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.”
The orc pauses, remaining standing for a moment as his dark eyes sweep the tent and its floating candles. Slowly, he lowers himself onto the offered cushion, the leather of his armor creaking softly.
“Expectation is a dangerous thing,” he rumbles, voice low and rough from disuse. “It makes people see futures that are not theirs to name.”
He studies the hag in return, tusks catching the candlelight as his jaw tightens.
“I did not come for comfort, nor coin. I came because the roads behind me are closed, and the ones ahead smell of rot and old magic.” A brief pause. “If you truly have been waiting, then you already know this—my story is not one I tell lightly. Speak, wise one. Tell me what you think you know… and I will decide what truth you are owed.”
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