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?))
Kiera lingers at the entrance of the tent, trying to meet the hags eyes. “Expecting me?” she responds, raising a brow as she steps forward. “Now, that’s funny, considering even I didn’t expect to be here.”
The hag says nothing, just watches. Waiting.
Kiera wants to leave. But she’s already inside, and leaving now would be admitting discomfort. So, instead, she sheathes her sword and drops onto a cushion casually, wiping some mud from her clothes. “Fine,” she says, stretching out her legs like she owns the place.
She leans forward slightly, eyes glinting with something between amusement and challenge. “I grew up in a bakery. My father made the best honeyed bread you’d ever taste, and I spent my childhood dusted in flour, sneaking extra sugar into the dough when he wasn’t looking.” Her lips form a slight smirk. “He wanted me to take over the shop one day. That was going to be my life, knead dough, sell bread, not carry a sword'
There’s a moment of silence as she stares into the flickering candle lights, before she exhales “That’s the short version, anyway. As for why I’m here? I'm looking for something, and you may be just the person to to know where to find it"
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