Bhorhin Steelbeard

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?)) Example: Bhorhin albeit a man of little words and lonely company, decided to take a unsure seat as his rugged and rough appearance usually would throw off most of the people around town, leaning a battleaxe easily the size of half the mans body against the table he would crack his back loudly and through his beard broke a smokey, work hardened yet through years of honey mead smooth voice as the mountain dwarf responded blankly "i come from a land above the line of the cottoned skies fair lady..my home is the mountains and i wander the fields and cities in effort of knowledge and kinship, albeit my work as a smithy of Dhurinn makes me seem less favorable than my caven and towny siblings, i guess people cannot handle the mead..i grew up a small boy in the hearts of a lonely mountain, my people used to live there for eons until its heart stopped beating and we were forced to wander, there are not many of my specific kind left and yet we manage a existence of our own..i am a blade for hire if you so will, however i enjoy making weapons more than using them." he would go on about his origin, the dwarf had a lot to tell and lots of facts and mead to share, it wasnt everyday he got to speak to someone and so his dwarven kinship was at its finest.