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?))
Lucian dropped onto the cushion with a lazy thud, giving the hag a look that was half amusement, half disbelief.
"Expecting me? Can't say that's something I hear often," he said, brushing a bit of mud from his sleeve. "Most folks just tell me to leave before I break something."
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, a grin tugging at his mouth. "My story, huh? Well, I used to have money, a name, a bed that didn't smell like swamp gas. Lost all three after a few... creative life choices." He gestured loosely toward the tent. "Now I swing heavy things for coin and hope whatever gods are listening have a sense of humor."
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