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?))
As phantos enters the tent, the smell of old rags and dirt grows. “Well I come from an old town near Norland. My father, brother, and me owned a smithery. My father would teach me his ways and with me growing in prowess I started getting noticed as a fine blacksmith. One day, a clan by the name of Prelck offered to continue my teaching with their finest blacksmiths teaching me. I was so exited but my father had a sad look. He didn’t want me to leave but he knew I should. So I left and found this town on the way.” His eyes wandered as he recalled these events, “I need food to continue my adventure so I came here. I best be off to the general store to buy some food.” With a kind smile and a turn of his cape he was off
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