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.”
Hello madam. My name is Rannir. I am from a legendary village of blacksmiths. We are foretold to create the finest of blades for battle. I grew up in the confort of my family. Till the monsters attacked. They flew high from the sky, and low as you can go. They killed my whole village. My father told me to run, and to not look back. I was scared. Afraid of what is going to happen to my family. To this day I do not know what has happened to my family, or my village.
"Oh, I just, uh…" you stutter, tensing up. You eye the crone, then back outside the tent. For a moment, the air thickens with anticipation, until…
I giant monster, that could tear through buildings appeared. The house I was in was hit by the club of this horrendous monster. My only hope is that everyone is alive.m
Rannir is a 4,10 male. He wears blacksmith armor. His eye is colored red with black hair, he weighs around 100-160 Pounds.
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