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.”
I tell her about how I, after being ran out of my village, wondered through the landscape when suddenly I saw this town and got here as soon as I could. "well", I say, "that's how I came to be in this dingy town of yours". I then ponder, "how did you know I would stumble upon this place?", hastily saying, "ma'am", afterwards.
