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 was born in the mountains and from a young age I looked after myself and I travel, if I ever get lost or want to start a new, I look for the nearest camp or town to try and be hired by the populus to be a guard, miner or hunter. Whatever is needed.
