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?))
Gats would glare at the old, feeble lady, with a slightly confused look. “You were expecting me?” he would then think for a second, what was his story? Gats has been travelling ever since he was a young lad, seeing all kinds of things. He's slain countless Orcs, Goblins, and other treacherous monsters in his time. He would stare at the lady with a big grin plastered on his face. Gats was hiding something. “You don't want to know.” that was his response to her question.
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