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?))
The Uruk stops as she the old woman speaks, her eyes darting around assessing for threats, wary of this lady and her words. But A'rak's worries quickly faded, as she seemed to find comfort in old woman, as she reminded A'rak of her mother. A'rak finally sat on the cushion, stiff and upright.
"My story you say?" A'rak asked rhetorically, conjouring up the story in her head. "I was born without any parents, left to the road by those who conceived me. But I was lucky, an old couple picked me up and raised me on their farm, granting me a life beyond scrapping for survival. And although I am grateful for them, this makes me feel distant from my Ork cultures, an outsider to my own people. And everything was good. Until I made the worst mistake of my life..." A'rak would trail off, her voice growing sad as the anger she felt for herself welled with in, quickly brushed past. Looking up A'rak saw the old woman encourage her to go on, and did. "The bloodlust got the better of me, I killed the neighbor boy after getting into a fight. I left shortly after, unable to even say goodbye in my shame. So now I wander, unable to find work or a home, punished for the sin I commited."
