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?))
I gaze upon the crone, in an exasperated sigh, I begin my tale of how I got to this dingy town. "I was from a noble family of smiths who knew the secret of metal and the lost metallurgy of Galvorn. My family took it upon themselves to study and worship Aulë, the god of craftsmanship. I was only 10 when I was taken from my family and saw them killed or captured. I have lived as a slave ever since forging weapons for orcs and such until I fled to this place where at least the taste of sulfur is gone." I look towards the woman and gaze longingly past her before I speak again. "I am no true smith like my family before me as I never learned their secrets and I seek the ability to make a melody of steel like my family once did and use that black steel."
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