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 hesitate for a moment, the damp, air clinging to my cloak, then step forward and lowered myself onto the the stool. The wood and fabric squelches softly under my weight.
"...If you've been expecting me, then you already know this isn't a happy tale," I say quietly, eyes flicking to the candles hovering light, "I came from the east, where the river used to run clear, Three nights ago, it turned dark, Fish rose from the sea bed, the crops withered, and the people started to whisper my name across village to village, like it was a curse."
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