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.”
Celeste shivers, glancing fervently around in confusion. it's woefully obvious that she feels unsafe here. "I... know not who, or what I am. I'm afraid my memory is blank." Plant matter seems to sprout and wither all at once across Celeste's body as if mirroring her inner turmoil. A defining characteristic the old hag hasn't seen in a long, long time.
__"an epiphyte. And one not long after it's rebirth I see. A rare occurrence." The hag rubbed at the stubble on her chin, deep in thought.
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