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?))
Blinking in curiosity, Corwin can't help but gaze at the crone for longer than may have been polite before taking a seat on the tuffet before her, tucking her legs underneath herself. "You knew to expect me..? I suppose such a thing is far from out of the ordinary around here." She takes in her surroundings for a moment, thinking of how to answer the burning questions hanging between them. "Two birds with one stone, I'm here to write my story. What came before is not much to speak of, I was raised by caring and well to do parents, spent my childhood unaware of the world's cruelties."
With a sigh, not out of sadness or contempt, but as though she'd told the tale enough times before that it had grown boring to her. "My uncle, my father's brother, vied for the wealth passed down to the eldest son by my grandfather. Even now, I could not blame him, grandfather had deep pockets." A dry chuckle floated through the air. "He already received his comeuppance, though, still is. He failed to realize that it was not only the money that made my father the man he was...even if it was not enough to keep him from death." Green eyes like ferns dappled in sunlight flicked back to the old woman, determined. "One way or another, I will recover what has been stolen from me. That is why I am here, to keep that oath."
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