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.”
((How do you respond?))
He tenses and blinks a few times at the woman as his mind catches up with her words, his eyes almost glint purple in the candle light. He tuts at the old woman, his body relaxes and his face shifts to something close to annoyance, but he plops down onto the cushion anyway with a murmured, "If I got a coin every time an old hag somehow knew I'd arrive in their middle of nowhere town-" he sighs and looks her in the eye. His tone borders on bored, but his expression is tight and his fingers pick at the frayed fabric of his shirt, "My name is Keitaro. I've been looking for my father, although I wouldn't be surprised if you knew that already. His name is Jakob Calavénon... think you could point me in the right direction?" His eyebrows furrow as he waits for the hags reply, his hands twitching. A movement through one of the holes in the tent catches his eye. His shoulders droop and his hands still at the sight of a tall heron just outside, seemingly waiting for him. He turns back to her, his expression more determined then before.
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