Klobars

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.” "Forgive my intrusion into your humble abode," the dark elf begins, his voice steady despite the unnerving atmosphere as he slowly sits down on the cushion. "I come seeking information, guidance perhaps, on a matter that requires discretion and expertise such as yours." The elf looks around to make sure the conversation is private and then turns back to the hag. "My name is Ævin Vin'lenn, some people know me as the 'Red Devil'" Ævin makes himself comfortable in the cushion, as he takes out one of his daggers and begins to toss it into the air and then catching it again. "I'm a private bounty hunter, tasked with locating a man named Hefick Ironbelly. He's a middle-aged dwarf, bald with a long red beard, and sports a dragon tattoo on his arm. Word has it he's a local tax collector. Any chance you've crossed paths with him?" Ævin leans in, catching the dagger in his right hand, and looks right into the hags eyes, waiting for an answer.