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?)) i sit as i take in the image of the woman. i run my hand through my loose red hair as i made myself comfortable. "well ive been travelling for months, yet i come no closer to my wife and son's killer" i sound irritated and tired "i cannot rest until i avenge them. not until my dying breath will i cease to try and find the man who did it" pauses to listen to the hag "aye. i came from the north. a pleasant place, my da was a farmer. an my dear ol ma was a talior." i chuckle remanicing "oh aye they are still alive god bless them, but now my fine woman. i better be off, he won be huntin 'imself"
