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?))
I slowly take a seat, the edge of my cloak still damp from the road. After a brief pause, I speak softly. “I am an elf from Wacoal Town, a coal-mining settlement.”
My gaze lowers as my voice grows heavier. “My homeland was once peaceful, but the mines began spawning Wither Skeletons without warning. The tunnels became cursed, and one by one, miners were lost.”
I look back up at the old hag, wary but resolute. “I had no choice but to leave everything behind and come here.”
“If you were truly expecting me,” I add quietly, “then perhaps you know why I’m still alive—and what I’m meant to do next.”
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