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?))
Garrick took slow steps towards the old hag, his build casting a shadow over her form as he eyed her. The cloak on his shoulders rippled and he soon sat opposite her, his arms rested on his knees as they were held to his chest, eyes focusing on her frail features. "No story. I come to work." His eyes soon wandered around the tent, taking in the thin bed laid across the floor and the boxes stuffed into the corners, before finally noticing the floating candles in the air.
He was from Norland and was brought up working since a child. He learnt simple trades to get by; fishing, hunting, gathering and skills that he'd carried throughout life. He hadn't remained in his hometown for long however and soon left to find better work and better living. He'd travelled throughout the lands without a goal or mission, simply trudging through life.
"Your...magic?" He questioned cautiously, a look of unease. "How do you know they won't fall?"
