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?))
As Esme ducks into the tent, her eyes quickly focused on the old woman near the back.
"Oh - I was just looking." She quickly replies in a gruff voice. In truth she was looking for some supplies to aid her on her journey and thought this tent to be likely abandoned with possible goodies.
As the old woman tells her to sit, however, she remains standing. A little stand-offish. Esme didn't just talk to anyone. That was kind of weird.
"Nah, nah... with as short as my time is now, I have more important matters to attend to than have a little chit-chat. Sorry lady."
It was true. Esme wasn't too short of looking almost fifty. Although she did appear physically fit and ready to take on almost anything, the harsh lines in her face and the beginning streaks of gray in her hair suggested her middle age.
Without really giving the woman a chance to object, Esme turned and exited out of the flap of the tent.
Recommended Comments