TooColeForYou616

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?)) Samson enter’s the witches hut, his clothes dirtied from the environment as he took a seat, his blue eyes making contact with the witch’s gaze “I’ve been traversing the roads for a while, seeing what the world has to offer. The name is Samson Smith, what is your name?” The traveler asks as he makes himself at home in the seat. As he awaits a response his gaze wanders across the room, taking in the layout of the dimly lit tent. He found it to be comforting as in his travels he had spent many moons in the company of hags, and vagrants. Samsons mind began to drift, as he remembered the days before his travels, days in which he spent with family. Where he never had to worry about whether he’d have a roof over his head, or a meal to satiate his hunger. Now, he had to work to survive. Odd jobs and hardly a spare coin.. he hoped he could find something stable, that could alter his current trajectory in life.