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.”
Elaris hesitated at the tent’s entrance, the scent of rotted wood and wet moss clinging to his cloak like a memory he couldn’t shake. The floating candles cast flickering shadows across his sharp features as he ducked inside. His hazel eyes narrowed slightly, adjusting to the dim glow as the old hag raised her head.
Elaris moved silently, like a creature trained by the woods themselves. He lowered himself onto the cushion, his posture tense but poised—like a wolf unsure if it had wandered into a trap.
He took a breath, fingers brushing the carved stone tied at his waist—his old hunting tool, now worn smooth from years of use.
The hag watched him, expression unreadable in the flickering light.
A shadow passed over his face.
Silence filled the tent, save for the low hum of the swamp outside. Elaris met the hag’s eyes, his own unreadable.
