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?))
"ah, hello." I'd give the woman a warm smile, lowering myself to my knees and sitting on the cushion. "My story?" I'd scoff a bit, "My story is of little importance, I'm just a leaf blowing in the wind, going wherever it takes me." I would hum a bit as I gazed back at the woman "But what about you? You said you've been expecting me. How is that possible?" I would look at the woman with intrigue, gently poking at the floating candles curiously.
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