smellajeam

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?))
 

Shaking, I sit slowly and warily, "Me? Why me? Why am I here? My story? Oh but I haven't been on this earth for many moons as others have, what story could I possibly have to tell?" I dart my eyes around the dimly lit tent, looking at every detail trying not to make eye contact with the hag, trying to stay calm. "Well it all started deep in the woods of my home..." The more I talked the more the old hag seemed interested and the more relaxed I felt, the words flowing out of me like fresh water from a stream. I finally got to tell my story to someone who would listen. We sat there together until the sun rose and the light streamed through the tears and holes in the tent. I told her about my life growing up in the woods, being smaller than most of my other kind. I told her how I'd left to find my destiny and to see what life had in store for me. Which it seemed started here in this old, ratty tent. After I'd finished my tale, I sat there, silently waiting for some type of approval from the old lady.
"Mmm I see," said the old hag at last. You have come far and suffered greatly. Let me show you what you have come here for. What your heart yearns for," AS the old lady stood and hobbled out of the tent, she beckoned me to follow, to start the next part of my journey.