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.” *He'd sit across from the old hag with a serious expression.* "If you insist.. I came from a rough household. We were poor and barely scraping by. My mother passed when I was smaller. I always helped my father when it came to doing house chores and searching for food. But one day, everything changed. My father fell ill and was too weak to keep the house afloat. He eventually passed but I kept going. I turned numb from the grief and slowly moved on, adventuring into the unknown."
