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.” Dilryc Zokerth gags at the sight and smell of the tent, his eyes scanning it for a single redeemable feature till his piercing blue eyes land on the old hag. He would scoff and turn his nose up at her question as he walked towards the cushion. "My story is of no business to you, hag" He would practically spit the words out as if left a bad taste in his mouth. "But, if my story is what will get me out of this place..." He would look over the tent once again, trying not to gag at the state of it, "Then so be it." He would hesitantly take a seat on the cushion, grumbling about how it felt under him. "My story starts in my home town where I was suppose to marry into a fairly wealthy family, as my mother so promised me as a child, however." His hands would clench into fist as they rested on his lap, "My mother failed to inform me that in recent recent years that the family had gone bankrupt!" He would sigh, letting out all his frustration as he slipped his hands into his short, black hair. "No matter, I ran off to avoid that mess which bring me here..." He would look up at the hag one once again, "Does my story satisfy you?"
