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?))
Taking her seat in a wordless manner, a woman bearing a swamp green complexion and long dark hair met the hag's eyes, scowling with teeming frustration.. The travel was long and arduous for a place so small and dingy. She saw little to no intrinsic value here and it escaped through her treatment of others, making her a very rude- and somewhat childlike- individual to be around. The natural smell of the tent battled with the pleasant aroma of the candles as she finally went to answer, her inflection telling the story of an angry, disgruntled woman far from home before she could ever complete a sentence.
"That story is still being written. I'm really not much for storytelling or reminiscing."
Her bags seemed full and heavy, which contrasted her minimalist style of clothing.
"But I could tell you where I'm going.. I apologize, but this is not my destination. Only a stop. If you will excuse me.."
Just as soon as she had entered, and with the same fervor, she stood with her wares, turning to exit the tent. She was not only annoyed, but the woman seeming to know who she was caused a level of just paranoia.
