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?))
*Eryn crouches down and gently strokes a small plant as a mother would a child, as the plant visibly increases in size and maturity stages of it's life cycle, not making eye contact with the old woman* I don't recall feeling your gaze upon me, old woman. Perhaps your visions are obscured by the haze caused by the wonderful swamp gasses creating such a diverse ecosystem in this region. Truth be told, I've always preferred the company of plants to other people. My parents died from a mysterious illness when I was 16 years old. As a penniless orphan, in my grief and desperation to understand, I immersed myself in the study of plants and nature. I delved deep into the world of botanical magic, seeing in plants a connection to life, death, and a small glimpse into mysteries beyond the comprehension of mere men. Since witnessing such things, I have been driven in search of rare plants and unique species, and as much as this biome excites me, it's nothing I'm unfamiliar with, so I must continue my search. Farewell, old woman.
