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?)) "Well they're lass, ain't got much to tell without a mug o' ale in my grip. Ha! Just messin' with ya, but really ain't got much to tell. Me and my brothers are looking to start our own business down 'ere. Frostpiks Minin' Co, you buyin' we minin'. Being our own bosses me and 'im... and *cough* 'im. Our father 'alf worked 'imself 1 foot in the grave he did at our old place of businees, couldn't see the same 'appen to my twins. I say I'm the one with the brains and the drive, but Wwarin would disagree. Both lads are good blokes though and I know we'd do anything for each other, 'eck we're family."
