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?))
Kysthana settled herself, her slender fingers adjusting the hem of her worn robe. "If you must inquire, Madam..." she began with a tired look in her eye, "I'm a bit of a... tinkerer. Clocks, carts, canvas, concoctions, and all manner of minerals. I learned the art of tinkering from my old mister, a tinkerer himself. He discovered me in a muddied ditch when I was just a babe. I was raised amidst silk-sellers and soothsayers until, during my thirteenth summer, they were arrested and met the hangman's noose for dabbling in magic."
She paused, her face shifting for a fleeting moment, revealing a hint of the pain that lingered beneath her stoic façade. "We never stayed in one place for long, so I don't hail from any particular place. My old mister used to say I belonged more to the roads and rivers than to my mother and father. I hold no ill will toward those I never met, but my old mister used to curse them as 'spineless cowards.'"
A smile played on her lips as she continued, "I earn my way in the world as best I can, mending shattered gears and selling the occasional tincture or potion when the winds allow me to happen on the ingredients. At present, I'm headed for Aaun, so my stay here shall be brief. If you possess a broken clock you wish to tell time beyond twice a day, or if you seek aid for your aching bones, I recommend you seek my trade with haste." With that, she gracefully rose from her seat, offering a courteous bow to the elderly woman. "Good day, Madam," she bid before spinning on her heel and disappearing from the tent.
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