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?))
"Expecting me?" Syros questioned, tilting his head ever-so-slightly as his eyes landed on the hag. "Did my name arrive here before I did?"
He stepped closer, verdant hues making a great deal of effort to analyze every detail of the stranger's face. When she (assumedly) had no response, he shrugged, figuring he could possibly use the help.
"I am Syros." He intoned, a palm resting against his chest in gesture of himself. "Amateur horse rider, a soon-to-be self-made man, and... well, lost." He'd admit, chewing on the inside of his lip. "I've been sent for my family, and while I was trying to follow their directions, I don't believe I took the correct route." He frowned, at himself more than anything.
"Might you know where I could find a horse, perhaps? A good steed, not a slow one." He glanced back at the doorway to the tent. "I'd find them faster if I had one to take. The horse I did have ran away at the first sound of thunder.." He groaned, shaking his head upon the memory.
The crone stared back, only then nodding and standing haggardly. He'd follow the slow moving figure outside of her tent, to find a black horse tied to a post. He could have sworn such was not there when he had entered, but ultimately shrugged and mounted the beast as he had never been quite perceptive in the first place. With this, he began to take his leave from the city, exiting with only one last look towards the tent and the strange eyes of the crone following his departure.
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