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?))
"I am Tytos Hallowood, a simple man of the timber-camps, though here I am just a man in a wet cloak." *I shrug the heavy cloak off my shoulders and let it drop to the floor* "You say you’ve been expecting me? Then you know I do not sit for long. My life has been a tally of falling timber and old sorrows. I watched my kin rise like a winter storm to defend these woods, only to be butchered by cowards for the land beneath their feet." *I hold my scarred hands towards to fire to walm them* "I held my father's clearing against the world when every other fire in the valley had gone dark, alone beneath the branches of a hollowed oak that has been dead for a thousand years."
"Oh, I just, uh…" you stutter, tensing up. You eye the crone, then back outside the tent. For a moment, the air thickens with anticipation, until…
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