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?)) "Uh... my story? Well if that's what you want then..." McLandoon walks forward and sits down. "settle in for a story. I was raised by my father in for a short time until I was about 11. We then got into a brawl and I took off. Never wanting to go back. I met a group of druids that I became friends with. We traveled all around the lands. I then had to leave them because I got in some trouble. I ran with all I had... well *chuckles* I didn't have a lot... I mean, I don't have a lot. All I have is my axe and my clothes. Now I'm here running from some trouble."
