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?)) I eye her up and down, her clothes, although clean, are clearly old and worn enough times that it’s practically sheer and her hands are almost black covered in various substances that I don’t think too deeply about. “You know me?” I state, still staring at her as she begins to lose interest and pick up with what she was doing before. She holds up a vial of something green and waves her hand as a candle floats toward her, “Yes of course I know you, the forgotten child of Arelion and Amariya. But, what you want is a different story altogether.” She half-heartedly says in my direction. “What I want, is what my parents asked for. A clear glimpse at what my future holds.” I straighten my back and hold my gaze, trying to pin her down as she moves to and fro, almost angelically if it wasn’t for what she held in her hands.
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