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.”
Bazgob upon noticing the hag would reflexively snarl at the sudden sight of a stranger, but his hostile demeanor faded with the hags words. He had journeyed this far to meet with an oracle of good repute. He would assume this was the one. Considering the human didn't immediately seek for him to leave. "I am Bazgob of Tribe Urlatz. My people have been slain, and I seek to take from the slayers 12 oxen's weight of their skulls and marrow. I have journeyed far to have my fates read witch, yet I will not stupor to what fates you claim await me. I wish for insight, so that I may forge my own destiny." The orc snorted, glaring down at the hag as he would await an answer.
