mythodon

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?))

"Hm?" His eyes met the woman's, and he made his way over to where she had gestured. Before he sat, he gave a quick glance around outside the tent, and finally joined her inside and sat. He adjusted his coat over his shoulders "My story eh? A rather uninteresting one, same as any other. I've made my way here in search of.. financial prosperity, I should call it." He suddenly grins, as if a can of worms was opened. "You see, I consider myself somewhat of a businessman, I love the art of transaction." He patted down his coat. "Unfortunately at the moment I've nothing to show for it.." He clears his throat "But take my word for it, I happen to be quite knowledgeable. In this dance of commerce, timing is everything. I myself have fallen victim to this unfortunate fact, and so I am here. Like a seasoned general, you must know when to strike and when to bide your time. When scarcity looms, unleash your goods and watch as their value multiplies. When the market is flooded, hold back and prepare for the moment when demand will surge once more." He concludes, his hand held high. Swiftly he lowered it down and cleared his throat with a smile "Forgive my rant, I'm sure you can tell I am quite passionate, but yes. There is your answer." Again he turns to the entrance of the tent, watching the shadows that lantern lit tent cast on the darkness outside with an ember of new beginning building within him.