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?))
Guillermo was blessed with the sensation of his stomach twisting into a knot at the situation he'd stumbled into, but became much more pliant by the offer of food and drink. This was a tradition Guillermo himself quite often engaged in himself, he and his family having taken in travelers themselves before. With a few gulps of water to wet his parched throat, he began to speak.
"You have my thanks, strange woman." Guillermo began, speaking with a Hyspian lilt, "What is there to say of Guillermo? I am but a humble servant of God, as all righteous folk are, and I labor in the fields. This is my way. So I was raised, and my father too." A satisfactory answer, Guillermo had hoped. Thirst satisfied and body nourished, he was quick to make his leave, not saying another word.
While Guillermo was but a peasant, he was well aware of an eery situation that he otherwise should not be in. No, Guillermo instead found satisfaction back in Hyspia, where his grain called for him.
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