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?)) "What makes you think I am going to share my vital information with a random witch", I say, and then (after observing her wretched face) run out of the tent as fast as my fat little legs can carry me. I take a break of relief and keep plodding towards my intended destination.
