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.”
As he steps into the tent and closes the entrance the cold air flowing from the outside stops and he begins to doff this breastplate. The stiff shoulders loosen as the weight is removed. Speaking in a quiet yet stern voice, "Just searching for a fool, a child perhaps. Who has bitten off more than they can chew."
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