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.”
I think for a second, before speaking, "Well I come from a fairly big family of Goblins, I remember, that I was the most active one of my siblings. You would always find me out in the forest, wondering about. I stared wondering the world when I turned 18, which wasn't that long ago."
