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?))
In a graceful yet stern manner, Madarias slowly turns his head towards the figure across the tent analysing her and his surroundings. "I'm afraid I don't have time for your whine and woes, this matter I must attend to will be swift and completed without a trace. If you forget my face and this encounter, you will be spared. What do you say? Old one." Madarias speaks in a monotone devoid of any form of emotion or sympathy. As silence fills the clothed dome, Madarias discretely shifts his left hand to the right of his waist where the Scabbard of his great sabre "Justice" lie dormant, ready to penetrate any foe who dared to challenge its authority.
