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.”
"Being a Devout Catholic, I quickly sensed the dark magic brewing in the air, I was immediatley aware of the little to no time I had left. In an act of desperation, I lunged across the table and plunged my dagger into her heart, the spell was immediatley unwoven and I let out a breath of relief, "sorry witch, I know your kind far to well."
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