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?))
Gremrak gives the hag a good look before sitting down and taking a flask out of his pocket. "Never should have let those damn mountain dwarves drag me out here to this rat 'ole. Place like this attracts the crazies." He takes a swig from his flask and continues: "Fine, ill 'umor you I s'pose. When I was born, everybody thought me gold eye meant I was favored by the gods. Never knew what to think about that. Always had a knack for making things though. Ever since I was a wee little thing I'd destroy me paw's trinkets to make meself a new toy. Crazy thing too, contraptions would fly 'round and cause me parents all sorts of headache. Don't know what to make of that either." He gives a short chuckle and collects his thoughts. "Though, I s'pose I'd like to go out and make a name for meself one day. None of that 'ero stuff though. Never fancied meself much of an 'ero. Maybe 'ollow out meself a nice, quiet, mountain and put me skills to work. No shortage of people looking for new equipment after all." Gremrak takes another swig from his flask and groans as he rises from his seat. "Damn," He mutters to himself, "only 45 and already got me paw's bad knees." He began to walk towards the flap of the tent. "Not much of a conversationalist are you?" He says gruffly as he looks back towards the hag. But, there was no hag to be seen. Confused and worried, Gremrak stares at his flask before emptying it onto the dirt floor. "Nasty stuff..." He said quietly before continuing on into the night.
