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.”
"Oh, I just, uh…" She stutters, tensing up. She eyes the crone, then back outside the tent. For a moment, the air thickens with anticipation, until finally, she sits, defeated, cross legged on the dry dirt. With a heavy sigh, she speaks quietly but clearly, "I've spent my life in the burrows where my family lives. We eat and drink together every day, but since I was an even smaller girl than I am now, I used to climb the bridgeroot tree just over the hill, and look out towards the cities and towns. I imagined a world with all kinds of people, and drinking with them instead."
Picking at some moss on the ground, and pocketing some, she keeps her gaze down and away from the hag's prying eyes. After a moment, she continues, "Maybe in a tavern I own. Either way, I've spent my whole life in a burrow up until almost the end of my childhood- I need freedom and I hope to find it here." The hag nods knowingly, and silently waves her out of the tent.
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