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?))
"Oh. You must have been the one they told me to find. Thought they'd have mentioned the.. 'aged' part." He'd sigh, shaking his head good-naturedly before taking the offered seat and pulling a wild turnip from his pouch, tearing it apart and simply offering the other half over. "I don't have much of a story to tell. Raised below, I learned my place quickly and became a scout for the tunnels. Was a nice, lil' job long as I kept my head down." He'd scoff, taking another bite before continuing.. "That's me' problem I suppose though. Had just enough of an attitude that they felt it best to beat it out of me. Which they did. Repeatingly. Still, ain't much to say about that. Between the beatings and scouting, found an old tunnel that'd fallen out of use because of the spider infestation and took me' chances with it. Followed it out and up and ended up here in this accursed sun-touched land.. No offense." Finishing his half of the turnip, he'd lean back and gesture around. "But here, I'm just travelling. Findin' work where I can or any of my folk who travel above and so below. Seeing if they're looking for kin. Not much more than that, I suppose."
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