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?))
My name is Eryndor Veyra, born of the Farlands where the earth itself seems cursed to swallow all who linger. My kin wandered until the bandits took them, leaving me with nothing but this relic and the memory of fire on the horizon. Every step since has led me here, and I can’t tell if it’s fate or misfortune that you’ve been waiting for me.
"Oh, I just, uh…" you stutter, tensing up. You eye the crone, then back outside the tent. For a moment, the air thickens with anticipation, until…
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