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?))
"Kinda weird that you expected me?" Despite his suspicions he sat down in the mangled tent. "Eh? My story is quite simple. Living in my loving father's shadow, flirting, maybe the occasional fight." This was said in a cocky manner.
"You'd be more entertained by him, he did a great job in raising me, obviously." The boy chuckled and continued, "I mean look at me! I look great." Connor gestures to himself.
It was clear this young man didn't trust the hag, living with his father obviously taught him not everything as it seems.
"Well, you wanna know more? Let's trade then, what's your story?" He tilts his head with a smirk.
"My story doesn't come for cheap I'll have you know." The boy flipped his onyx hair back and squinted his eyes.
"Just what are you planning to do with such information about me? I doubt it's anything good." Connor huffed the air feeling tense to the boy. The fire from the candles illuminated his face as he appeared to be annoyed at the idea of someone asking for his personal story. How could he share something so personal without having prior leverage? It would be foolish to share personal life details to a stranger.
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