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.”
My Response:
“Oh… you have?” Elias pauses, uncertain. His boots squish faintly on the damp floor as he steps toward the cushion. He lowers himself slowly, eyes flicking to the floating candles, then back to the crone’s weathered face.
“I’ve just come from Whitespire,” he begins quietly. “My father passed last winter. I stayed to help the farm until the season changed. Now… I suppose I’m looking for something else. Somewhere else.” He hesitates, then adds, “I didn’t expect anyone to be expecting me.”
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