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?))
Looking around suspiciously, Darius eyes flit back and forth between the hag and the darker corners of the tent. Cautiously he begins to respond to her question "Im a simple Halfing from Honeyhill". He sets down his pitchfork for a weapon and looks around for a nearby crate or box to sit on. once a seat is found he takes a sip of mead from the flagon at his waist. "Ive lived my life farming and trading like my dad and his dad before him. Ive decided that that is not the life for this halfling. Id rather the life of coin". Darius's eyes glisten when mentioning the shiny coins he dearly loves. His hands reach into his pockets to hold the familiar shape of his knucklebone dice. "Id much rather get rich then sit and farm. and this?" he says while patting his pitchfork "this is for defending meself or when someone offers enough coin." He grins a devilish "In fact that is the perfect transition as to why im here. How about we play a game?" Darius takes out the dice and sets them on the table, as he raises the dice out of his pocket his purse jolts and the old crone can hear the undeniable jangle of coins. "Hows this for a bet, you win you have 10 seconds to run, I win and you kindly leave your head behind. Unless of course you have more to offer..."
(A halfling consumed by the greed of coin and willing to go to extreme measures to attain it. draws the line at outright murder and refuses to work unless he knows the reasons behind why he is murdering a person)
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