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've been on the run for as long as I can remember." he says, as he takes a seat in the cushion, removing a cigarette, and igniting it with a match. "Back in my hometown, I was the lead vampire hunter. I never got along with the rest of the hunters, but, I made do." he let out, peering out of a nearby window, as if paranoid. "Until, they fought back, and I had to flee. That's what led me here." he shook his head, slowly, taking a drag of his cigarette. "Finally, I thought I might just run, as far as I could." he sighed, deflating into the cushion. "Maybe I'm finally safe. . ." he huffed, finishing.
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