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?))
Virrik tenses up and replies tersely: "Oh! That's a fine way to greet a perfect stranger! I don't suppose you have a spying glass tucked away in a corner of this hovel?" Virrik pauses a moment before giving a hearty chuckle and loosening up. With a flourish and a sharp exhale he drops his rucksack next to the cushion before unceremoniously planting himself down.
"I'm sorry to disappoint, but there isn't much to my story," Virrik starts before pausing another moment. "I'm a missionary, or was. Tried to bring the Creator's word to backwaters like this..." Virrik gestures towards the dingy town before letting out another deep belly laugh. "Not in any official capacity, of course, but I felt a calling," he adds. "I complain too much. It's not so bad here, at least not compared to other locales..." As he says this he fingers a small scar on his chin. "Now! I've had quite a long journey so if there isn't anything you would like to add, where around here can a man get a drink? Ha ha!"
