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?))
"If you're looking for a story to entertain you, I'm afraid mine will disappoint." Vyke stated while lowing himself onto the cushion. He sat with his elbows on his knees, slouched forward. "I lived in a village you've never heard of surrounded by people you'd never care to meet. I spent my days in a tavern drinking for sport, and selling my sword to those who needed protection for money. It was entirely unremarkable."
He paused for a moment, carefully considering his next words. "Let's not stand on ceremony - you've been expecting me; you know why I'm here. I don't want to be unremarkable. I don't want to grow old in the middle of nowhere doing frivolous work. I want purpose." A moment of silence lingered between them before Vyke's gaze turned to the ground. "I've been seeking you for days, hag, and only because my other options have been exhausted. I need your help in making it to the city. I'll never cross this devilish swamp by myself, it's...." He trailed off, embarrassed to admit to his shortcomings.
Using his sleeve, he wiped away the sweat that had accumulated on his brow. The heat and humidity were oppressive, and different than what he was used to. The flickering candlelight betrayed the dour, humorless look in his eyes. "I'm looking to bargain. You help me cross this swamp, and I owe you a favor."
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