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?))
Moving wholly into the small tent, making sure not to collide with the suspended candles whilst sitting down on the cushion, and never once taking eyes off of the old hag Tristan says, "I am a wanderer, born to a family I do not know, cast aside when I was but a babe, and forced to wander the world, making a living however I can." Shuffling slightly on the cushion, covering his nose for a moment due to the pungent smell in the air of the tent. "My story, my tale, is not an interesting one, and I don't believe I am destined for great things, so why were you expecting me in particular?" Tristan eyes the hag curiously, waiting for her response to the pertinent question, wondering if it is to do with his family, or some other unknown factor of which he has no clue.
