Shaw_MC

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?))

The encumbered man, clenching their jaw in an attempt to recoup from a slight trip up, curtly scoffed, “Expectin’ me?” He gingerly sets aside a large canvas sack with an audible “clang”, eyeing the small cushion before accepting the offer with a kneel. The rugged man, dressed in simple traveling garb, locked eyes with the elderly hag. After an uncomfortable second mulling on a response, he laughs, “I’m not one for story tellin’, but ah-“ their gaze briefly shifts to the sack, “it is nice to sit and talk every now and again. I’m a wandering smithy by trade, seeking adventure and looking to offer my services. For a price of course. Whether it be in coin or favors, as long as it’s of fair value I don’t mind a bit.” The man removes a sling retaining the rough-hewn iron plated armet on his hip and sets it atop the canvas bag. “Not often do I get shelter under a roof and four walls. Even rarer to take up a seat with someone after I’ve intruded on their own home!” He heartily laughs again, shifting in place to take on a more comfortable position on the cushion. “The names Gilligan Dal’Vare, Dal for short. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, lady!” Dal reaches out for a handshake before absentmindedly withdrawing the gesture immediately. “As for the long gone past,” he breathes a wistful sigh, fiddling with a crude pendant “in due time.”