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?))
Rudd looks down at the aged lady, clearly annoyed at being asked such a vague, personal question. His voice was as deep as it was ridged. "Mind your business, Crone". In a swift and clearly irritated fashion, he turns back around and exits the tent.
