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, Was travailing after my family was killed and my , um father told me to take his armor. So I ran and now I ended up here. You stutter, tensing up. You eye the crone, then back outside the tent. For a moment, the air thickens with anticipation, until You see your uncle and thankfully gives you shelter and food for a few days and also informs you on what's ahead.
