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?))
Saphrin seemed a little stunned, as he'd turn her head down towards the old hag. A hand raises to push aside hair from his face, ". . . Vrax." He states as his gaze lowered towards the cushion. He stood in the same spot. "My story. . ?" A sigh would escape the dark elf's lips before he began to speak. "I simply do not know you, and therefore, have no reason to discuss such with you." His words were stern, as he gazed sharply towards the hag, his face filled with distaste.
