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?))
"My story, you ask?" Reykr's eyes close and his head turns upward, seemingly pondering over the question, after half a minute passed, his eyes opened and his head returned to its former position. "Well, it's hard to shorten but, I'm the son of a farmer. Farmers, actually, the both of them. They we're nice folks, always helping others, and I guess I'm the same in that regard."
Reykr kept thinking of what to say next, his mind flashing back to a more nostalgic time. "Well, My folks were of the social lot, you see, and our farm never had a shortage of visitors. Some of those visitors, shared with me knowledge, of things outside of our farm, things that I would see if I ventured outside the safety net my parents made for me."
Reykr smiled to himself, "Well, as you can see, I'm here, still venturing. I still want to see more of the world, especially medicine. Something about the craft... speaks to me and my desire to help others. I hope that suffices?"
