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?)) "Oh, I just, uh..." I studder, searching the air. I look around thinking. Finally, I say, "I am Dimur Mythrilborn, a dwarf from a traveling party. I am 80 years of age," I say, "I have been through every kind of village, land and sea in the Known Realm. My memory has been foggy ever since I turned 75 years old." I relax a little, "I wish to become a Historian of the King and gather knowledge." I stand, scanning the old hag. "I have told you my story, now what is yours? What is the story of this town and why is it run down?" Example:
"Oh, I just, uh…" you stutter, tensing up. You eye the crone, then back outside the tent. For a moment, the air thickens with anticipation, until…
