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?))
Duke remains standing, he looks around the room, taking in all of the atmosphere. The cushion looks like it's swallowed better men than, the candles hum and the ropes hang as if they were vines. The tent smells of rain that had never left. Duke answers, "My story?" his voice dry. "Fine." I step in, the flap sighs shut. The swamp noise dies as if this conversation was meant to be. Duke still remains standing and speaks, "Three days ago, our creek ran backward. Fish came up with milk-glass eyes. The well tastes of copper. My sister thinks I can mend it." I move a bit closer reaching into the inside of my robe. I pull out a coin now visible to her. I lift it up showing it to her, a coin-bone, holed through, a thin crack running to the rim. It pulses like as if it were a moth, as the candles slightly lean toward it. Duke speaks once again, "My mother said bring this to the woman with floating lights," He pauses for a second, before continuing. "I dream of a door under the reeds. A ring where a handle should be. I pull, but it won't open. But something knocks back." The hag studying my words. "You've heard the knocking awake."
"On the road. Last night it tapped my name, twice.." I finally lower myself onto the cushion, it wheezes as I sit. "You expected me," Duke adds. "So spare the riddles. Tell me what this token is. Tell me where the door lies. Tell me what it wants, and if it wants me... I'll go first."
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