Wakai B.

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.” The short man roots within his shabby waistcoat for a moment before revealing a knotted wooden pipe. With frightening speed a small metal box appears in his other hand. Filling his pipe with some strange stinking leaf he ignites it with a flick of his grubby fingers, and grunts happily, blowing smoke into the face of the old crone. "Wakai B. would be my name fair maiden, and I come seeking riches, Wenches and fine booze aplenty. I hail from the great city Haelun'or. Myself the unfortunate product of a union between the finest high elf beauty you ever done seen, and the drunkest Halfling you ever did smell." Chuckling at his own wit he coughs up a gob of phlegm and takes another drag from his pipe. "Unwelcome among my own kin, I set off on a grand journey to find the secrets of this world, and sell them to the highest bidder." Reaching into a grubby sack, he shows the old crone a large collection of useless junk with a flourish. "treasures great and small! Tinctures to cure any disease, ancient artifacts of unspeakable power. I have found and repossessed them all on my great voyage. But for the right coin, they can be yours." Throwing his sack over his shoulder, the small man leaps onto his feet. "I must not tally long fine lass, before long this town will sing praises of the great Wakai B. Botulism. But now i must adjourn. I can smell the stench of disposable coin over yonder. As the sun shall rise, it is my solemn duty to liberate wealth from the cramped coffers of the well-heeled, and to gracefully grant it refuge within my own pocket." "Tally ho young lady. Should we meet again, bring your purse." And with a devious cackle and a trail of putrid smoke the strange little man vanishes into the night.

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.” The short man roots within his shabby waistcoat for a moment before revealing a knotted wooden pipe. With frightening speed a small metal box appears in his other hand. Filling his pipe with some strange stinking leaf he ignites it with a flick of his grubby fingers, and grunts happily, blowing smoke into the face of the old crone. "Wakai B. would be my name fair maiden, and I come seeking riches, Wenches and fine booze aplenty. I hail from the great city Haelun'or. Myself the unfortunate product of a union between the finest high elf beauty you ever done seen, and the drunkest Halfling you ever did smell." Chuckling at his own wit he coughs up a gob of phlegm and takes another drag from his pipe. "Unwelcome among my own kin, I set off on a grand journey to find the secrets of this world, and sell them to the highest bidder." Reaching into a grubby sack, he shows the old crone a large collection of useless junk with a flourish. "treasures great and small! Tinctures to cure any disease, ancient artifacts of unspeakable power. I have found and repossessed them all on my great voyage. But for the right coin, they can be yours." Throwing his sack over his shoulder, the small man leaps onto his feet. "I must not tally long fine lass, before long this town will sing praises of the great Wakai B. Botulism. But now i must adjourn. I can smell the stench of disposable coin over yonder. As the sun shall rise, it is my solemn duty to liberate wealth from the cramped coffers of the well-heeled, and to gracefully grant it refuge within my own pocket." "Tally ho young lady. Should we meet again, bring your purse." And with a devious cackle and a trail of putrid smoke the strange little man vanishes into the night.