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 in silence for a moment... gazing across the women's face, I answer... "I'm parched, and my steed has been injured in battle". My eyes focus on hers, "was it you? was it you who staged the ambush after the great bridge".... "its no matter, I have been searching for some form of interaction for months.", I sit and pour myself a tankard of ale. 4 months ago, I lost everything, my leader who I followed so loyally, turned his back on our entire band of mercenaries, all for his own benefit.", "I've lost so much, I am not but a wanderer from a distant land, finding my purpose, gaining power, to eventually be able to face the one who betrayed us, and claim vengeance once and for all."
