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?))
A look of curiosity and confusion appears on Wynreth's face. Unsure of whether to trust the woman, they hesitantly begin to speak. "I am Wynreth Eilcan of Nevaehlen; although I take it I don't need to introduce myself. I come seeking shelter for the night. My travels often take me to towns such as this one, though I rarely stay long. Far too much to see to linger in one place." They pause, taking in their surroundings.
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