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?))
They send her a blank stare, a sense of unease creeping onto their face. Taking a few steps towards the cushion, they lowered themselves down with a soft thud. "I'm a runaway, lived almost my entire life wandering between land and sea. From Amaethea all the way to Lurin ," Pulling out and arrow they let the flicker of candle light bounce off the reflective metal. "I'd ran away because it was all too miserable, I had been taken as a servant by whatever yawn boring type of human noble found me when I was 12 having no recollection of any years prior" Intertwining one of their loose hairs with a finger, their lips turned downwards as they left the tent; "Pleasure meeting you," a hand waving as they left the old woman to what small activities one could to in a tent.
