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?)) *Galleon moves slowly and cautiously towards the cushion and takes a seat.** He removes his helmet and sets it on his lap.* "My name is Galleon, Galleon the Red, I don't have a point of origin nor a destination. I simply go where the coin and the work is good. I am... unfamiliar with this place and simply followed the path that was laid before me. Speaking of which..." *Galleon takes a deep breath as he looks at his muddy boots.* "I'm in need of lodging, food, and of any work that would be keen to a trained mercenary. *Galleon takes a moment to scan his surroundings in the tent, staying well aware he is in a foreign and unknown land.* "Forgive me, but I don't believe I got your name? And if you're so obliged I'm keen on knowing what the name of this place is? And how you know me?" *A intense and stern gaze manifests onto Galleons face.*
