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?))
He'd approach the old woman, set his bag on the ground next to the cushion, and take a seat. He'd pause for a moment, quickly collecting all he should say. He'd respond, "My name is Van Nadron. I am but a lowly carpenter who hails from a nameless village in the mountains. Several days ago, our community fell prey to a deadly pestilence. I was lucky to escape with the bare essentials without becoming infected myself. Maybe I was blessed by some higher being. I don't know." He'd pause for a moment, pondering that statement. He'd snap back into reality, and continue, "Stopping at run down houses or campsites along the way, I've successfully managed to make it here. I don't know why I'm here, but I feel like something was leading me here. I was called to be here. I see that your town could use some assistance with housing. I can build this town back to life." He'd pat his satchel, and stare into the eyes of the old woman with a look of sincerity.
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