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?))
"I come in search of my fate," he declared, gracefully settling onto the cushion. Locking eyes with the old hag, he continued, "A journey of conquest and survival brought me here, guided by the echoes of my ancestors. Now, I wish to join the order of the Rychwald. What do the spirits reveal to you?" In that dimly lit chamber, the weight of destiny hung palpably in the air. The room seemed to hold its breath as the seeker eagerly awaited the hag's response. "I see, you must ride to the midlands and seek Sir Rurik in Veletz," the old hag replied, grinning the winter's grin. The revelation sparked a glimmer of realization in the seeker's eyes, as if the pieces of a cosmic puzzle were falling into place.
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