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?))
Plopping himself down atop the cushion with a grunt, Gnomalor took his bright red hat into his hands and lay it on his lap, "Well missus, there ain't much too exciting having gone on. Y'see, I wanted to learn alchemy, like my father and his before him many winters ago, as many a halfling is. I hoped to work with herbs, poultices and all manner of stew, mixture and concoction. My dream was to be a doctor, to put my craft to good use, perhaps one day open an apothecary, but..."
Gnomalor drifts into thought, his eyes moving away from the hag and drifting into empty space as his mind became distracted.
"My village, a small one in the forest - really just a few o' us. It was torn apart by... something." Gnomalor seems to wince as he recounts the story. "I was gone for a couple days, maybe three, gathering herbs for the little ones in the winter. When I came back there was, well, not much left. Certainly no people, at least, alive."
"Cultists, animals, thieves or something else entirely, I'm not sure." Gnomalor sighs with a resigned look on his face. "I'm sure I couldn't have stopped them but I wish I could have tried."
"Anyhow." He sighed again, heavily. "I left that place, travelled far away, but even now I'm not sure of my destination. I suppose I'll keep going until I find some place I can help. And, perhaps, though I'm no armsman, I'd like to help protect those in need of protecting here, in my own small way."
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