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?))
Jeanne eyes the shriveled woman with a sharp cautious stare. "You must be mistaken, I don't believe we have ever met madame..." Not once did the elf's steely blue eyes lift from the elder. However, she would entertain a bit of conversation, taking seat upon the dingy tent furniture. "My story? That is nothing grand I'm afraid. Grew up in a small hamlet near the forest side. My familia owns a small farm but it's too many mouths to feed and not a lot of land so here I am, traveling in search of a paying job.
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