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.”
Lethryn Ecnalor paused for a moment, then stepped further into the tent and lowered himself onto the cushion.
“Lethryn Ecnalor,” he said. “But my name isn’t important. I’m a blacksmith by trade. Been one most of my life. Worked honest steel, dealt with honest folk… and some not so honest.”
He was sure she’d noticed the scar. A customer once decided he didn’t like the price and thought violence would change it. It hadn’t ended well for either of them. Lethryn looked at her. “Since then, towns have had a habit of growing uncomfortable around me. I move on before trouble follows.”
His gaze drifted around the tent.
“So here I am. Swamp town, bad smell, and a woman who says she’s been expecting me. That’s my story. Now I’m curious why you wanted to hear it.”
