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?))
“My name is Nieve,” she says quietly. “I was born along a trade road, nowhere worth naming. I learned early how to serve and how to listen without being noticed. Folk speak freely around a maid. I left when the road grew quieter than the whispers it carried. Since then, I take work where I can and move on before roots set. Yet places like this just pull at me. Swamps hide things others would rather forget.” She studies the hag's eyes. “If you truly expected me, then perhaps my wandering was never mine alone.”
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