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.” I peer at the crone assessing her character as I stammer out "Oh forgive me, you must have confused me with someone else." Slowly backing towards the entrance of the tent I attempt to make my intrusion seem more polite than it truly was.
(Assuming Crone invites me in)
As she invites me in I gently take my seat, sensing that this old woman is an important figure in this town. "I am a traveler, I have come to see what this land has to offer. In my flicker of a life I have come to see what other regions may have to offer me and what arcane secrets can be unearthed."
