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?))
"Wae Aye, thank you missy. I hav' been travellin' for a long time now and tis nice to see a kin' face after all this time."
He takes a seat pointed out by the stranger, his hands crossing across his lap as he eyes the lady, sighing deeply as he chortles to himself.
"The answer to that questio' is a lon'in and we wil' be sittin' here until daw' the nex' day. 'owever I sha' answe' you, I see' what all youn' dwarves see' adventure, thrill and success."
Stroking his beard as in deep in thought he ponders the question again before grinning and shrugging,
"I have nothin' else to add, I hav' no story but hopefull' I have a futur'"
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