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?))
"Senora, my story? You see..," In a thick Spanish Accent, as he walks with his cane in hand toward the sound of her voice, he stops. "Back in the viejos tiempos in a land far from this one I was a famed Matador, Bullfighting or however you call it. Almost two decades ago" His grey eyes stare above her head as he stands calmly and comfortably "And almost two decades ago a bull ran straight toward me and hit me in my ojos." He unscrews the ornament on his cane and takes out a small vile filled with a yellow substance "Snake Oil. It helped me with the pain, you might need a vile or two,
interested in buying some?" With a welcoming smile across his face.
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