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?))
Thalenor hesitates just for a moment... then steps forward, boots damp from the swamp, the air clinging to him like it doesn't want to let go.
Slowly, he lowers himself onto the cushion eyes never leaving hers.
*—"You talk like you already know it."
A faint smirk tugs at his lips—but it doesn't reach his eyes.
*"My name Thalenor. I didn't come here by accident. Place like this... they don't end up on maps unless they're hiding something."*
He leans forward slightly, voice quieter now, more serious.
*"I've been tracking whispers. People disappearing. Magic that doesn't feel... right. It all leads here."*
He pauses.
*"And now you're telling me you've been expecting me? That doesn't sit right with me."*
His gaze sharpens, searching her face.
*"So, I'll ask you instead..."*
He tilts his head just a little
*"What do you know about me... that I don't?"*
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