_DirtMan

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.”

 

"Me? Me is Boaz. Been wanderin’ dees lands far and for longing time, lookin’ for somethin’..."

Boaz sniff's the air, his nose twitching for a certain scent.

"Dis town—smells like death nd' mud, but me know there's more 'ere. Maybes big riches, maybes big dangers. No matter. Not Orc of words's, but me can swing hammer, breaking bones's, and defending's dis place if need."

Boaz's hand slides down his warhammer, his skin rough against its worn leather wrap

"Me am seekings to joinings yous realm, test myself's, building's and destroying's, whatev'r the world throwings at me. Me seen battles, me built camps, me fought for survival for too longings of a time."
 

Boaz growls low and waits for the hag’s answer. His foot tapping, shaking the gentle pottery on the tent's floor