The_End_King

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?)) "Me? My story? Well, I was raised in a lumber mill, helping my father. The mill was right outside of town so we were able to run a small lumber shop there. My father had me split wood, carry logs, but most importantly, carry the key to the mill." He would hold up a key on a necklace that he was wearing. "This key unlocked the door to the mill and it allowed the machines to run." "Ever since my father died,the mill felt empty. So I carry this key reminding myself of who I am and to carry my father legacy."