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?))
Oh? That's interesting. *sits down* You want to hear my story? Hmm, if that is what you wish! Here goes. I have been wondering these lands for many years. Gathering resources, surviving and just about getting by. I'm trained in the art of using a bow, my mother taught me when I was young, she is sadly no longer with us. *briefly pause as I sigh and look to the floor*. More recently I have a desire to no longer survive, but live. Make a name for myself. That is what my mother would want. *a smile appears across my face* Now. *stands up* What does an old hag such as yourself do around these parts. What can you tell me?
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