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.” "Oh, I just, uh… get some supplies for my people in the mountains of the west" you stutter, tensing up. You eye the crone, then back outside the tent. For a moment, the air thickens with anticipation, until… I heard orcs. They killed my family clan. The Lakewood clan was killed except me, so I fled to the mountains for protection. I asked the old hag: "Has there been a huge raid of orcs nearby looking for someone named Arielle Lakewood recently?"
