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?))
"It-It's me? What do you mean? How could you possibly know who I am?" I stutter on my initial words as I'm put into a small state of shock at the way this women, a total stranger, truly seemed to recognize me. How I wonder? I've not been in these lands since the fall of my kingdom. Maybe I should give some time to her and I will find out how it is she knows me, or if she really does at all. So I came to my bearings, sat in the cushion the old lady previously gestured towards, and began to tell my story.
