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?))
She asked, and I delivered. Although I knew not of who she was nor where I was, words cascaded out of my mouth into the welcoming ears of the old hag as exhaustion flooded my body. She listened patiently through my tales of the freezing cold or the scorching heat. From the arctic to the desert I explained to her the tragedies to the triumphs. The cries I heard on the battlefields to the roars of victory. Before I knew it, the bright blue sky was eaten up by the devouring greed of the dark. It was then that I finally asked the old hag, "Who are you?". To which she replied "I am the last stop on your journey." It was then that she drew her wand.
Example: (delete this)
"Oh, I just, uh…" you stutter, tensing up. You eye the crone, then back outside the tent. For a moment, the air thickens with anticipation, until…
