pmak

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: The stout Dwarf hesitates at first, but realizing where he was, he complies, taking a seat on the cushion. Barlord would scan the room before opening his mouth, as the environment was definitely quite foreign to him, He would then speak in his usual bombastic tone. "Me' story? Well, I come from Kal'Varoth! As ye' can see from me garments I would consider meself eh' Blacksmit, Ah decent one too - compared to ye' talls o' course. I come from ay' lineage of blacksmitddin' dwarves! me' fadder was a blacksmit', so was me elder fadder, an' so forth. As ye' know we cavern dwarves keep to ourselves n' stay in our lane, But I em' lookin for eh' family bauble tat means alot ta' me. N' tey' say ye' can 'elp me with tat." Barlord would then grab the coin purse that was dangling from his belt, plopping it in between him and the old hag. "N' of course I know the price." The old hag smiles, grabbing the heavy purse of coins. "Very well." she murmurs.