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 want to know my story witch? I killed my mother and now my ancestors linger on the edge of my vision. They all drag behind me, slowing me down and they are so angryyyyyyyyy. As the woman attempts to get up, I slam my dagger into her hand on the table, She cries out in pain, but she cannot be heard because of the screams coming from outside. As I leave the little hut I say to her "Night is falling, Now run into the dark." The woman screams because of the knife still in her hand and hse still pinned into the table, her screams die out as the hut bursts into flames, I relish the anguish I have caused and I gather My followers and vanish into the night to strike this wretched land once again.
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