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.”
The old Highlander lowers himself onto the cushion with a stiff grunt, brushing swamp mud from his boots. His white beard shifts as he does so.
“Name’s Dòmhnall” he begins, voice rough as weathered stone. “Fifty-six winters I’ve walked this world, most of ’em spent with steel in my hand. I’ve fought in wars I’d rather forget, buried friends whose names the wind no longer carries, and wandered farther than any man ought.”
He glances around the dim tent, blue eyes narrowing.
“I’m not here for prophecies or riddles. Just a road forward. If you truly expected me… then tell me why”
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