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?))
Baradur takes a seat, a bit surprised to know that the old hag was expecting him, and sighs, lighting a pipe and taking a whiff of it before responding, "Where to begin...well, I suppose it all started when I was just a child. My father was also a Dunedain, you see, and his father before him. I loved my father dearly. He began teaching me swordsmanship and archery from the moment I began walking. It all changed when he was sent to Osgiliath to defend it from the Orc hoards. It was the last time I saw him until the funeral. I was told he fought bravely, but nobody could have survived the injuries he sustained. This cape I wear was once his, now it is mine. A symbol of our family's might. The red symbolizes the blood we pay to defend Gondor and the black is the black Orc blood we spill in her name. The gold is there to remind us that we hail from the white city of Minas Tirith, the city of kings. A reminder of our honor to give us courage when all seems lost. This is what my father, Malvedir, left behind for me. I carry a replica of the sword he carried and a bow with his name engraved upon its wood. May he watch over me with pride as I slay Orcs in his name."
Baradur takes another puff from his pipe and continues, "And so I joined the Dunedain rangers. I appreciate their company. Our work is grim, and many of my brothers have fallen in battle or to illness, but they are my family now. My loyalty lies with them and to the people of Gondor whom we protect."
