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?))
Taking the gesture as a kind offering, Iker sat in the seat, giving a nod to the hag, considered rude in higher circles, but customary when greeting those who seek a cosier environment. "Thank you, Ma'am." His accent was rather unique, one of the lower rungs of Petra, but refined by plenty of time spent around Canonist clergy and a father who tried his hardest to give his son the chance to connect with those above their station.
Unused to the damp, he rubbed his hands together to crudely wash away the discomfort. "I've travelled a long way to find where I can help the Church, Ma'am, a priest is better trusted than a kind stranger, and much more helpful than a stranger with not much means." Iker offered a dry chuckle to his own humour, as if to invite a calmer environment for the two, knowing religious differences invited argument if not handled in a friendly setting.
Being naturally curious and yet scared to offend, he cocked his head and narrowed his eyes slightly, stammering at the fear of offence, as well as trying to formulate a sentence, clearly having thought about it too hard. "S-Sorry Ma'am, you said you were expecting me? Is it my place to ask how?"
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