sloxwomp

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?))

Skarn's eyes quint at the hag as he lowers himself slowly onto the cushion beneath him. "Ya' were expectin' me?" he mutters, more so a statement than a question. His jaw tightens as he leans forward, resting his arms on his legs. "Why?" Skarn looks towards the entrance he walked through, glancing at the dim town beyond. There's a pause, maybe long enough for the hag's answer to slip through, yet it is cut short as Skarn refocuses on the hag. "Where're the others? My kin, the ones who share my blood." The hag gave no answer, assumedly awaiting for the orc to tell his story.

With a huff, Skarn's shoulders relax. He looks up towards the peak of the tent, then slowly brings his eyes back to the hag as he exhales. "Listen 'ere. I choose not to speak of my past. Honor and glory soar higher beyond any folktale would, aye?" Again he sits. Persistent in his ways, the orange orc repeats himself. "I ain't tellin' ya' no stories." This time, he shifts. He shoulders pull back, his arms cross at his chest, and he sits tall, squaring up the hag. His head tilts, and a thought formed. "Wait a minute. I ain't gotta listen to ya'. I'm leavin'." With a sharp exhale, he pushes off the cushion, then pushes through the opening of the tent. "Skarn's the name if ya' need me. I'll be on my way now." he says bluntly, as he steps off. The mud of the swampy town splashing upon his boots.