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?))
You eye the crone, taking the offer of a seat. For a moment, the air thickens with anticipation, until she speaks-"Tell me, why have you chosen to sit, do you not fear me?"- You respond to this question by dropping your sword on the table, leaning back as it bang's on the table. "I came to this town, for you, you've terrorized the townsfolk for some time now, a lot of gold for that dainty head of yours." You sit back and watch as the old crone freak's, flipping the table towards you, you roll from the chair under the table as it fly's over your head, swiftly you grab the hilt of your sword releasing it from its scabbard, taking the crone's head off its shoulder's before she can react.
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