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?))
"Oh, well I just, uh..." I pause for a moment, gathering my thoughts after the long travel. I eye the crone, then look outside the tent. "Where do I start" I give a quick laugh. I then start telling her my story from the little village I lived as a kid, where war took my father and older brother, where pillagers took my mother. How I grew up enough to travel through all the villages near by to get by for a piece of bread, or to get some silver. I tell her about how I had been a farmer, a warrior, a smith and on and on. Then tell her how I travelled all this way to come to her for her knowledge and wisdom.
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