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?))
With little knowlege of what was to come once I took a seat, I reached into my pocket and tightly grasped the medallion that my late wife had gifted me all those years ago. If I was to escape this situation unscathed, it would be with her help. I reluctntly took my seat at the table and was immediatley aware of 2 specific things. The woman that sat in front of me was a witch, and she was weaving a dark spell that would lead me to my grave. I needed to act fast if I was to escape with my life. Knowing that little time was left for me before her dark magic overcame me, I lunged across the table and stabbed her in the chest, killing her instantly. As she slumped over in her chair I felt the evil presence leave the air. I let out a breath of relief, I was safe... for now.
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