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?))
Clicking her tongue, showing clear discomfort, Kepko brings herself slowly to the edge of the cushion - foot pressing into its side, lips slightly pursed, and brows ever so slightly furrowed. "You contradict yourself, mh? You expect me, and yet know not my story?" Toying with the unnatural, Kepko gives this question, before slowly kneeling on the cushion. Her lip, on one side, curls to a smirk. "I kid. I simply followed a very moralising wind here."
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