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?))
"He hesitates for a moment, adjusting his worn leather apron before speaking in a measured tone, 'I'm but a humble blacksmith, ma'am, traveling through these parts in search of new materials for my craft. The tales of this town's peculiarities intrigued me, and I couldn't resist the urge to see it for myself. As for my story, it's one of forging and shaping metal, not of grand adventures or heroics.'"
