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?))
Safru gives a conflicted, furrowed brow to the old crone. "You know why I'm here, shara,"
His hulking figure, hunched from the swooped ceiling, takes a few more steps into the tent as he rifles for the large sack hanging from his back. Without bothering to peer his surroundings, he gently places the burlap in front of the hag; the items inside deflate with a striking, fresh meat smell, however the outside remains untarnished.
"That creature won't bother your foraging sites from now on. As for my story? Well..."
He sits with a quiet thump on the carpeted dirt, bringing logs into crossed-legs. Safru looks to the woman with passive, orc-intense eyes.
"I'll share my portion, if you keep your promise to tell me about the humans."
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