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?))
He sits on the chair Infront of him, adjusting his posture and putting his hands together while resting them in between his legs. "I've stayed in my home my whole life, my town, my home." whilst saying this he turns his head to the objects around him switching between which he focuses while continuing. "But like everyone tells you, nothing lasts forever. The town was pillaged and burnt by raiders. I smelling the smell of mild smoke and decay." He centers his gaze on the woman "Maybe 12 hours after the raid was when I woke up, my family was dead. And so were many others." His hands then unclench. "The town burnt, hearing everyone cry. I just wanted to get away from it, I took a horse and left as fast as possible with everyone assuming I was dead"
