Tuesdaya

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?)) She remained standing, her guard and suspicions raised by this encounter. A hand subtly rested on her hip, inches from her sword handle. "If you know me, then why ask for my story?". She questioned, tone almost unbothered if one couldn't notice the woman's natural atmosphere of anxiety she now found looming over her at every turn. Given her current situation, she trusted no one, especially a woman living in this moody, near-isolated village.