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 was given a wonderful youth in Helun'or, as you may know. I was ever obedient to my father, to my kin, to my husband, and to his family. I served my realms, yet I can’t feel the grace of the Ancient Gods. All I see around me are the races mixing up. My courage is failing me, I cannot oppose the evil which will once again conquer the entire world. What is left for me in this misery, if not demise?

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