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?))
Bonnivar raises an eyebrow at the Hag's comment, but sits as requested, not one for rudeness. "A pleasure te' meet ye', I did nae know my face were known well in these parts!" they chuckle, though a waver in their voice makes it clear that they are more unnerved by the situation than they show. "Mah story, ye' say? Well, I could bore ye' with all tha' details but I dinnae think either o' us want that!" they proclaim, fingers tapping on their leg, clearing their throat slightly before they continue, "Regular 'nough child'ood, me' Mam an' Pa were a good sort. Lived up in tha' mountains, 'course, fresh air in tha' lungs an' snow b'neath ye' feet. I would nae say I'm a merchant by any measure, but ah've always 'ad somethin' o' an' interest in merchantile endeavors, ye' could say." they grin somewhat cheekily as they say this, a white toothed smile beneath their scruffy beard. "A good follower o' Armakak I am, always 'ave been, aye. But aye, always involvin' m'self in a scheme or two te' make some coin. Not all were successful, 'course, but I got 'ere, didn't I, so I cannae 'ave done too bad. S'ppose ah'm a bit down on m'luck at tha' moment, but ah'm sure somethin'll come along soon, just ye' wait an' see." Despite all the bluster in their words, it seems from their tone, they truly believe that, a hopeful spark in their eye.
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