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 awkwardly take a seat on the cushion across from her and clear my throat "Well I can't say for certain what brings me here, it's all a bit of blur to be honest. But my story? I'm afraid it ain't too exitin'. My father was a farmer he taught my siblins an me the value of hard work, and the joy it brings to help those around you. My mother was a skilled archer in her time, braving the wilds an fighting off unknown evils. She retired when she met my father an she never talked bout her travels much, I reckon she didn't want none of the youngins to catch a flight of fancy an run off. But enough bout me, ya'll look like you could use some help round here, I'd be happy to lend a hand."
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