Your character has just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As they look around, their gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. They 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?))
Volscens steped into the dimly lit tent, his elven senses sharp despite the damp musk of the swamp town pressing in. his sharp emerald eyes meet the old hag’s gaze, and he hesitates.
he Lowers onto the cushion, he rest a hand on the hilt of my dagger, more out of habit than distrust. “That depends on what part of my story you want, hag,” he murmur, Volscens voice steady. “The one they whisper in dark corners? Or the one I tell myself when I still believe in redemption?”
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