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?))
"Uh, well, I wasn't exactly planning on ending up in this swampy place," you reply, your gaze still darting around the dimly lit tent. The smell of damp wood lingers in the air. "I'm just passing through, I guess. What do you mean you've been expecting me?"
The old hag cackles, a sound that sends shivers down your spine. "Fate has a way of bringing folks to my doorstep," she rasps, her eyes gleaming with an eerie wisdom. "Sit, child. Your story is woven into the threads of destiny. I sense something extraordinary about you. Share your tale, and perhaps I can offer guidance or a glimpse into what awaits."
You eye the cushion she gestured to, debating whether to comply with her request or make a hasty exit from the mysterious tent.
