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.”
Nimma's gaze would meet the old Crone's with a lovely smile and nod. His eyes were white, yet inviting and warm.
"Not really a story here lady... Just a hungry elf looking to feed himself, May i ask if you have some bread you are willing to share with me?"
Slowly he sat down on the floor as he reached into his satchel by his side, Nimma retrieved a small bottle of something that looks like alcohol.
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