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?))
You stare for a moment, wondering what decisions have led you here, but decide to humour the crone. "My name is Slaaim, and I'm an out-cast. " you say, grabbing a seat. "I hail from the city's heart, and a well off family. ". as the place grows quiet, a sudden awakening to your surroundings kicks in "You can try to rob me, though i've nought but the clothes on my back and enough coppers for an ale. ", You lie through your teeth. "Bad business decisions and misplaced trust led me here afterall...", you say, with deeper sincerity, as your eyes drift to the overused wooden floor. "With my father getting older, the tension for the position of family heir was ever rising. Somebody was bound to **** up, and so here I am..." realizing you might've began oversharing, you change your tone. "But that's enough about me, how about I hear your story too..."
Weight: 80 kg
Hair: Ginger, slightly scruffy
Eye colour: Hazel
Waltzes around mostly in fancy garb.
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