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?)) Example: (delete this) Gruff and battle-worn, the orc named Izuk leaned on his axe, eyes meeting those of the woman sitting across from him. "Me Izuk, warrior of tribe," he grunted, his voice a deep rumble. Once his gaze hit the woman he seemed to gain a sense of comfortability. Izuk scratched his chin, a rare hint of vulnerability in his gaze. "I seek redemption for me kin, lost in a battle that should have been avoided. Want to forge a new path, find a way to peace in a world that knows only strife." Ever since the incident that happend well long enough for me to lose sight of what I was chasing. My war hardened skin glistening I think what lead me to this, why? That same thought races through my head as I existentially try to remember who it was I was after. I am nothing but a lost soul wandering without a family, but with a battle axe.
