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.”
Seemingly used to such strange requests and not one to get stumped by odd occurrences he would immediately respond, "Opportunity my lady. Always opportunity." Taking a thorough look around the tent he would refocus back on the old woman before continuing, "My name, is Edwyn Lysandre. I was born thirty four years ago to a clan far in the north. I have a family, a wife and son, and if the gods permit I may see them again one day. I come here seeking my fortune and glory and I sense ample opportunity to make a good start on that quest."
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