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?))
Orric narrows his eyes, his boots squelching on the damp ground as he steps inside. The flickering candlelight dances off his beard, still tangled with pine needles from the journey.
“Hmph. You’ve been expectin’ me, have you? Not many say that without regrettin’ it.”
He lowers himself onto the cushion, the wood of his walking stick creaking as he leans it beside him.
“I’ve lived more years in the whisperin’ pines than I care to count. Left the world behind to grow old with the trees, to listen when the earth speaks. But the roots started murmurin’ different lately. Dark things. Your name among ’em.”
He meets her gaze, unblinking.
“So tell me, hag...are you the reason the forest sent me walkin’ into this pit?”
Recommended Comments