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?))
Erik pauses for a moment, glancing at the old crone with slight confusion. "I've simply just stumbled upon this place... I've been traveling for quite some time now. You said you've been expecting...me? For what reason?", he asks with a tinge of curiousity, slowly inching towards the cushion. Erik waits for a response from the woman, but he's given nothing. He shrugs and with an almost silent huff, slumps down into the cushion. "My story, huh?". He scratches his beard in thought, "Not much of a story, to tell you the truth, lady. I'm of a nomadic people, constantly wandering. I've lived from makeshift camp to makeshift camp, never truly having something to call *home*". He pauses, slouching back against the side of the tent as he rambles. "I lived with my parents until I no longer needed to. They were travelers as well," he said, glancing up at the old woman. "I haven't seen them in quite some time. I left home...15...no, 20 years ago? It's been a long time. I hope they're doing alright". Those last few words dragged on for a while, leaving a gross taste in Erik's mouth. He sat there, a bit spaced out for a moment, before clearing his throat and looking back at the hag. "So, what about you? How exactly have you been *expecting me?*".
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