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?))
Zisha stares up at the hag, before taking a seat on one of the seats bestowed behind her. Her sword resting on the leather seethe on her back. After a moment, she'd speak out to the hag. "Story? 'M not one t'know many, hah. I hail from a village nearby- 'n was lookin' 'fer somethin' that's missin'." she'd state, her hand reaching out into a pouch laying barren on her hips. She'd take out a scroll, unraveling it to show a drawing of a small orb, able to fit in the hand. "My guess 's that 't was stolen-- but 'm tasked with findin' it. Emissary told me t'not return til I found it- either." she'd say, heaving out a sigh before raveling the scroll back up, putting it in her pouch. Her eyes darting up to hear the response from the hag.
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