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?))
Saoirse catches her breath, she'd never taken well to such humidity at this weight. The smell, the environment, the soaked air and faint aromatics from the candles acting as a foreign sensory overload to the girl from the north. Her senses are snapped when an aging lady speaks, and further with the query.. no, demand, provided by the one sat across from her. Saoirse sat herself down and cleared her throat, taking only a moment to think before indulging a little about herself for the stranger. Speaking could get her mind away from the assault upon her senses. A sound that was accented by Thuaidian and a northern curl escaped from her lips.
"Well.. In more shorter terms, I hail from further north, as you can probably tell. I've had my coming of age, and with it, my ability to choose for myself. I wanted this since I was a girl, and now I have it, so I am doing with it what I will with my newfound freedom. Intend to fight for something, just haven't figured out what yet."
She answered with relative ease, before pausing with a thought. Her mind flickered back to the words that old lady spoke again. Her expression was briefly marred and occupied by confusion and apprehensive amusement, as if the following question was quite literal and misunderstood, asking in a tone of uncertainty.
"..You- expected me?"
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