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?))
Durnen raises a single eyebrow, his expression a bit puzzled. "Expecting me?" he asks. He steps into the tent letting the flap fall shut behind him. He plants his hands on his hips and gazes up at the old woman, his posture shifting into a confident stance. With a blunt and matter-of-fact tone he states "Nah. You're thinking of some other Dwarf. I only just got here, lady".
He begins to pace the tent unprompted, his eyes drifting over the strange trinkets that the hag has adorned around the tent. "Even if I’m the right Dwarf, I'm not much use to anyone now. Lost my hammer. What kind of smith named Hammerfist misplaces his own damned hammer?”. Durnen lets out a heavy sigh and halts mid-pace, turning to face the old woman squarely. His tone is skeptical, but not entirely dismissive. “Alright,” he says, “I ain’t usually one to put stock in witchcraft or nothin, but I’m lookin’ to set up shop in these parts. Word is, things get dangerous out here and where there’s danger, there’s always work for a blacksmith. So, if you’ve got some kind of magic power to point me in the right direction, I’d call that a fair trade.”
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