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?))
I glance around the room, refraining from making any comments on the state of the tent. It reeked. But I wasn't here to make snarky observations, sitting down on the cushion the old lady had pointed to. "My story..?" I echo, pausing to think the question over. "Uh.. I don't have much of a story." I say, finding this boring and deciding to explain a bit more. I wanted to ask how in the world this old lady knew me, or was 'expecting me'. I mean, talk about ominous. "I just came here to explore, I guess?" I shrug helplessly. "I've lived away from.. pretty much everybody for as long as I can remember, down in my little cave. I got curious about the outside world." I explain. I drum my fingers on my leg, eyes flitting around the tent.
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