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?)) "Oh, I just, uh…" you stutter, tensing up. You eye the crone, then back outside the tent. For a moment, the air thickens with anticipation, until…
As he enters the tattered tent, his emerald grey eyes sparkle with curiosity, and the candlelight illuminates his silver hair, he meets the old woman's gaze with a mix of caution and curiosity, sensing the aura of mystery that enbodies her. "I come to seek knowledge," he says, his voice steady and measured in spite of the dankness of the town, "and I have journeyed far and wide in search of answers that have long been lost to me. It seems that fate has brought me to your door." He sits down on the cushion and never takes his eyes off the old woman's implacable gaze. He is well aware of the wisdom that lies beneath the layers of age and mischievousness. "My tale is one of finding and understanding," he says, earnestly. "There are mysteries yet to be discovered, mysteries yet to be solved, secrets yet to be told, and perhaps you hold the keys to unlocking them all."
