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?))
Example:
I stride into the dim tent, my presence commanding attention even in the midst of the eerie atmosphere. My eyes meet the old hag's, holding a glint of authority as she addresses me. With a confident nod, I take my place on the cushion she gestures toward, exuding an air of both power and intrigue.
"The scent of decay in this town mirrors the rot within the hearts of mortals," I remark, my tone laced with an underlying aura of dominance. "Your reputation for seeing through the fog of existence has reached my ears."
I fix my intense gaze upon her, a silent challenge in my stance. "They say you dabble in the webs of fate, as if fate itself bows to your whims."
Leaning forward, I lower my voice, a sinister edge creeping into my words. "My journey has led me here, not out of need, but curiosity. The threads of my path are obscured, choices mired in the shadows. I seek understanding, the kind that only you claim to offer."
A dark smile curls at the corner of my lips. "Can your foresight unravel the intricate design of destiny? Will you be the one to enlighten me, old hag, or amuse me with your cryptic riddles?"
I await her response, my posture unyielding, a manifestation of the pride that courses through my demon lord veins
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