Your character has just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As they look around, their gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. They 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?))
Brokk Ducks into the tent, the canvas brushing his shoulder plates. The smell hit him first, wet rot, moss, old smoke.
When the hag calls him over he doesnt move right away.
"Expectin' me were you?" he mutters, voice rough. "Thats never a good sign."
He finally steps in and drops onto the cushion.
"Brokk Stonebeard, i hail from Kal'Varoth."
He looks at her, hard to tell where his eyes land exactly, even for him. He doesnt bother explaining it.
"Im not much for stories, " he says. "I mine. Always have. Since I could hold a pick without droppin' it on me own foot."
"Ive been topside a few times, Learned what i needed, hated most of it. Id rather be under stone than starin' at the open sky."
He shifts, armor creaking.
"Ive got a ma and da back home along with 2 younger siblings. So im not here to get dragged into some swamp nonsence for fun."
He leans forwrd a little.
"So, if youve been expectin me ... tell me why and dont waste my time with riddles."
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