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?)) *Hesitantly Harlow down, her hands never leaving her side and her eyes never leaving the old woman. She hated making small talk with people, especially on days when she knew she was on a time constraint. On days when she had places to be and things to get done before the sunset in the evening. Still, Harlow's father had taught her to never disrespect her elders.*
"Morning..."*Harlow cleared her throat. She hadn't spoken in a while* "I'm Harlow Citrus. I'm from a village just North of here, as you may know. I uh...I work for my Father in his shop. I have since I was young. I've done not much else with my life. I don't crave to do much else. Uh..." *She nervously rubbed her knees, looking around the room. She had nothing more to say. She sucked at describing herself and her life.* "I want to take over his business when he dies so....I need to focus."
*Harlow awkwardly sighed. She needed more comfortable territory.*"I hear you've been looking for new furniture for this...home...you have here. We predominantly focus on blacksmithing work, but we definitely can handle your furniture needs. Would you like to talk price?"
