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.”
Emmeline's eyes stare up towards the floating candles, squinted eyes attempting to make out just how exactly they were brought to hover in the air as they did. Though she was not meek nor meager, the shrill voice cut through her thoughts. The young woman felt her eyes dragged over to the hag with trepidation, but also a vivid curiosity.
"..Expecting me?" She questioned, her voice quieted purposefully as if the words themselves were weary and prodding for any ire present. At the result of silence, she would indeed speak more. "..I.. There is little to know, I think.." Only then did her eyes finally lower, reaching towards the table between them, as if ashamed for lacking to say more. There was a queasiness within her, a stomach turning in knots and longing to be home.
"..My mother and father, they were cooks-" She would begin again, her belly having concocted a sort of brew to bring forth more courage. She gulped down the stench of the swamp, hoping for a fresher breath to arrive. "..And they needed ingredients.."
She felt her legs grow weaker, beginning to crumble beneath her as one of her hands found itself slapped against the table, attempting to bring her support. Yet still her foundation was lost and she fell. The fumes of the hag's curse upon the landscape had claimed another. The light within her eyes, her heart would appear snuffed. Yet soon another candle would begin to hover within that gloomy tent and the cackle of a crone would fill the air to draw another into the heart of the marsh.
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