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.”
"My story?" The halfling queried, intrigued. Fawn meets the hags eyes from across the table. "What's it to you? Why my story of all the people travelling through these woods? Why don't you tell me about yourself instead..." Fawn's eyes dart down again as she waits eagerly for your response, but after less than a moment the impatient halfling starts to speak again. "If you really want to know, I suppose I could tell you, it all started when I was a wee girl, I was obsessed with new people and places, so I started travelling, and travelling and travelling. But then I lost my map and now I'm here, with no way to go back home." Teary-eyed, Fawn begins to stutter. "I think it may be time for me to try and find a new home."
