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?))
"My story, huh?" Baldwin says, his voice low, gravelly. "That’s not something I usually give out for free." The candles flicker as if in response to his words, casting strange shadows across the folds of the hag’s face.
"Name’s Baldwin Erma. Used to serve as a scout in the northern border wars. Learned the land like the back of my hand—mountains, swamps, ruins. Places most men die in. After the war ended, I didn’t go home. Didn't have one left to go to." He pauses, eyes scanning the tent, as if expecting something to lurch out of the shadows. "I started taking jobs. Strange ones. People missing in the marshes, lights dancing where they shouldn’t. Things whispered about in village corners." His voice lowers. "And every trail pointed here. To this cursed patch of muck." He leans in slightly, candlelight catching the edge of a small, rune-marked compass around his neck.
"So when you say you’ve been expecting me… I believe it. The wind's been pushing me toward this place for weeks. And the dreams—gods, the dreams…" His gaze hardens. "I’m not here by chance. The Gods have driven me here for a purpose."
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