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?)) Hazelwyn steps up to the cabin, inhaling deeply as the scent of forgotten forest lingers in the air around her. She glanced at the hag, a brow raised as she tentatively sits on the cushion with an air of mystery about her. "How can you be expecting me somewhere I wasn't expecting to go?" she asked, reaching down to take a loose piece of ivy from the floorboard. "In fact, if you were expecting me to believe that you were expecting me, then I expect you to have some ill begotten trick up your sleeve." Her eyes would flicker to the woman, the flame of a nearby candle embracing a gentle shine behind her eyes.
