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.”
I look solemnly at the old hag as I hesitantly sit down on the worn cushion in front of me "my story?" i said with a slight uncertainty in my voice " right my story.. well I'm just a regular goblin who grew up in a regular family, you know parents; siblings. we spent most of my childhood scavenging and fighting for survival so i dedicated my live to learning and growing things from the land around me despite my size and strength. i choose to become a humble farmer breaking my races stereotype of greed and thievery. i want a better life.
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