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?)) He stands, looking worried and troubled at the request, given the circumstances. As he sighs, and takes a seat, words flow from his mouth: "I am unsure what my story is, or what it will become. Awoken from what felt like centuries of slumber, I do not recall my past, my present, nor my future, all I recall is a passion for the unknown. Who I was in a previous life, does not matter anymore, who I am now shall shape the future, and who I traverse with." Taking a few minutes, to gather his thoughts, he continues (This is all because I'm experiencing mad writers block and can't think of a compelling, and useful story as of right now)
