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?))
Zhurk ducked into the tent, his heavy steps making the floor creak beneath him. The strange floating candles made him squint, unsure if they were magic or tricks of the light. When the old hag spoke, his thick brow furrowed, and he scratched his head, leaving a smudge of dirt behind.
“Zhurk… don’t know what you mean,” he grunted, his voice deep and rough like grinding stone. “Zhurk just lookin’ for food… maybe fight.”
He glanced around the tent, uneasy. The air felt heavy, and the hag’s stare made him shift from foot to foot. “You say you expect Zhurk,” he said slowly, his words careful and clumsy. “Why? Zhurk not do nothin’… yet.”
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