He leaned in just a little too close for the hag
"Between you and me, a sewer rat could write a better tale than that buffoon, but nonetheless, he taught me the skills I needed for me to one day decide that I was going to hit it big and become rich!"
Just then, his brother hopped out cart, shaking his head to tell his own part of the tale to the hag
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