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?))
Grimut's gaze scatters about the room frantically as he is met with the unfamiliar sights of magic and mysticism, before finally landing on the hag as she speaks. His hands curl up instinctively in front of him in fear, and he begins his timid approach the indicated cushion- "Mam, I- assure you, you must have me mistaken. I've not seen you before...", he mumbles through his dense beard- gaze now averted, instead meeting the floor beneath him, and eyeing over the aged pillow by his feet. Grimut begins to take one knee against it, then the other, before sitting back on his heels, palms down against his thighs.
"I am called Grimut, Mam. Grimut Bitterborne."
He palms over the emblem in his pocket, wincing in a quickened breath through his teeth, and releasing slowly through his large. Grimut pauses for a beat, eyes shut to focus his thoughts.
"I'm told... you might know of my mother. Marian Bitterborne"
