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.” The man steps forward showing little caution, his freckled face still heavy with exhaustion. Taking a seat he replies, "You wish to know my story?" He hesitates a moment letting out a deep breath before he continues, "My father past about a year ago. My mother left us when I was still too young to remember. He never told me why. I was the only one that could care for him in his final years." He pauses again, turning his eyes towards the ground. "We lived in a quite isolated and thick woodland, had to hunt to survive... It got lonely there without him, so I left." He leans back and looks up at the old woman once more, "You know... I could count the number of people I've met on both my hands, so I suppose it's no surprise I've never met someone like you." He gestures to the candles that somehow defy every law of nature he was familiar with. "How do you do that, and what exactly do you mean you've been expecting me?"
