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?)) Snar'ag's eyes widen, a worried look shifting across his face.
"Oh! Uh... you know Snar'ag? Snar'ag very sorry if Snar'ag ever takes from you.. or makes you something to go boom."
Snar'ag waits for a response before sitting as he was told, shifting uncomfortably as he sinks into the fluffy cushion.
"So, you wants Snar'ag's story, yes? Well it is kinds of short." He chuckles nervously before continuing.
Snar'ag became tinkerer after takes things from villages with other goblins. Snar'ag bend metal and hammer nails and make good things for village!"
Snar'ag paused again, his mouth forming a frown. "But village gone now. Snar'ag was getting supplies for big tinkering but when come back, tents and goblins all gone. Humans make goblins go away. So Snar'ag leave big mountain and go make tinkering with other peoples for food and coins."
He gave the old crone a half-hearted smile. "That where Snar'ag from. But how you knows Snar'ag?"
