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?))
"You must be Brunhilda! Bron told me I would be seeking an old hag, not a charming lady such as yourself! I can assure you that I've brought the finest wines from our cellar for you."
Fern put his pack down and started to rummage, oblivious, or perhaps indifferent to the grime that littered the crawls of the tent.
"You know, I've been around here before. Not a bad spot. My enterprises have me moving on my feet a lot, although it would be nice to settle down and open a proper pub. Grog on the go is getting harder as my joints age."
The hag's gaze did not move from Fern, her watchful eye keeping track of each and every movement he made. The careless search through his pack, the readjusting of his feet, the attempt at a sneaky earwax pick. The hag missed none of it.
Fern pulled a slender bottle with murky green liquid out.
"Here it is, fermented spider wine. Vintage reserve from 12 years ago. If you could just show me you've got the money that would be grand."
The Hag continued to stare. Fern would divert his eyes when they crossed paths.
"As I'm sure a savvy young lady like yourself knows, I couldn't hand over such precious goods without receiving payment first. I'll be honest though, you're being all but too quiet. I've told you my story haven't I? Let's finish business and be on our way."
Silence filled the tent. The hag continued to stare down Fern.
"Alright, alright. If it will seal the deal you can have a bit more of my life. My parents were farmers, nothing special. We lived in a gorgeous valley under a mountain known as Pigment Peak. Have you heard of it? No? You should go sometime, the way the snow lines the ridges during the winter is marvelous. As I was saying though, they were farmers. Cattle farmers to be precise. Do you know anything about cattle farming?"
Fern paused, hoping for an answer.
"I know a thing or two as you would expect from a ranch runt. However, hard thing about owning cattle is you can never go traveling. Ever since I was wee I enjoyed wandering around Pigment Peak. My father wasn't too happy with my dillydallying but he was never one to appreciate the beauty of travel. I love my parents but there was no way I was continuing the family legacy. I left home at 15 and I've been wandering ever since. Truth be told though, these last few years I've thought more and more about settling down. Starting an inn maybe? A brewery? A boutique winery in the city? I'm not entirely sure, it's hard making a decision like that when every courier job I take has me out on the road."
Fern turned over his shoulder briefly, looking at the exit.
"It might be nice though."
The hag provided no response, her gaze as stiff. Fern rubbed his palms together uncomfortably.
A gentle thud and a flash of fabric. The hag produced a small purse and dropped it on the table in front of her.
"I'll assume that's for me. It was a pleasure doing business with you."
Fern grabbed the purse in one hand and his open bag in the other, dragging them through the door and out onto the street. Without hesitation he legged it in the first direction his feet would take him, with no intention to stop until he found an inn.
"All in a days work, at least I didn't get cursed."
Recommended Comments