DemonicMako

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?))

Example:

Viera pull her hand down from the fabric of the tattered tent, heeding the old hag's voice, shuffling over to take a seat on the worn cushion. "My story...? I suppose it is a tale to tell." Her voice hesitant, fumbling with the fabric of the sleeve of her shirt, taking a glace to the elderly lady. "I was forced from my home. Soldiers had barged into my house, demanding gold for a tax. A tax for being a dark elf.."

Her sweet voice growled, as anger formed in the pit of her stomach. Though the anger had swiftly passed, being replaced by sadness, perhaps there was a reason for it. "Perhaps it was bound to happen. I am simply someone who had be pushed and punished before I even understood such words." My voice wavered, filling with mixed emotions, unsure on where to go from there. "Surely you've heard such stories before... Perhaps this was fate and that is why I am here telling you my tale."