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?))
He walks into the tent, careful not to touch anything. Seemingly less out of politeness, and more from a sense of "if I get mold on my clothes I'm going to riot"
"You've reserved a room for me, yes? Since I've got some time on my hands I suppose I'll indulge." He raises his hand to his chest dramatically, as if to recite a play.
"I know many a-tale, my dear old hag... but none as tragic... as my own!" He falls back dramatically into the cushion. "Twas but years ago I was a lowly tailor by trade! My father had intended for me to be his successor..."
He sighs deeply. "But alas, my heart belongs to the arts. I was destined to be a musician, a storyteller!"
"So I left my home, and my family." His hand covering his face, as if to motion sadness, even though his expression remained the same.
"BUT NAY! To places I traveled and there tales I would tell, but no coin to my name for all the stories I sell!"
He glances back to the woman from under his hand, quickly checking if she is still interested.
He continues regardless. "Now look at me, all beaten and afraid. For no good art, the people could appreciate!"
"Travel from here, travel away, in backwater inns I have to stay..."
He gets up from the cushion and musters his most pitiable smile as he takes off his cap: "Now I have been everywhere, no matter how strange... So how about some generosity? Or spare change?"
He gives a deep bow, as if receiving a standing ovation.
