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?))
Trazc raises an eyebrow, his expression calm yet wary. “Expecting me, were you?” He stepped forward slowly, his boots making a soft squelch on the damp ground. His eyes scan the room briefly, taking in the suspended candles, then settle on the hag. With a soft sigh, he lowered himself onto the cushion. “My story is long,” Trazc, his voice steady, “but it seems you already know parts of it. So tell me, what is it you seek from me?”
