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?))
Nallias hesitates at the entrance, his eyes scanning the dimly lit tent. The smell of decay and the flicker of the candles don’t faze him—he's seen stranger things. As the hag speaks, a familiar hum stirs in the back of his mind.
He steps forward, touching the amulet beneath his coat for reassurance. Instead of sitting immediately, he meets her gaze and says, "If you’ve been expecting me, you know I don’t give my story away easily."
He sits cautiously, his curiosity piqued. "Why don’t you start? What do you know about me?"
