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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?)) "You have been expecting me, have you?" He mutters in a trembling voice. He hesitantly sits down on the cushion that the old hag gestured too. He looks at his feet, trembling. He intertangles his fingers together and rubs his thumbs together making almost a clicking sound. He looks up from his feat, sweating, as he begins to speak with a slight wobble to his voice. "I assume you know what I'm looking for then if you expected me." He looks at the old hag, waiting for a response nervously, as he seems to be intimidated and almost frightened by her presence.