Your character has just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As they look around, their gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. They 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?))
Eithrien cautiously sat down across from the hag, her emerald green eyes darting around the room. "I-I'm n-not sure I kn-now what you m-mean, ma'am," She stammered. "I've n-no stor-ries to t-tell." The fog, however, had different ideas. It crept around her legs as she shifted uncomfortably. As it reached the table, the fog swirled into shapes; shapes that Eithrien knew all too well. She saw her father, drunk in his chair. She saw her mother teaching her archery as a young girl. She even saw her mother's funeral, the small and wispy version of her younger self sobbing over her boat as they released her into the water. She tried to hold back her tears as she sat, her chin trembling.
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