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?))
Example:
Choptop hesitated at the entrance of the tent, his boots squelching against the damp earth. The candlelight flickered across his weather-worn face, casting strange shadows beneath his eyes. He ducked inside, the tent’s flap whispering shut behind him, muffling the distant croak of frogs and the ever-present hum of insects.
His gaze met the old hag’s, and for a moment, he said nothing. Her words hung in the air like the damp mist curling between the hanging candles.
“So,” he finally said, lowering himself onto the worn cushion she had indicated. The fabric sighed under his weight.
“You know me… or at least, you think you do.” choptop's voice was low, cautious. He set his satchel beside him, one hand resting protectively atop it.
“My story isn’t a pretty one,” he continued, eyes narrowing slightly. “But if you’ve truly been expecting me, then you already know that, don’t you?”
He leaned forward, shadows dancing across his scarred cheek. “It started in the north—beyond the frostline. I wasn’t meant to survive the winter, but fate had other plans…”
Recommended Comments