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?))
Emyd takes a deep breath and sits down, his eyes staring emptily at the candles before him as they move rhythmically up and down. He places his short bow next to him. "Me and my brother..." he murmurs in a weak voice. "We had to leave our town, or at least what remained of it. We were never rich and poverty had always been our companion but after father passed away we lost all we had." He takes a deep breath. "All I am left with is his coat," he continues, his fingers absently tracing the frayed edges of the worn garment draped over his shoulders. He lowers his gaze from the candles and his eyes meet hers.
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