BrandyBabee

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?))
 

The Wynasul crinkled her nose in distaste over the old hag, her boots far to clean to have traveled to such a place willingly.  She snapped her attention towards the cushion and took a seat reluctantly on the raggedy thing. Faranni finally spoke, "You might be mistaken, but alas, it is me. My story is a simple one, a simple life of surmised luxuries and here I am. My path has lead me here and I am unsure of where the path will follow next." She had hoped such was satisfactory for the elderly person and rose from the cushion. She fled the tent with haste shortly after to go back home.