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 heard about this place from a friend, he said the people here were welcoming to outsiders," I answered.
"How are you an outsider?" she asked.
I shrugged, "I was born in a elven kingdom, they accused my mother of having an affair and killed her. They came after me next so my father left me in the forest and some hunters found me. They raised me as their own until my kingdom found me somehow. They slaughtered everyone so I ran," I shuffled my feet in the dirt, "I had remembered one of the hunters telling me about a small town where I would be safe so I went searching until I found you. But it seems like you already know why I'm here."
