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?))
"My s-story?" I stammer. "Well there isn't much to it." As I begin to collect my thoughts my mind is brought to one question, why are they expecting me? With this in mind I dare not share too much. "Well my name is Remy Rebeu and I've grown up in the plains just south of Celia'nor. I've lead a mostly nomadic life with my family but after a severe storm we were separated. Now I intend on finding them. If you'd know of any individuals who could aid me in my travels I would greatly appreciate it. But I understand that I may get caught up in other events along the way."
The old hag’s lips curl into a knowing smile, her yellowed teeth glinting in the candlelight. “Ah, the wandering soul seeking its kin. A common tale in these parts, yet unique to each heart,” she says, her voice a low rasp, as if each word is steeped in the weight of countless stories. “You seek aid, and aid you shall find, but know this: the path you tread is fraught with trials and temptations. The swamp holds many secrets, and not all who dwell within its murky depths are allies.”
I take a moment to process her words, feeling the weight of her gaze on me. I lean in closer, driven by a mix of desperation and determination. “If it means facing danger, I’ll do it. I can’t leave things as they are. I need to know if they’re safe, if they’re alive. I’ll brave the swamp, face the danger—whatever it takes.”
I then add, "But what do you mean you were expecting me?"
