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?))
"How is it that you know of me?" my eyes dart around the room cautiously. Though skeptical of the old hag I accept her invitation to sit as I've gotten quite weary from travel. Though hesitant I share my story. "Growing up in Nor'Asath my mother fell ill not to long after I was born and passed away. My father began to resent me as he blamed me for my mothers death. My father began to train me rather harshly in hand to hand combat and swordplay. Since we were a rather poor family I learned how to pickpocket and steal in order to get by. When I came of age I set out on my own to escape the disgusted gaze of my father.
