Rosie1

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?)) "I'm here to help my kin. Ore needs to be mined and warriors need their equipment" Mordar states matter-of-factly as he collapses onto the cushion with a THUD. "They say I was born with a pickaxe in my hand, thankfully untrue for my mothers sake, but the mines and forges are what I know. I'll live by them and die by them. 'tis the life for me and many 'a dwarf but that's alright with me." He looks around the tent and towards the town as he speaks "Everybody nowadays wants to be some legendary hero who's going down in stories for centuries but that's not for me. Everybody wanting to know your name, story, get your autograph or have a drink with you. It'd be exhausting" The dark dwarf shakes his head as if to get the thought out of his head "Well those 'legendary heroes' are gonna need equipment to accomplish those mighty feats and where else are they gonna get 'em than from a dwarf? You ever heard of an elf's blade taking off a tyrants head?" He roars a laugh and slaps his chest so hard at his own joke he almost falls off the cushion Finally he wipes a tear off his eye and settles down before asking "Alright enough about me. What is it that a Goldstone can do for you?"