Your character has just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As they look around, their gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. They 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?))
Lunktrin Axeford steps into the dim tent, his boots squelching in the wet earth as he ducks quickly, nearly bumping his shiny, bald head on the low fabric. He pulls off his cloak in a flurry, revealing a broad, rugged face with a thick, braided beard, and his bald scalp glinting nervously in the flickering candlelight. He fidgets with his lute strap for a moment before awkwardly lowering himself onto the cushion, clearly uncomfortable, the weight of the journey pressing on his shoulders.
“Expectin’ me, were ye?” he says, his voice a bit shaky, fingers absently brushing his bald head as if to distract himself. “Uh… name’s Lunktrin Axeford, I’m a bard... well, mostly, anyway. Been singin’ songs any chance I get while mining away. I realized that life just wasn't for me so I've been wanderin’ all over the lands, which is where I got t'ese blue gems I wear, but now I’m after somethin’ special, somethin’ rare—there’s a tree somewhere in these swamps, wood perfect for makin’ a one-of-a-kind instrument. I-I thought I’d try my luck findin’ it... but if ye’ve been expectin’ me, well, you probably know more than I do. So, uh... what is it I’m walkin’ into?”
He shifts uneasily, his fingers tapping on his lute in a nervous rhythm, his wide eyes flicking between the hag and the dim shadows of the tent.
