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?))
I looked around inside the tent, seeing a lot of witchcraft stuff. But not stuff I used to see at my motherland, that was different. I looked at old hag and made a step forward, impatiently sighed. "I am Gunnhild, daughter of Vigdis, last of my kind. I am seeking for fair revenge for death of my clan. Your witchcraft could help me find some answers, because my Gods are abandoned me."
