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?))
"Ye've been expectin' me?" He laughed, sauntering over to the cushion to take a seat. As he crossed his legs and peered at the withered old woman, he felt a twinge of anxiety. It was easily disguised behind his outward bravado and broad smile, but Abbas was on his guard. Often he had heard tales of wise women, folk who knew things beyond what was immediately apparent - something that some looked upon as both a blessing and a curse.
When in an unknown location, it was always best to keep a trick up your sleeve. He leaned forwards, a coy smile on his features as he challenged the hag's gaze. "I'll tell ye my story, if ye can answer me this..."
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