Locus

You’ve just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As you look around, your gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. You 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?)) Griffin looks surprised. "You...Know of me? I thought I was suposed to continue eastward until I would meet my contact." Griffin stands there and his clothes reek of the swamp and there is a visible disgust on his face. "I certainly hoped I would not have to stay here, but if you are the one, then so be it." Griffin sits down and relaxes. "Well I was messenger for nobles, but my last mission sent my on a dangerous task. Apparently I was carrying a letter of heritage that would jeopardize the rule of a certain noble family you and I know. So now I am here to act as a witness for the rebels and maybe assist you all with the revolution." Griffin removes his cloak and now a breastplate can be seen under it. "I have been itching for some real combat, a pristine breastplate does not fit a fighter"