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?))
"Well I suppose I have the time," I say as I sit across from the old woman.
"I am a traveler, as I assume most are that pass through this land. I hail from the northern shores originally, but my grandfather and I travelled throughout the realm, mainly as merchants of rare items, picking up odd jobs here and there," I say taking a breath whilst getting lost in my past. "Ever since he passed, about 4 years ago, I have been living alone travelling frequently between the halflings and high elves trying to live a peaceful life. That was until I found a sealed note written by my late grandfather titled to myself. In the letter, he told me that there was more to my heritage than what he had initially told me and that my father was not killed by bandits. So now, I travel from place to place, occasionally returning home to find the answers of my family's past."
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