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.”
"My name is Thorkel Thornberry, and I am a halfling. I was born in a small village near the edge of the forest. My parents were farmers, and we were not wealthy, but we had enough to get by. From a young age, I had a fascination with weapons, and I would often sneak off to the woods to practice my knife throwing and hammer swinging. As I grew older, my love for weapons only intensified, and I began to dream of becoming a great warrior. I spent all my free time training and studying the art of combat. When I was 16, I left home to join a group of mercenaries. They were tough and didn't accept me at first, but I proved my worth in battle and quickly earned their respect. For the next few years, I fought in many battles and earned a reputation as a fierce warrior. But as I approached my 20th birthday, I started to question my path. I had seen too much bloodshed and violence, and I didn't want to spend my life fighting for someone else's cause. That's when I found myself wandering through this swampy town, I'm starting to realize that maybe my true calling was not to be a warrior, but to be a protector, to help those who needed it."
