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?))
Crath removes his red cap and settles onto the cushion with a grunt, eyeing the old woman warily.
"You've been expecting me?" he asks, shifting uncomfortably. "That's more than I can say for myself. Don't even know how I ended up in this swamp."
He runs a calloused hand through his wild hair. "Name's Crath. I'm a miner - or was, anyway. My crew died in a cave-in back home. I've been wandering since then, looking for... I don't know what."
His amber eyes meet hers directly. "But you seem to know something I don't. So what do you want with me?"
The dwarf glances around the tent again, noting the floating candles with unease. "And how exactly do you keep those flames hanging in the air like that? Magic's left for a fair few in dwarvin society."
He leans forward slightly, curiosity overcoming his wariness. "You mentioned I was expected. Expected for what, exactly?"
Backstory:
Crath was a mine foreman whose crew died in a cave-in accident. Wracked with guilt as the sole survivor, he left his mountain home and has been wandering aimlessly, seeking purpose while carrying the weight of his loss.
"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…
