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?))
Adalyn hesitates at the threshold, eyes narrowing at the floating candlelight. The air is thick, humid, and smells faintly of something sweet gone rancid. She studies the old hag for a long heartbeat before stepping forward, her boots squelching against the damp rugs.
“My story?” Her voice is quiet, edged with suspicion. “I’m not sure it’s one worth telling. I was a smith’s daughter once, in a village that no longer exists. My mother was an elf… she died when I was young. My father—” she stops, her jaw tightening. “He made me hide that part of myself. Made me believe it was a curse. I left home after the raiders came. Kept moving, never stayed long enough for anyone to ask questions.”
Her gaze drifts to the flicker of the nearest candle. “And then… the mist came. I remember walking a road I’d traveled a dozen times before, and then nothing. When I woke, I was here. This land is not mine, but I’ve nowhere else to go.”
She tilts her head, eyes sharpening on the hag. “You say you’ve been expecting me. Why?”
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