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?)) *Sprig grins widely, and takes a seat next to the crone*
"Absolutely, ma'am, I'm Sprig of the Thistlespring family, a good and kind lot. I was raised in the sod and trees of Bramblebury, where I've grown to take up the family business of trading."
*He adjusts his seating, and looks upwards at the old woman*
"But now, I'm my own halfling, and I seek to go further than any of my family has gone, trading with folk all throughout the lands of Aevos, collecting all manner of rare treasures and bobs."
*A sly, confident grin appears on his face*
"I'm going to make my name known among all tradesmen within these fair lands, and bring glory to the name Thistlespring."
