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?)) Sit down on a rock, warm hands by fire and begin telling story. "Once, long ago, my people lived in peace with the Valar, safely hidden from this world on an island far to the west. My ancestor, Tar-Elros the half elven, worshipped and thanked the Valar for this gift. As time went on, the wisdom of our Kings failed. We searched for a new land, middle-earth, and were corrupted by the power we had here. Pagan king after pagan king arose to take the throne. The Valar we once honored became our enemies. The last king of the Isle of Numenor sailed against Valinor. Manwe waved his hand, and my people were all destroyed. Numenor sank into the sea, leaving only those who were faithful to wander middle-earth till the end of time. I, Tar-Elros the Third, descended from the people of the sunken isle, share their fate and search in vain for a way to return to the land we have lost. So it has been and so it will always be." Once done, ask her not why she expected me, but what it is that she expects of me.
