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 Dwarf would sit upon a nearby first, scanning the woman's face.
"My story is not one interesting to be told unfortunately, I come in search for that very reason."
All while this is spoken the man picks at his beard in a way to fiddle with something within his hands.
"I come from a town few from grand stories, myself included. growing up i heard of grand battles from Dwarf kings, wise bishops and legendary men of Valor."
His eyes begin to wet as he pushes through the words in his throat
"My life has been a waste so far. I have gained but only the ability for basic instructions to follow, I hope that I may travel somewhere grand and serve a part in a great land."
Looking up to meet the eyes of the hag he speaks now with pride
"Even to clean the shoes of a Steward would make me feel whole, although I would much prefer the work of a smith above all."
Throrbad Longhorn then wakes back into reality, thanking the old woman for their talk as the sun rises for another day.
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