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?)) "My story is a complicated one, even if I am quite young." You tell the old crone, straight forward, honest and respectful though hesitant to reveal personal information in your speech. The old crone notices this, speaking through her dry lips, "You seem uncertain, what is bothering you, young man?" she asks gently, her voice carrying a certain raspiness that comes with old age. "It's just that.. I had to face a lot during my childhood, not everyday do you meet someone whose parents met their end in a raid, but that was before the dwarves took me in as one of their own." - you answer with a sense of sorrow, as if the people you loved was torn away from you at such a young age. "We all go through hardships, even I, who lives in a tattered tent, but those hardships.. They are the building blocks to your character, they shape your story, that's how we grow as individuals." The old crone responded, her voice though raspy had a sense of wisdom to it, a type of wisdom that is difficult to come by. The old crone then offers you accommodation for the night, seeing the weariness in your eyes from a long day of travelling.
