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?))
I shift on my feet subtly, glancing to the cushion. Rather than sitting, I choose to stand. "Oh, ah," I click my tongue on the roof of my mouth, "Lookin' for work, see." With steady steps I position myself closer to the tent's exit than the hag, rather ungraciously knocking a candle aside in my haste. "Had a farm out near the boarder with Petra but with diminishing crop returns and the rising boarder tensions and what-not..." I tilt my head slightly and moisten my drying lips. "Well, I'm sure you can put two and two together. I ain't thinkin' such a situation looks good is all."
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