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.”
As I sat down on the cushion, I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. The old hag's wrinkled face was weathered and wise, and her eyes seemed to see beyond the physical world. I knew I could not told her of my quest for knowledge, of the many trials and tribulations I had faced along the way, but as I said that I was a simple wanderer, I felt that both of us knew it was a lie.
The old hag listened intently, her gnarled fingers tracing patterns in the air as she muttered incantations under her breath. When I finished my false tale, she nodded knowingly. "You have come far," she said. "But your journey is far from over. The secrets you seek lie buried deep within the ages, guarded by ancient powers that even you cannot yet comprehend."
As I rose from the cushion and prepared to leave the tent, I couldn't shake the feeling that I had just brushed up against a deeper, darker mystery. I knew that I had to unravel this mystery in the course of my travels, for the fate of the world may depend on it. With renewed determination, I stepped outside, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.
