Emmm__

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?))
 

Nymeria's lips curled into a smirk as she placed a hand firmly on her bow at her side. "My story? Whatcha wanna know that for?" She cocked a brow, her blue eyes darting around the room before settling on the crone in front of her. "Relax little elf. What's an old crone like me gonna do with your story?" Nye scoffed, her muddy boots imprinting on the tent's floor. She couldn't describe what she felt, but it was some sort of warmth. "W-Well I don't know! You could sell my stories to the people that have a fond dislike for my kind." She stated, almost spitting the last two words out between her gritted teeth. In a fit of restlessness she folded her arms, her boots tapping louder on the ground whilst her ears twitched. "Nymeria. You have nothing to fear, you'll be alright - take this." The crone stated, placing a small book on the table in front of her before hobbling outside of the tent. "Hey! Get back here!" Nymeria called "I didn't tell you my name!" She sighed, rubbing her temple before turning to the empty journal on the table. "Well, what harm can this do?"