Your character has just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As they look around, their gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. They 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?))
Malik sits down cautiously, his heart pounding in his chest as he glances around the dim tent, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows across the worn fabric. His hands tremble in his lap, but he tries to steady them, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor. "I... I don’t know how you know me," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I’m just... just passing through." He swallows hard, his mind racing. "There is this king, not a good king. He... he’s cruel, and I couldn’t stand serving him anymore. I had to leave." The weight of the words makes his stomach twist, and he looks up at her, eyes wide. "I never thought anyone would be expecting me. I thought I was... safe here." He glances toward the entrance again, as though expecting him to appear out of nowhere, and tenses, fearing that the evil kings reach might stretch even here.
