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?))
With the potent yet familiar scent of mildew and damp wood, Xandris wandered through the ashen dew that clouded the air in a pale haze. In truth, the village in comparison to her native town, rich and fruitful in all its forestry, was a bleak contrast - with its only inhabitants being the mold creeping across the withered dwellings walls.
Weaving through pebbled streets, curiosity draws her into a tent humble in its appearance. She was met with the sight of an elderly woman, donning a haggard frame rivaling that of the barren trees outside.
Perhaps her curiosity, often landing her in precarious circumstances, led her to fate yet again. "Ah... Good evenin'?" She paused, her brows crinkling. What time was it, by now? It mattered not, the gray mist clouded the sky in a darkened haze regardless of the time. She glanced at the squished pillow below, gingerly taking a seat as asked. "Uh... I s'pose I strayed a bit too far from my homeland. Dunno' what to tell ya', lady - wherever the wind takes me, I follow." She picked muck from beneath her nailbeds, progressively feeling awkward as the clock ticked.
