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?))
Amaryn pauses just inside the tent’s flap, gaze flicking over the suspended candles before settling coldly on the hag. Her posture remains upright—tense, but unreadable. With a slow, deliberate motion, she pulls back her hood, letting the dim light catch the amber in her eyes.
“I don’t tell stories,” she says, voice low and even. “I trade them. If you’ve truly been expecting me, then you already know mine’s worth more than a cushion and a few candles.”
Ryn doesn’t sit. Not yet. Instead, she watches the hag for the twitch of a hand, the flicker of recognition that might give her leverage—or warning. After a long pause, she adds, almost like a challenge: “But if you insist, tell me first— what exactly have you been expecting?”
Recommended Comments