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?)) "My what?" I said, caught off guard by the invasive question as a cautiously take a seat. "Don't you want to take me out to dinner first?" I was never one to talk much about myself, especially to suspicious old hags. "As much as I'd love to bore you with the gory details of my origin story, we both know that's not what I'm here for." I say with a sigh as pull out a leather sack from my satchel.
