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?))
I sit into the old chair, studying the darkness around me. Before I speak, I pull down my hood. "I have been travelling for years looking for a new place to call my home. My family disowned me for practicing witchcraft, in which they truly despised. I have been practicing my craft on my own as long as possible, but alas I have come to a roadblock of what I know. I have heard of profound mages in the east and so I come looking for a mage to help me grow and continue to study and create my own spells, and maybe...just maybe open a shop to help other travelers in finding gear, food, and even help them grow as mages themselves. You say you've been waiting for me? Why is that?" I ask with a perplexed look on my face confused as to how the woman knew me and knew of my travels.
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