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?))
Kvede shuffles forward, looking around cautiously before he settles onto the cushion.
He clears his throat, his voice gruff, but steady. "Name's Kvede. From the mountains, far from here. I come seeking passage to Vortice… a journey me my brother been planning for a while now. They say it's no easy place to reach, but I’ve got my reasons," he says, glancing at the hag.
Kvede shifts uncomfortably on the cushion, scratching his beard. "Aye, so ye were expectin' me, eh? Well, that’s a bit o' a tickle under me beard, truth be told." He chuckles gruffly, then adds, "Not every day a dwarf like meself gets called out, especially in a mudhole like this."
