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?))
"'Lo, beautiful," Horace entered with a full tankard of ale palmed with him. He sat down, immediately spreading his legs. "Brrp.." The man belched, swished the ale around in his mouth, then grinned a yellowed smile. "Oh, me? Well, I could tell 'yis a few things 'bout big ol' me. Like how I once tackled a bear and wrestled day-long over a hunk of steak when I's starvin' and beat in the north." He paused, gulping down some more of his drink. "But I guess that's not the type of story 'yer lookin' for." - "Otherwise, I comes from nowhere," Horace stopped, leaned over and set his forearms on his knee, "but a big ole village in the west."
Recommended Comments