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?)) Example: Chainmail rattles as the sell-sword kneels to sit upon the cushion, scratching his stubbled cheek as teal eyes scan the room. There's a sizable scar running across his right cheek, his beard having grown around it. "My story is of little importance. My work, however.." He speaks, reaching into his satchel before placing an old scroll on the center of the carpet, unrolling it to reveal some ancient, foreign symbols. "I heard you might know where I can find somebody who can translate this." Cocking a brow, crossing his arms while granting them time to analyse the scripture. His gaze shifts to wander the room, the scent of burnt candles filling his senses, sneering at the thought of telling his story to a hag he'd just met.
