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?))
As Gorlem sits down his eyes travel around the inside of the tent before finally meeting the old hag's gaze, he keeps his eye contact as more of a polite gesture despite how tense he feels in the enclosed tent. " My story? " he'd give a slight upside down smile as he glanced away to give himself a moment to think. " I'm not much to talk about my self. I prefer to listen to others stories, so why don't you share yours first? " although Gorlem looked rugged his facial expressions made him look more welcoming to the eye.
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