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?))
The woman slipped into the tent with an air of nonchalant familiarity, her senses automatically tuning into the mix of potent odors that filled the cool, damp air. The dancing candlelight played across her face, casting a shadow of mystery on her sharp features. A loose robe of dark fabric barely concealed her lean frame, though the smears of colorful liquid upon her leather apron spoke volumes of the exotic experiments she had conducted over time. Small leaves and twigs clung to her unkempt hair, suggesting a recent journey through an ancient forest.
With a practiced composure that belying the hint of a smile on her lips, she began, "Ah yes, my tale," she continued, her voice smooth and measured. "Long and winding, filled with trials and tribulations... but I expect you know that already, old one. I hail from a tribe of wandering mystics, healers, and herbalists. My path has led me here, to this swampy town, though perhaps we were destined to meet."
