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?))
"My story is not for you to know," he responds with hurry and annoyance in his speech - though he follows the hags instructions and takes a seat on the cushion. "If you knew that I would arrive, would you be aware as to why?" He never was a fan of being so easily read, but in a time as desperate as this such practices are required to gain a chance.
