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?))
Tjalfe stepped into the tent, curious as to what the crone wanted from him, he took a quick look outside, unable to see his companions. "Whatever she wants, this will be a good place to stay for the night, until I find my companions" he thought, entering and taking a glance around. "Well, if it's my story ya want ta hear, you will have to sit down!" He says, with a smile on his face, proud and jolly, he figures an old lady never could harm him, as he takes a seat, thinking he has met a kind old lady.
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