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?))
"You've been expecting me?" I scoff, "You are mistaken, hag. I am a stranger, a drifter. I am no one." Pausing for a moment, I pull back my hood as I take a seat on the tattered cushion. "I'm sorry, I've been on the road for a long time, I seldom see a friendly face. In fact this is the most I've talked to anyone in weeks. To tell the truth, my story isn't a pleasant one so I'll spare you the details. I've made a lot of regrettable choices in my time, got in with some bad crowds, barely made it out with my life. I've been wandering alone ever since." I shake off the chill of my memories with a slow exhale. "A fresh start is what I'm looking for, somewhere I can keep out of trouble for the time being. I don't know why I thought I might find that here."
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