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.”
((Aarivek implores their options, as they absentmindedly begin to twirl their hair, causing it to unfurl a greater disarranged mess of fur. Gradually discerning that standing silently, lost in thought may not make good on their part, they quickly came to the conclusion of accepting the atrocious old woman's hospitality, reasoning that they had nothing better to do, and centered their rear pleasantly on the cushion.))
Recommended Comments