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.”
((How do you respond?))
She tells her head and stutters in confusion. "O-oh I'm sorry do I know you?..... I don't think we've met before..." She cautiously approaches the old hag with a friendly greeting smile before sitting down in front of her, greeting her politely. "I was born to a family of doctors, but the art never truly called to me. I mainly kept to myself in the kitchen at night making different types of pastries and delights crafting and weaving comfort into every bite. I always believed food held the kind of magic of that brings warmth and joy. My parents thought it a foolish fancy, something I would outgrow like a child's dream. But when I did not, they arranged a courtship with some noble in hopes that I would finally set my "childish" passions aside. On the night I was to be betrothed, I left with nothing more then just a satchel over my shoulder and the open road ahead. I wandered for from village to village throughout the decades, offering my craft in exchange for stories and learning different types of baking confections and delicacies. Yet, for all my travels, I have not found a place to call my own. Not yet. Perhaps, in time, the winds will guide me where I am meant to be."
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