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?))
"I had awoken to the sound of the crows cawing with their eyes looking at me, but don't remember much more than my name. I am Adrovis Varsellion, and an orc by the looks of it." I would look around wondering how I arrived in such a place, or if this place was the one, I called home as I waited for the hag to speak.
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