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?)) Entering the dimly lit tent, my gaze met the piercing eyes of the old hag. I settled on the cushioned seat eager to share my story. "I've always wanted to be an adventurer." I say well describing my nomadic life style. "my parents were hesitant at first because of all the story's we were told of people dying. but after our small town was attacked my parents couldn't keep my spirit down. I've always had a hunger to learn. to be honest there are few things I won't do if I means learning something new" I stand up and leave the tent happy that someone was willing to listen to my story.
