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?)) ``Hmm, sure..`` He looks around with a sore expression, and wariness in eyes. He stomps forward, before planting down and crossing his legs. ``I am Gazel Crimson, and I am here on a quest for a specific ore.``
