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?))
The character hesitates only a moment before stepping fully into the candle-lit gloom. Water drips from their cloak, pooling at their boots as they lower themselves onto the worn cushion. The hag’s eyes—clouded but strangely sharp—follow every movement.
Clearing their throat, they speak.
“My story?” the character murmurs, gaze drifting to the floating candles before settling back on her. “Well… if you’ve truly been expecting me, then you already know the road I walked to reach this swamp.”
Their fingers curl loosely in their lap.
“But if you want it told plain… I’ve come from the eastern ridge. The storms drove me from the cliffs, and the creatures that roam after dusk made sure I didn’t linger long. I followed rumors—whispers, really—of a woman who knew more than she should. A woman who could answer questions others fear to hear.”
The character leans forward slightly, lowering their voice.
“I’m here for the truth. Whatever it costs.”
A beat passes. The candles flicker as if straining to listen.
“And… if you truly have been waiting for me—then tell me. What is it you think I am?”
Recommended Comments