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?))
Atulg Bur'zolm straightened his massive frame, the dim candlelight casting shadows across his green skin and muscular build. His deep voice rumbled as he spoke, "I am Atulg Bur'zolm, a humble merchant of the wandering roads." He paused, his sharp eyes scanning the old hag's weathered face.
"My journey has brought me far, through forests and mountains, to this murky place," he continued, adjusting the strap of his heavy pack. "I was born and raised in Krugmar, the heart of orcish civilization. Growing up in Krugmar, I was surrounded by the hustle and bustle of trade, which shaped me into the merchant I am today."
He took another step closer, the ground creaking under his weight. "My parents were both esteemed traders, teaching me the intricacies of commerce and the value of every deal. They instilled in me the importance of resilience and adaptability in the face of challenges. I trade in goods rare and valuable, from enchanted trinkets to exotic spices. Perhaps you have something of interest, or perhaps you seek what I can provide."
"But first," Atulg's voice lowered, his gaze intense, "tell me, how did you know I was coming? What is it you wish to know of me?
