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?))
Te'dzi was wary as the old lady welcomed him inside. Becauase he grew up in a small town with only a handful of orcish families, he hadn't met many people that weren't other orcs and he was having a difficult time even understanding what she was saying. "Erm, mi ahm Te'dzi. Mi journeh 'ere bekuz mi blargh wuz deztroyed in a fire. Mi ahm peeping for new materialz to make a new blargh with. Diz time zometing dat nub katchz fire." He spoke nervously as he sat down. "But diz zwamp nub zeem like hozh plaze for dat. Where kan mi go to find ztone to make blargh?"
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