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?))
"I'm glad I found you." I settle onto the cushion gingerly, worried after seeing the state of the tent and town, but the cushion is surprisingly plush and comfortable. "I was told you could help me get settled. I'm not asking for much, just a place to call home, and a bit of dirt to grow what I need to survive. If--"
The hag shakes her head to cut me off and raises a wrinkled hand. "We'll discuss that later. First, your story."
Taking a deep breath, I say, "I'm afraid my story is like many others. It's time for me to set out on my own, to find my own way in the world. My parents were herbalists and I've followed them in trade. I'm most at home amongst my plants, and am happy to share the healing I've learned with others."
Now, the hag nods in approval. "It's a good enough beginning to your story, but let's see if we can't make things a little more interesting in the middle."
