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?))
Torthorn gives the lady a smile and says "well then if you say so, my story starts in a small town pretty far from here and what happened there, well i lived a normal life like training with a bow to one day become the best marksman ever which is why i decided to leave so i can train in new lands to become better with the bow." Torthorn takes a breath "as i was saying,i left not too long ago and that brings us to here, that is my story and thank you for listening to it"
