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.”
Steve steps into the damp tent, the musty air filling his lungs as he carefully crouches to avoid hitting the low, sagging roof. The candles flicker eerily, casting strange shadows across the weathered fabric. His boots squish against the wet ground as he moves closer to the cushion, pausing for a moment before sitting down. He studies the hag’s face, her eyes sharp despite the wrinkles and time etched deeply into her features.
“Well, guess the cat’s outate the bag,” he mutters, wiping the mud off his hands on his jacket before sitting cross-legged. “I didn’t think anyone here knew my name anymore. But, here I am.” He lets out a dry laugh, his voice steady but carrying an edge of weariness.
“I didn’t come for any trouble. Just needed to get off the road. Been wandering’ too long. Place like this… well, it’s got that kind of pull, doesn’t it? Didn’t know what to expect, but I wasn’t lookin’ for anything specific. Not anymore.” He pauses, eyes narrowing as he shifts uncomfortably.
"I’ve done things. Seen things. Lost a lot of people along the way, but I keep moving’ forward. I suppose you could say... I’m just tryin’ to survive now. Not much else left to do."
His gaze flickers to the hag’s eyes, waiting for some kind of response, unsure of what she might be expecting or if this place holds any answers.
