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.” I stare at the witch, a slight chill runs down my spine. I compose myself as a front to not seem intimidated
"Oh!~" I say with a slight quiver, as I release a mighty Dwarvish laugh. "You caught me off me guard, gave me quite a scare!" I exclaim, attempting to shrug her sudden appearance off as nothing.
I slowly look around the tent. As I turn my head my face lightens and darkens as each candle I pass.
"Well...I uh..." I softly say, as softly as a Dwarf can say whose lost his tongue.
I clear my throat brash-fully
"I am Dálin. Son of Drálin. I come 'er from the mountains in the north, me home." With each "r" rolling off my tongue as if it were nothing. "I'm in search for glory and adventure. Though 'Eve seemed to hav' lost me way, and I ended up in this..town..." I finally manage to speak, as my thought begins to dwindle, more focused on the almost hypnotic candles and skulls that line the tent.
My eyes flicker in the candle light. Unbeknownst to me, I feel this urge to speak more. Enlighten my past further.
"Truth is..." I say with less Dwarvish bravado, and a slight despair inice. "I'm after me brother's killer..."
The candle that illuminates my dull blue eye fades, and is replaced with a glowing red malice.
