cSnowii

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?))
 

Thalen's gray-green eyes scanned the marshy town, taking in the way the mist clung to the decaying wood and the sagging shacks. The pungent smell of damp moss and decay made his jaw tense a little. His satchel brushed the frayed canvas as he ducked carefully into the ragged tent.

The room feels both ethereal and menacing due to the uneven shadows cast by the floating candles. Thalen's eyes narrowed as the elderly hag lifted her head and spoke, automatically examining her features for warning indications. "Oh, that's you. I have been anticipating your arrival. "Sit," she said sadly.

With his hands resting on his satchel and his back straight, Thalen carefully lowered himself onto the cushion. "You have expectations, then," he said in a neutral but suspicious tone. He paused to see how she would respond before continuing. "I didn't arrive lightly. I'm looking for information. However, the wrong kind of knowledge can be fatal. I hope you are aware of this.

He paused, intently examining her face as though he were reading an old book. "I have travelled great distances, followed hints that others disregarded, and sought secrets that few are willing to reveal." So tell me, why was I expected? And what truths are preserved here that demand my presence?"
Even as he spoke, Thalen's hands moved slightly in the direction of his satchel, not out of aggression but rather to keep his tools of the trade—journals, quills, and parchment—close at hand, a real solace in this dark, unknowable place.