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?)) Thrain Ironfoot scowled at the old swamp hag, his brows furrowed in a mixture of skepticism and determination. "Aye, I'm here 'cause I search the fabled dark dwarves in the cavernous depths, toiling away in shadows, forging weapons of arcane might. I seek to join the dark iron dwarves, to walk the path of power and embrace the shadows that dance within the molten metal."
"I honed my craft with every strike of the hammer making basic armor and weapons. Yet, the allure of something greater always embraced my mind, I encountered a lone dark iron dwarf passing by my town, forging weapons with an artistry unmatched. Their arcane creations spoke to the latent power within me, and the desire for forbidden knowledge took root."
"So, I descended into the depths, seeking the dark iron dwarves. The swamp is said to harbor ancient secrets, and I've heard rumors that you, old hag, possess knowledge of the shadows and fate. I've come seeking guidance, seeking approval to join the dark iron dwarves, to embrace the darkness and wield its power." The dwarf's eyes glinted with a determination fueled by the idea of perfecting his craft as he awaited the hag's response.
