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?))
"Which one?" I huff. "I cannot even begin to tell you what the journey here was like. I met this wench in a tavern, and really thought we had a connection. Guess what! Not only was there no connection, but she stole my favorite leather sheath when I was sleeping! But I can't stop thinking about her eyes..."
