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?)) "Y-You were expecting me? Who are you...?" I took a seat on the cushion the woman gestured towards. I took a deep breath, trying to catch my breath from the long trek I had just taken to get here. I started telling the woman about all I had seen and experienced in the past few days. All the miles I had walked and sleepless nights I had endured. I gave her my gratitude for letting me sit and feel safe in her presence. "I thank you very much, ma'am, for allowing me to rest in your presence. But what do you mean you've been expecting me? What's so special about me? I'm just a Wood Elf."
