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.”
Andrew stood before the hag, his heart pounding with dread. "I am here for the information regarding my father," he demanded, his voice trembling. The hag studied his distraught expression and replied, "Your father was arrested on charges of robbery and conspiracy to murder." Andrew's disbelief ignited a surge of anger. "My father? A thief and a murderer!?" He began to pace, trying to reconcile the accusation with the man he knew as a noble knight. "That's the truth of it," the hag responded, her tone almost vexing. "He will be taken to trial in one week's time."
"He would never do this!" Andrew shouted, storming out of the tent, desperate to clear his head. "Dad… he… wouldn't…" The weight of the situation pressed heavily upon him. He paced back into the tent, determination igniting in his eyes. "If he will be put to the sword, I must save him." The hag cackled at his fervor, shaking her head. "Look, boy, you aren't willing to do what it takes. His fate is sealed." Andrew slammed his fist on the crate beside him, frustration boiling over. "I don't care if I have to cut down two scores of men! He will be saved!"
The hag's gaze pierced the boy as her expression flattened. "There may be a chance he can be saved," she said, her voice low and measured. "But it won't be pretty." Andrew looked up, hope mingling with desperation. "I'll do anything!" A wicked grin spread across the hag's face as she leaned closer, her voice barely a whisper. “To save him, you must retrieve a young maiden.” His expression twisted in confusion. "What do you mean?"
