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?))
I brush the damp hood from my face, water dripping from the edges as i step closer to the flickering candles.
“My story?” i murmur, my voice is soft but steady. The scent of swamp moss mixes with the faint aroma of burnt sage. “I was once a warden of the northern woods a keeper of paths no mortal should tread. But something foul began seeping into the roots. Trees whispered of decay. Spirits vanished.”
I pause, glancing toward the hag’s cloudy eyes. “I followed the trail here, through mist and mud. Whatever corruption haunts the forest... it started in this place.”
I lower myself onto the cushion, hand still resting on the hilt of your curved dagger. “So tell me, seer.. what is it you’ve been expecting me for?”
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