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 eye the crone suspiciously, as if waiting for more. When nothing else came from her mouth, I ask her "Wouldn't you know, considering you've been expecting me?". The hag looks at me dead in the eyes, and after a few seconds answers "Yes, but I felt like it would be better from the source, so go on and tell me." I take a quick glance around the tent, spotting rabbit legs, cave moss, elf ears and more. Clearly, this was a sorceress, and although I would not compare myself to such a low filth, I am clearly in her domain. For now its best to sit down and comply with her questions...
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