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?))
"Dingy?! Please, don't speak of this quaint...homey place in such manner! Reminds me of my grandmother's hometown. Granted, I only went once and have been since forbidden from stepping foot in the old burrow-cluster ever since a peculiar incident including the ashes of my grandfather and a keg of expensive brandy."- Rambo finds it hard to resist the warm welcome and, despite himself, the flat cushion. Not particularly how he liked his seating, but that will do.- "Telling stories around a campfire, are we? You might want to come up with better entertainment for future guests, not many are bored enough to engage in whatever activity comes their way, no matter how watered down compared to more exciting endeavours. You are in luck, my wrinkled companion, almost divine luck! I dabble in party-planning- in my travels I have familiarised myself with many gourmets, jesters and what have you- even bears that can balance on a large boulder while simultaneously thrashing about to keep a small pebble straight on their snout. It's a riot! Oh! Let's see here..."- The halfling shuffles about until he succeeds in unclasping a small, deflated pouch from his hip and empties it's contents on his palm. Three coins jingle together and fall flat on his skin.- "Well...I can't offer you the usual- that being paying post-factum- A very good deal, mind you, not many put so much trust in their clients- so I will have to ask for an advance and well..."- Rambo ceremoniously looks around, with almost genuine interest in unearthing some hidden figure in the shadows, then lays his eyes back to the crone with fiery guile hidden behind the air of a profiteering spirit!- "That wouldn't be a problem, I imagine, with the clear lack of crowd ready for festivity. That's bad luck, real bad luck. But a weathered woman like yourself must have at least some acquaintances? Who cares that there is nothing to celebrate? Why not put up a show for an early birthday? Gods only know if you will ever live to see your legitimate day of birth? What say you? I will even knock off a couple digits from the pricing. A great deal, no?"
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