Nightingale

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?)) Ambrose's eyes darted cautiously to the back of the tent, tracing between the hag and the candles, before again settling on the hag. With a gentle affirmative nod, he lowered himself gracefully onto thr cushion, then cleared his throat with a few rasping coughs. "My story?" His eyes rested inquisitively on the hag, his head tilted slightly sideways. "Alas, there's not much to tell I'm afraid m'lady." He shrugged, pausing a moment before continuing. "I left home young to serve as the apprentice of a... tinkerer?" He seemed to mull over memories for a while before the hag regained his attention. "T'was a while back y'see. I'elped the fellow in all manner of crafts, though I must admit my contributions were rather more menial." He frowned a little with a long sigh. "Paperwork, carrying things around, and general assistance... you get the idea." He seemed to wave his hand dismissively, as though perhaps slightly ashamed. "Anhyow, we parted ways. I've drifted between employers since then, but fortune has yet to lend me an opportunity to settle down." He shrugged again, a soft smile creeping across his face. "Tis life I s'pose. Perhaps I'll have better luck here."