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?))
The drow that had slipped into the Hag’s tent shifted her attention from the crack in the tent opening to the woman as she beckoned her. “Damn, and ‘ere I thought I was keeping’ low-“ Guin hissed, amusement at the hag’s words glinting behind her restless hazel eyes as she took a step towards the hag. With a small, resigned sigh the Drow squats atop the cushion offered to her. “Afraid I ain’t here to chat luv, but…ngh…since I got some time before the guard tire ‘o chasin after me, I’ll humor ya.” Guin concedes, perching her chin atop the knuckles of left hand as the other taps absently on her knee. “My story’s got a lot ‘o parts I been paid to never tell, and I don’t break my contracts, Luv. What I can tell ya is since I could remember I’ve been working, whatever work that may be. You need information? Done. Need somethin’ wrapped up? I’ll make sure any witnesses forget or become forgotten. I learned a zkabra like me can get in all kinds ‘o places and get to all kinds ‘o people, so long as the cards are played right.” Guin concludes, finally sitting fully on the cushion as a husky, almost-relieved chuckle leaves her lips like the smoke after a long draw from a weary tradesman’s pipe after a day of work that went on far too long. “But that’s all I’ve got for ya, luv. I’ll admit it ain’t often I get to tell the truth, feel’s nice. But it’s bad for business. Awful hard to make an honest livin’, and I’m just so bloody good at the latter.”
