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.” "Me? How could ya be expectin' me?" I scoff, looking at her skeptically. "Ya aren't one of those...prophets, are ya?...well I'm just a dwarf tryna make a livin here, where is everyone? This a ghost town?" I ask as I sit down, crossing my legs and stroking my beard.
