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?))
Sarven narrowed his eyes, perturbed. He didn't tell anyone where he was heading, for there was no one to tell. He had long ago abandoned the glade he had once called home, now no more than a burnt husk of civilization. Those terrible flames had consumed his kin and friends, leaving no reason to stay. He had traveled often, acquiring more skills and knowledge with every town and village. Some formed from simply surviving; tracking, hunting, and foraging were neccessary. Other times, one would bring him in under an aprenticeship, guiding him in a trade before he disappeared. If all else failed, he'd resort to theft. Though, few knew his name and none knew where he would pop up. Over the years, he'd become what some may consider a Ranger: a wandering, quiet soul, adept with bow and sword, and knowledgable of the woods.
However, it had been a long, dangerous trip. The weather had been drowsy for days, remaining a cold, wet drizzle. Not only that, but many foes have risen, some from dark, unnatural origins. The tent, while ragged and tattered, was warm and offered a respite from the unending rain. He stepped forward, pulling his hood off. "Before I begin, may I ask something?" he inquired, settling down. "How do you know of me?"
