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?))
Example:
"Thank you for waiting so long, the journey took some unexpected turns," Wynather replies, sitting on the cushion and taking a quick scan of the room. It's filled with old knick-knacks, presumably things made, and things found in the crone's life, the crone sets a cup of tea before her with a knowing chuckle.
"I'm sure it did, finding this town can be tricky if you come with the wrong motives," she says, and Wynather takes the cup with a quiet 'thank you'.
The crone watches her a moment, and heat flushes her cheeks as she prepares for what she has to reveal to gain the crone's help.
"I've been on the run from an orphanage of sorts for a few years, and should they find me they'd ask me for some... compensation for stolen goods," she starts slowly, the crone waiting with not a change of her expression.
"I want to find the people who left me there, and if they're dead, their parents, or whoever else I could be related to," she says, almost desperately with nose stinging. "Surely living with them would be better than what I came from," she says, her shoulders slumping and head bowed as she stares at the swirling tea in her cup.
"You're sure they'd want you lass?" the old crone asks, Wynather looks to her and swallows thickly.
"No, but it's better to find out than never knowing," she replies, and the old crone tilts her head slightly.
"How far are you willing to go for this?" she asks, and Wynather sets the cup down.
"As far as I have to, I'm a fast learner, I know how to hunt my own food and I'm a devoted Orthodox Creatorist I won't fall behind-"
"This isn't an interrogation," the old crone interrupts gently, Wynather slumping again and picking at the cuticles around her nails.
"Will you help me? Or at least, point me to the next person I could see?" Wynather asks tentatively, and the old crone leans forward with a gleam in her eye.
"Wynather dear, there's nothing I cannot do."
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