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?))
Yaasir smiles courteously at the crone, sharing her gaze briefly before planting himself down upon the cushion. He takes a quick glance around the shoddy tent, clearly unimpressed by the craftsmanship, before speaking, "You say you know me, ah? I pray you are not one of the people I have wronged in my time on this world." Yaasir finishes his quip with a short, breathy laugh - a look of slight concern and intrigue appears as his laughter subsides.
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