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 take a moment to gather my thoughts before speaking. "I come from a small village, where my father was a blacksmith," I say, my voice tinged with sadness.
"He passed away some years ago, and since then, I've been trying to find my way in this world, searching for meaning and purpose. I've traveled far and wide, but I've yet to find my true calling."
I look at the old hag, hoping to find some guidance or insight. "I was hoping that perhaps in your wisdom and experience, you could offer me some advice or direction. I feel lost and adrift, like a ship without a rudder. I seek for something to anchor me, to give my life meaning and direction."
I pause for a moment, wondering if I've said too much. But something in the old hag's gaze reassures you, and I feel a sense of connection and understanding. "I know it's a lot to ask for a stranger, but perhaps you can help me find my way?"
