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?))
Holden glanced briefly around the tent, weary but otherwise pleased to have left the marshland behind. Shoulders relaxing, he nodded to the crone and sat cross-legged. "I wasn't aware I was expected - do I know you?"
"No, but would you tell me it anyways?" She looked upon him inquisitively. He let out a brief sigh, having desired a nice bed and not to be dragged into conversation.
"I've been traveling, tracking some game. I'm a hunter by trade - a pelt collector, it's a hobby. The local marshlands and swamp have interesting animals that I've never seen." He shifts on the cushion, letting a large backpack slump to the side. "It's my calling, I suppose."
"A roaming killer then?" She speaks with a glint in her eyes. "The creatures here are protected. Pursue not such wanton killing, lest you anger something you'll have wished you hadn't." The candles seem to dim. Holden tenses slightly at her words, before standing, hoisting his pack with a grunt.
He gives her a dark look. "I know what I'm doing." Before leaving.
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