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?))
My face lights up as I step into the tent, "Exploration is my forte, and no town I've been to has been anything less than exciting ma'am. I've been rambling the world on a walkalong that has brought me to the farthest reaches of our world, and I've seen many-a-things. Fate herself, and these dirty feet of mine have brought me to you."
I sit on the cushion across from the crone and cross my shoeless feet. "And I feel as if I may be entering into one of my exciting adventures as we speak!" I look her up and down, "Who might you be? And how did you come to be expecting me?"
I wriggle into the cushion, finding my comfy spot, and pull my shawl closer to find my warmth.
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