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?))
The highlander nodded before sitting, setting down his satchel and axe. "Well, not much to tell." His voice was deep and had a slight accent "I am Wrotek, and I've traveled the last two years lending my strength to others for coin." He traced a finger across the battered blade of the weapon, letting out a slight chuckle.
"Not bad job, but temporary. I heard this town is... door to opportunity. And I like opportunities, they often bring blood, coin or glory." He leaned a bit forwards, giving a savage smile to the old woman "Uncle always said it's best to have all three."
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