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 name is Volin, I come from the mountains far away! "We lived there with other dwarves for centuries." he paused for a moment and took a deep breath.
''There is no such place anymore... Orcs and many others have attacked the place where our ancestors lived! Traces of the past were visible in his eyes. ''It wasn't enough to defeat the army! While most of us were out there fighting... '''Only a few dwarves survived this nightmare. I am one of them too. My name is Volin.”
