Danicorn

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.” Seymour takes a seat across from her, bringing his legs in to sit cross-legged. He laughs heartily while slipping out of his ragged boots. "You want my whole story eh? Not much to tell I'm afraid. Traveling with my Lady, seeking my destiny in lands I shouldn't be in. I aim to be her knight, despite what my folks back home think of that. I'm the youngest of 8 siblings and cousins I can't count on two hands. My uncle Pimgin said I got my head in the clouds and aught to get back to the fields like the rest my people, who knows maybe he's right. But I'll follow her anywhere, so long as my shield arm works." The halfling rubs at the arm his buckler was holding, wincing as though there injuries beneath the cloth. "I don't mean to sound like I'm vying for attention, Ma and Pa kept me on the outs of the family business my whole life. Since walking out those doors I've never been happier. I even-" He's quickly caught off by the horrid sound of hunger pangs from his stomach. He smiles sheepishly to the old crone. "Heh uh.. got anything to eat?'