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?))
Fuinil glances over at the older lady in confusion but takes the seat anyway. It's been long on this journey since she's had a rest.. and a friend. "Thank you, kind woman! Though I hardly have a story to tell you." The young woman spoke as she twiddled her thumbs. "My parents come from a long history of merchants and wished for me to following in their footsteps. Growing up one of five children, you can hardly have anything of your own, yes see. You get hand me down clothes, hand me down shoes, and an even a dumb hand me down legacy." Fuinil looks over at the older lady and grabs her hand in excitement. "But not I, my ideals have always been bigger! I'm going to build my own home and own my own legacy!" So caught up in her moment she hardly notices the tug from her grip. not until the older woman speaks up
"Umm...deary. My hand."
Fuinil never let go quicker
"OH! My apologies!"
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