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?)) Krilvok turns and looks up at the hag and gives a warming smile, "my story is simple but it's humble", he then walks to the cushion and sits down as the hag continues to stare at him. "I hail from the mountains east of here to simply travel across these lands to explore what is out there and to offer my trade to those who would be willing to pay for it, but the coin doesn't matter much to me as my craft does. Ever since I was a child my mother told me stories about the land beyond our village. Growing up in my village was peaceful and I helped around the forge most of my childhood. My father who was the blacksmith of our village taught me his craft and I will never forget the first time I forged my own knife. It may have not been the best, but it was the joy of making it that I became a blacksmith." Krilvok pauses for a bit, "after all we dwarves are known for blacksmithing and it brings me joy when others ask me to forge them something and traveling is a way to spread that joy. Since I told you my story may I know yours?"
