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.” "What's this all 'bout then?" Jack asks as he lowers himself to sit next to the old woman.
"This is my home! It needs some work, but I'm sure a good story will make this ol' tent seem more lively." The hag responds with a crooked grin.
Jack inhales, chuckling as he begins speaking.
"Me name's Jack."
The hag smiles knowingly. "-But that's not what other's call ya', is it boyo?
"Jetsam Jack." He admits with a sheepish smile.
"And how'd ya get a name such as that?" The old woman prompts cheekily.
"I've fallen off a' ship once o' twice in me loife."
"...Fallen?" She responds, raising one hairy brow.
"More loike....thrown...." Jack admits.
The old woman claps her withered hands in delight.
"There we go! An' why'd yeh get thrown off yer ships then?"
Jack huffs. "Seems to me you'd already know."
The old woman cackles.
"You're right as ever, Jackie boy. Not everyone agrees with your flippant sense o' morality."
