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?))
"um well, I'm a farmer. or i was a farmer, sorry. I'm afraid I'm not much of a good talker, been around family all of my life, still getting used to all the new smells and such. not you! oh, no i was talking about other things. you smell perfectly fine. ah, s-sorry, I'm off track, let me just start again. My name's Banksy, due to a" Banksy face twist struggling to find the right words "an accident i have forsaken both my past, my home and my family name. I'm just looking to start over."
