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))
Borin sits over from the old hag, grabs a ale and begins his lifestory up until now, "Borin Dustcloak is my name" he says proudly and takes a big sip of his ale "i was born beneath the granite vaults of Urgaun, and raised in the art of structural mastery, and shaped by a calling as natural as the swing of my hammer" he takes one gulp again from his ale making sure its empty. "i am Known for quiet intensity and unmatched skill in tunnel-craft, i famously rebuilt a collapsed hall by age 30" he says while laughing proudly "an achievement i still do recall. Now im at an age of 35, and i sought after for designs that fuse rugged function with dwarven artistry, i carry the weight of my clan's legacy and wielding a chisel said to be carved from the first anvil of my bloodline." face fully red while hiccupping he says "i now roam in search of the perfect place to carve and mold the next chapter of my story—and perhaps meet fellow builders or dwarves who share my passion." Borin fully drunk looks up at the old hag who seems mad because he drank the ale,
"Oh, I just, uh…" you stutter, tensing up. You eye the crone, then back outside the tent. For a moment, the air thickens with anticipation, until… Borin runs for his life while stumbling.
