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?))

"I haven't the time nor the energy for stories, crone." The hag revolts at his impoliteness. Edmure takes a moment, and breathes out a sigh from his nose. "I must reach Burgundy within a fortnight, if I could lend your hand in pointing me the way; this swamp is vast and I seem to have gotten myself lost." She stares back at him with a wide eyed smirk. Clearly Edmure will not be making it to Burgundy without giving the sly witch what she asked for. He shakes his head reluctantly and lets out a small chuckle. "If it interests you so... I was raised not a days travel south of Norland in a village called Brookhen. A small town it was, but quite proud." In his reminiscing, The Proud Knight begins to let his guard down, "In my youth, I apprenticed under my grandfather as a stone mason; a good man if there ever was one." The woman hackles for a brief moment, "trust me boy, there never was." Edmure looks to floor, and lets out a response under his breath "Perhaps you're right." He begins to gather his things, believing this had been enough story for the day. "Brookhen, Brookhen, Brookhen... I have never heard of such a place!" "And you never will." The Proud former Mason bags a pint and a loaf of bread, and opens the door. "Now point me the way." Whatever happened to the proud town of Brookhen, Sir Edmure cares not to share it.