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?))
With pause the man holds his hand over his pommel, like its a talisman of protection. "I'd rather I didn't" His voice is strained from the long travels. Strained because he's tired. That's the only reason he throws out a sigh and finds himself sitting on the cushion. With no energy to spare on the gruff - standoffish routine, the blonde stares off in deep thought. With some hesitance in starting the conversation, he eventually spoke. "I'm from down south... Garenbrig. Not that it matters now. Became a mercenary, gone here n' there and now I'm here. Looking for my son." Scrunching his nose with a sniff, there wasn't a passing moment that he considered asking her for aid in that regard. "And that's what I'll get back to doin." Not wanting to gift too many details, he'd rise from the cushion and start backing out the tent. "You... take care." He says unconvincingly before dipping out the tent flaps. On his way out, the middle-aged man would keep an eye looking over his shoulder, wary of what kind of hag he was turning his back to. What he wasn't going to do was make any enemies unnecessarily, but if left alone, he went on his way quietly, back out into the dank town.
