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?))
Lyren stares at the hag, a mix of unease and confusion fills him. “Well… I suppose I just needed a change of scenery, ha ha?” he says jokingly as with a nervous chuckle. “I guess I am just looking for the next story to tell... or sing rather”, reaching back lifting his lute into sight of the woman. "But it sounds like you already know who I am," looking suspiciously.
Lyren puts the lute down, clearly still wary of the hag, but eager to tell his story. “Life in the woods was too suffocating. Working the lumber mill day after day with no one to talk to except my Ma and Pa. But you know, on a rare occasion my father would to take me with him to the city to sell our wares,” a smirk grows upon his face. “Pa, would sing stories the whole way there,” Lyren chuckling, all nerves leaving him for a moment. “He was a horrible singer, ha ha ha!” His smile slowly fades and his nervousness returns. “That was in the past though. Gotta move on,” Lyren says again awaiting the hags response.
