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?))
Katherine shifts uncomfortably, her eyes flitting about the room, before landing on the woman. She steadies herself, and takes a deep breath.
"If you know me by sight, you know my story. I'm a Whitespire girl, born and bred, and I've spent the last 18 years working damn hard to get the education I need to succeed. When my tutor adopted me, all those years ago, never once did I think I'd be coming here, to you. He taught me all I needed to know, history, politics, economics, and now I'm ready to carve my name into the stone. I will make a legacy for myself, whatever it takes. But I did not come here to tell stories, Madam. I came here for those documents."
She moves closer to the woman, emerald eyes fixed on her aim.
"If you would be so kind..." Katherine reaches out an expectant hand, and waits.
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