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?))
A clear look of surprise touched the woman's expression. She tensed, and breathed, "I wasn't expecting anyone here to... to know me." yet as quick as it came, so did it disperse, aught for a sense of anticipation. The candlelight danced against her violet hues, and with careful steps, she maneuvered to rest. "I've come from a ways through forest and such, from lands which the cold winds nip and the icy snow bites. There is no tale for me to tell, for I am no more then one of the lost, who wants for a place to stand, and something worth waking up for." her gaze drifted, so thoughtful she is. "The story you want for is of one who escapes routine, and the same ole paths beaten by her feet each and every day. Worn down, like these boots. I do not know where I am anymore." the scent of anticipation waned, for the curve of her lips to wear a smile upon her expression. "Perhaps, lady, that is the point. You have to be lost before you can be found again."
