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?))
Rowan looks back at the hag and meets her gaze. "Well, I was not expecting to be expected, but it is a welcome sight. I suppose my story is not one to be so excited for, I have spent my life in the woods living on the outskirts of a small village in the foothills. My father was a woodsman and my mother cared for the children at home, sometimes manning the small stall we had to sell the wood my father gathered. When I was old enough to carry a saw I would follow my father to the woods while he pulled the log sled and together we would work all through the warmer months. My father was kind, even if he did not look it all the time, but he was." Rowan emits a shallow sigh, "But I could not stay a child forever, following in my father's footsteps. So when I was 16 my father arranged an apprenticeship for me with the local blacksmith, it was good hard work and I made a good wage. On slower days I still had time to help out father but eventually my younger brother took that job over. After a several long years working the blacksmith told me that he had nothing more to teach me and if I was going to learn more it needed to be in the world, not his shop. So on my 26th birthday I set off, I used my savings from my apprenticeship to help with my travels and now I just wait to see what I can learn." Rowan looks at the Hag, "Tell me what sort of adventure can a fellow find out here then?"
