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 duck into the tent, my head nearly scraping the top as I push past the ragged entrance. The air reeks of rot, damp, and decay, but it only fuels my hunger for conquest. I sneer at the sight of the hag—small, weak. She knows nothing of true power.
“So, you have been expecting me?” I growl, my voice rough and thick like stone grinding on metal. “Good. Means you already know why I’m here. Domination. Destruction. Blood.”
I step closer, loom over her, my tusks gleaming in the candlelight. “I come from the blood moon, where the ground is soaked in the bones of the fallen. The only thing that matters is strength, and Im the strongest. I am nott here to talk or to rest. Im here to take over.”
I dont sit. Instead, I bare my teeth in a snarl. “Now, old crone, if you been waiting for me, you better have somethin’ useful to say. What do you see in my future? Speak, or I willl crush this place under my boots.”
Recommended Comments