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?))
Lazar arches his brow with a curiosity as he delicately enters the tent. He sniffs and manages to smell the mildew and mold of the tent.
"Expecting me? How romantic." he leans in slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. He squints as he examines the hag's haggish features, pursing his lips before he begins to talk about his journey there.
"Go on, hag. Tell me what you see in me. You first." he purrs, brushing his black hair from his forehead.
"Why I'm here? It's not very pretty. I'm meant to be from Burgundy, but a lot of people hold that against me on account of--" he gives a flourished gesture to his torso. "Politics. But everywhere has that. My family were Heartlanders that travelled too much, I wouldn't say I have a sense of place." His parents were certaintly from there, but he never felt any attachment to his family -- they lived, farmed the land, and had very humble lives that he wanted nothing to do with. He had a taste for adventure and the finer things in life, the sorts of things the rolling wheat fields of the town couldn't provide for.
"Not an orc, then?" the hag hissed, waving her head as she talked about the children of Krug.
"Clearly not." He replies, examining his wool coat to see if there was something wrong with it."
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