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?)) "Huh...?" Haciathraelle eyed the hag warily, her face twisting with disgust. She quickly glanced around the tent, unimpressed by the levitating candles. "YOU'VE been expecting ME? I must be in the wrong tent..." She turned around, ready to leave, but stopped and sighed. Her expression was cautious as she looked at the old woman once more and settled down gracefully on the cushion, instinctively grabbing a lock of her hair and twirling it. "Dingy town...? Yes, I suppose ANYONE would want to know why a High Elf like me is here." Haciathraelle chuckled softly to herself, her eyes avoiding the hag's unwavering gaze. "I'm a solo traveler, just hoping to find a decent place to stay for the night." She looked up once more at the hag, meeting her gaze and narrowing her eyes. "Who might you be, and why have you been expecting me?"
