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?)
Ymathubag sits down on the cushion and after taking in his surroundings, tells the hag his story, “ I come from a camp around 12 miles east. This camp was home to about 47 orcs, and a couple of half-orcs we took in as our own. Though about 2 months ago, some “noble” humans came to our camp and demanded we gave them our land, 30% of our riches, and 5 of our own to be sent to a war they are fighting.” he says, in a disgustful tone and attitude. “We declined their offer, and did not hear from them for a couple of weeks. Though after 4 weeks, while the camp was asleep, a group of assassins came to our camp and murdered many of my people. I saw them murder my brother. I saw them murder my mother and father,” his voice breaks, and the old hag sees a tear fall down the orcs green face, “I even saw them murder my wife, 6 months pregnant, with 7 stabs to the stomach,” he utters, trying to hold in his tears. Though one by one tears fall down his face, onto the carpet floor of the hags tent, “After they killed many of ours, they burned our camp and the forest which the camp resides in, which caused me to be separated with the other survivors,” he shares with the hag, with no more tears falling down his cheek. Instead an angry, yet calm expression emerges, “There were 40 assassins. 12 died at the camp. I have killed a few. Now I search the lands to find the remaining ones, and give them what they deserve.”
