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?))
"Ah. You Maeda?" Alden pauses, taking in the tent. His eyes glance over the various bottles and dried ingredients. "I'm Alden, but I... guess you knew that," he says, stepping fully into the tent and shrugging off his outer cloak. Beneath, his outfit is covered in various pouches, the distinct smell of herbs coming from his clothes and mixing with the aromas in the tent.
He stands before the offered seat, resting his hands on its back. "I'd wager, you know most of my tale. It's not long, and I'm hoping Da at least passed on my request for teaching before he croaked." His eyes trail over the various herbs and elixirs dotting the tent’s hanging shelves; recognition flickers at some, while confusion or ignorance blossoms at others.
"I'm good with herbs. Gonna wander the land healing what I may. But I need to learn more if I'm to be more than the village wound binder. Was Da right? Can you teach me?"
