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?)) "Well, miss, at first," I began, taking her offer on sitting down, and pulling out a dusty old map from my back pocket. "It was nothing, just me listening to my grandfather's silly stories. Well, I should specify, I THOUGHT they were stories." I showed her the map. "I soon came to realize, however, that there was more truth than I had originally let on. When my grandfather passed, he left me this map, he said that it led to an artifact that could change history as we know it. I began pouring my heart-and my soul-into this map, and it has led me here. I shouldn't be too much of a hassle, and I will gladly help you run this tent, and maybe, if you'd like, make it better, in exchange for some food and shelter until I begin the next part of my journey?"
