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?)) This is from the third-person POV.
Bolog's eyes drift around the tent's humid interior, before pivoting back towards the elderly woman. "I can't say I recognize you." Despite the confused remark, Bolog pops down onto the sewn cushion. "In all honesty, I don't have much of a story worth sharing, I'm just looking for work." His expression turns bleak, flattening his lips as he awaits a response.
