Your character has just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As they look around, their gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. They 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... me? Just a friendly wanderer looking for a cool bed and a warm meal. I don't wish to disrupt any of you fine people." Bognath says with a tired smile that comes from years of human and orcish rejection alike.
Bognath used to live in the harsh deserts with his clan. He was physically very strong, and an ideal candidate for a lifestyle of war. But Bognath never had the stomach for battle or blood. His hands would shake at the thought of hurting someone for seemingly no reason. He was cast out into the desert for his weakness to preserve the strength of the clan. Bognath just wants a place to settle down and call home. He's used to being feared or hated by most races, including many members of his own race. He wants to prove his clan wrong. He wants to prove that strength can still exist in someone who hates violence.
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