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?))
Rowan hesitates for a moment at the entrance of the tent, brushing damp mud from his boots before stepping inside. The faint glow of the floating candles causes his eyes to narrow slightly, clearly unsettled by the strange sight. He glances around the tent before slowly lowering himself onto the cushion.
“A strange welcome,” he mutters, offering the old woman a cautious look. “I can’t say I’ve been expected anywhere before.”
He rubs the back of his neck, taking a moment before continuing. “Name’s Rowan. Rowan Alder. I’m no one special, just a traveler looking for honest work. I grew up in a small farming village, helping my father repair tools and carts. Life there was simple, maybe too simple.”
Rowan lets out a quiet breath and looks toward the tent entrance where the dim town can be seen through the canvas.
“Harvests got worse these past few years, and there wasn’t much left for a second pair of hands. So I took to the road. Figured if there’s work to be done somewhere, I’ll find it.” He shrugs slightly. “Maybe fixing wagons, maybe hauling goods, maybe trading if the opportunity shows itself.”
His gaze returns to the old woman, curiosity now replacing his earlier hesitation.
“But you said you were expecting me,” Rowan says slowly. “That’s the part I don’t understand.”
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