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.”
Eitham takes a seat, his head swaying from left to right as he cautiously observes the dingy yet homey tent. His eyes meet with the hags, his voice utterly concerned. "You... Do you know where I am?" He pauses, continuing after stammering for a second. "I... I've never been so lost before. The woods are a home, a place so familiar that I could map it all out with my eyes closed, but here..." He stops, looking around once again. "This isn't just a normal town, is it." Eitham tenses up, leaving no time for stories—only time to find a way back home.
He waits... The tense air feels almost suffocating, Eitham constantly wiping away the sweat from his forehead as the hot murky air nearly baked him alive. The hag had yet to reply to his questions and Eitham wasn't going to sit here for much longer.
"I don't have much to tell," He sighed, standing up from his seat. "I live with dirt we walk on, the moss that ages with the trees. My family and our people, my people, we live to be among the things we value the most..." Eitham walks his way over to the edge of tent. Lifting up the slit as he set one foot out, "That's what I was taught, and how I choose to live."
He looked back for a second, "That's all there is to know about me, all that you need to know at least." With hurry, Eitham scurried away back to woods in which he knew he belonged.
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