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?))
Dura slowly lowered herself onto the cushion, gritting her teeth and trying not to show the pain Noticing the brown stain on the right side of the cushion, squats instead. In between groans of pain and heavy breathing mutters "The Temlings, they killed everyone. Everyone but me. I was the only survivor." Dura gave into the pain and falls back onto the cushion and feels something wet pressing up against her. "The sun was just rising as the beating of there drums could be heard. First it was the horses who took out all our best defense, next the wolves shredded every thing alive before they set the fire. They gathered everyone into the town hall before burning into to the ground. I played dead for 4 days as the took everything we had worked for until I could make my escape."
