Your character has just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As they look around, their gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. They 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.”
Myrrha cautiously stepped closer to the cushion as she examined her surroundings. Something about the whole situation didn't sit right with her-- Why had she went here? How come she felt so drawn to this tent? How did this old hag know her? And most importantly-- Why was she expected?
Despite the doubt that lingered within her, she sat down; Curiosity taking the wheel, "Well-" She began softly, smoothing out the wrinkles of her skirt-- Then she continued; "There isn't much to tell, I fear." Myrrha sighed, planting her palms firmly against the ground to support herself when leaning back ever so slightly, "Truth is my life is only just beginning. I've wasted 21 years simply rotting away. . . I intend to change that." She stated, her voice soft but determined. Her lips press together and her eyes fixed on the old hag, a hundred questions whirling around her little head. . . After a brief pause she parted her lips once more, "But tell me, old one, how do you know me? How did you know I'd come here?" She asked, her green eyes flickering with a mixture of unease and curiosity.
