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?))
Looking rather stern and cautious, Durothil introduces himself to the fair hag.
"Good evening to you, My name is Wilhelm, Durothil Wilhelm, but you seemed to have already known that. I am simply a fair Highlander looking for work and pay."
Durothil takes a seat. He carefully eyes the woman trying to see any ulterier motives, but to no avail
"To be honest, having a glorious death in a fair battle does sound nice too, or that could just be the highlander in me speaking"
Durothil gives a small, yet hearty chuckle to himself, anyone could tell hhe already had a taste of battle due to his slashed eye, a giant scar going up to his forehead. Still fresh as the snow he walked upon to get here.
"Yes... a glorious death, praise be to the All-Father of the Red Faith. I hope for a good death one day that will leave my legacy behind. Only the sword, axe, or whatever I choose to bring to battle will remain."
Durothil stretches his hand outwards for a friendly handshake
"You're quite interesting yourself, I'd like to hear how you heard of me..."
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