Turin Hawke

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?)) Turin steps in as he surveys the logging before seeing the cushion she was showing him. "I gotta say, this might be the creepiest moment in week but ill indulge" He takes a seat, yet with one hand ready on his blade. " Well I will be honest with you, I was looking for the inn but it seems this place has other plans for me tonight" The happy go lucky demeaner of Hawke fades a tiny bit as he looked into the eyes of his host. "I am also here to find some answers.. The last known location of a friend of mine led me here" He takes a pause. " So how about you tell me /your/ story"