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?))
She sits upon the offered cushion, her posture straight despite her youth.
“I did not come seeking comfort,” she begins, her voice low but steady. “Nor answers easily given.”
Her gaze lifts to meet the old woman’s, unflinching.
“My name is Camilla Blackthor. I am nineteen winters old, and I walk my own path. I have crossed rot-filled roads and darker places chasing whispers—of fate, of things yet undone. This town was not on my map… but I suspect it was always on my road.”
She exhales slowly.
“If you have been expecting me, then you know this already. I am here because something calls me forward, and I am brave—or foolish—enough to answer.”
She folds her hands in her lap.
“So tell me, hag of candles and shadow—what story do you already know, and what part of it do you wish me to speak aloud?”
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