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?))
I stare quizzically at the hag as the hot, humid air clings on my skin. "Expecting me?" I respond skeptically. I hadn't done anything wrong before coming to this town and was surprised to hear that this old hag, who probably hasn't left this village let alone her tent for years, had heard of me. The old hag cackles, "the winds carry whispers of the destiny you cannot avoid." Shivers go down my spine as I process what I have just heard. "But enough of that, tell me what brings you here," the hag rasps. I sigh, having nothing better to do I tell her my reason for arriving at this strange land. "I am running from my mistakes. Back in my hometown I was a thief and a trouble maker. I grew up with nothing and hated those around who didn't give a street rat like me another thought. I had to steal to survive and those more fortunate hated me for it in return. Eventually I bit off more than I could chew, stealing from a high noble in the city I was caught and exiled. Left to roam the world, looking for a place to call home."
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