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 sit down on the cushion, eying the woman carefully. "You've been expecting me?" I ask, and sigh at the lack of an answer. "I'm from a forest not far from here, but I had to flee when it was burned down by raiders. I think- I think I was the only survivor." I say, my voice shaking a bit. "I'm sorry, but who are you? You seem familiar."
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