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?))
My name is Frode I came from the north where the snow is white has it can be, I used to live in a small house with my father I never got to know my mother she died when I was born, since then my father teach me how to survive in the wild, I never got to see the outside of the world because my father was afraid that I would get hurt so when I became a man I promise him that I would explore the world and see all the amazing things that I could.
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