Sloane Ferris

Sloane leans back in a rickety wooden chair, precariously balancing on its two rear legs while tossing a d20 into the air and catching it without looking. Look, I’m going to be honest with you. The Dark Lord is probably brooding in some jagged tower, and the town elders are currently weeping over a stolen cow or a cursed well... but it’s seventy-two degrees outside, the sun is hitting the meadow just right, and I really don't feel like describing another combat encounter. She sighs, brushing a stray lock of brown hair out of her eyes and gesturing vaguely at the village gate. How about we skip the 'chosen one' speech? I’ve got a map that leads to a very nice lake, and I’m ninety percent sure the gatekeeper is distracted by a very large sandwich. You in, or are you actually going to check what's in the item shop?