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?))
"I come from a land far from here," I begin, my voice steadier than I feel. "A place where the sun blesses the earth, and the sea kisses the shores. But my heart has been restless, haunted by dreams of shadows that whisper secrets in the night, of a destiny that lies beyond the safety of my home." I pause, watching the old hag's eyes, which seem to reflect the flickering candlelight with a knowing depth. "These dreams led me here, to this town, as if pulled by a string woven by fate itself. I seek answers, and perhaps, guidance. There's a part of my story yet to be told, and I believe it's intertwined with the secrets this place holds."
