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?))
Aapo cautiously steps into the cabin, wrinkling her nose at the musky smell. She takes a seat, carefully positioning herself on the cushion to make sure she fit, before studying the womans face, put off at the thought of being recognized.
"I am a fishmonger. Only looking to sell fish, and survive." She spoke bluntly, with little to no expression in her voice or face. "To return to my loved ones with something to show. Food. Goods. Money." There was a long pause between her words. She didn't take kindly to anyone who knew too much about her, or her loved ones back home. She traveled far from a village covered in snow, a village where she'd grown to become a protector of. While fairly loved by her people, she had grown to be rather poorly socialized to people outside of this village. It didn't help the people of this village she held dear were currently being ravaged by a sickness she couldn't understand, sent off to find a cure, or even the cause. Overly protective and stubborn, worried about anyone coming into contact with a people already so vulnerable, she couldn't help but furrow her brow in a fit of inner frustration. "How do you know me?" There was a hint contempt in her voice. "You should know I'm an exceptional hunter. Good with a bow." She glared, it was a thinly veiled threat.
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