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.”
"it is a pleasure" the male spoke softly as his hand moved taking the small stool and sitting himself upon it, his red and gold robe slightly flowed along the floor, as his eyes scanned the hag "I am Vian valdrin handur, though you already know that, I am from Nor'Asath, I was born there but I am afraid I do not remember much of my time there, but it does feel like home to me" ah he was sat there, is mind going back as far as he could, He did not remember most, but he could remember some "I remember the warmth of my mother.. the cold hands of my father.. they.. I.." he struggled, starting to stutter as he then cleared his throat "sorry about that.. I-I'll be going" He stated as he stoop up and left her camp
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