borz

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?)) Aslan Lejonpart takes a moment to survey the eerie surroundings, the pungent scent of the swamp hangs in the air, making his senses alert. With a polite nod, he acknowledges the old hag and gracefully takes a seat on the offered cushion. Aslan Lejonpart takes a moment to survey the eerie surroundings, the flickering candles casting shadows on the worn canvas of the tent. The pungent scent of the swamp hangs in the air, making his senses alert. With a polite nod, he acknowledges the old hag and gracefully takes a seat on the offered cushion. "Aslan Lejonpart" he introduces himslf with a warm smile, "I've come to this humble town to meet an old friend. It's been far too long since we last crossed paths, and he spoke of a grand feast to celebrate my arrival. Perhaps you've heard of him, a fellow by the name of . . ."