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?)) "Eh look lass, I think ye got the wrong guy. Don't even know how I got here to be honest. But uh, if ye got a pint I might be keen to tell ye me story..." pauses and looks around "Ah, I suppose not then. Well..." grabs the cushion and adjusts to his rear. "Ta tell ya straight lass, I miss me home. I'm not what ye would call the adventurous type. I miss the sweet smell a fresh cut stone. The sound of me mechanisms twirrlin' and grindin'." kicks legs up on a table and tosses arms behind his head "Ah now that's the life for me. Workin' on me inventions, diggin' through the mountain and grabbin' all those precious stones and metals. See I been 'round for hundred fifty years ye see, and I been tinkerin' me whole life. Nothin' makes this cave dweller happier. Except perhaps some shiny diamonds hehe."
