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?)
“Oh, um... sure,” he says, sitting down hesitantly. “Why were you expecting me?” Her silence is unnerving. “Never mind,” he mutters, beginning his tale. “I grew up on the streets. I was never the strongest or the smartest, but I survived.” he pauses, wondering if she actually wanted to hear his story. “Continue,” she urges. “Yes, ma’am,” he reply's, anxiety creeping in. Her eyes bore into him, and he senses her impatience. “I don’t have all day,” she snaps. “Right,” he stammers. “To skip the boring parts, I eventually found help from a noble,” he lies, knowing he never left the streets. The hag's gaze sharpens, and he wonders if she sees through your lie. You swallow hard, trying to keep your composure. “I traveled the world...” he continues, omitting the part where he had nowhere to go. As he trails off, the old hag doesn’t push further. After a moment of silence, he looks up to find her gone. Another opportunity missed. With a sigh, he stands and leave the tent, continuing his journey.
