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.”
Otho bobs his head as he slowly lowers himself onto the seat, letting out an unpleasant cough soon after. "I come from a farm in the heartlands of the realm! Each day I slave away on the fields working for our lord. Its time I find purpose with my life, I aspire to be a squire" He says before clearing his throat once more, using his hand to cover his mouth. Underneath his fingernails layers of dirt and grime can be seen, all from his hard labor in the fields. "Do you think I can find what I am looking for here? A knight to take me under his wing and show me the corners of the realm. Someone to show me how to fight and plunder treasures!
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