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?))
They stand stalwart in the center of the tent; taking time to formulate their response "My story should not be interesting to those who already know its tale; I've heard rumors of women who can see those who have not passed by their mortal eyes, yet until now they have remained without flesh and form, I am glad I no longer must rely upon my mental image for guidance on this subject." Their voice fresh but callous.
"Perhaps in future you should endure further time in thought before you pick a locale" they remark, "This place stinks of sorrow and misery. And yet I can but only sense the comforts of home within this shallow cotton shell you reside within."
They lower themselves onto the cushion as requested; thankful for the offer of light rest whilst they discuss their opportunities with the creature in front of them. "My group came here seeking your guidance, our previous benefactory has recently fallen out of favor with the godlike. We were forced to migrate our services to other pastures; to forge our destiny somewhere, and ensure the new benefactory doesn't befall the same fate."
Their clothes are ragged and stained, one can presume by the recent journey to the dingy town that the crone had chosen. their assortment of chain, plate and mail hang loosely; shimmering in the dim light of the tent.
Their eyes danced across the room, the deep blue within them twisted and changed like the swirling motion of a whirlpool. Their hair a pale stain of blonde; a pair of blue spectacles attached loosely around the brim of their forehead.
"I sense that this conversation was a mistake to partake in; hag, I will take my leave before you choose to hex or curse our parley. Good evening." They stood up, Turning to the entrance; ready to begin their adventure.
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