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?))
"My story?" I ask. "How can I sum it, while giving it the weight it deserves?"
"Try," she says, a hint of impatience in her voice.
"Long. Sorrowful. Riddled with hard work, and love, and loss. Many loves, in fact. I had twenty-nine wives-"
"Thirty," interrupts my traveling companion, who has known me through a great many marriages. "You always forget to count Judy."
"Thirty," I correct myself. "Thirty wives. Each more kinky than the last."
"Ahem" says the hag, urging me to get to the point. A chilling wind blows through the tent.
"I don't get out much," I continue. "When I'm not strapped to a bedpost, I'm deep within the Earthen bowels." I wink and nudge my travelling companion. "And I also work in the mines."
The hag gives me a very dirty look. I don't take it personally. There are plenty of times in life for seriousness.
"The pursuit of good has taken me many places I did not wish to go. Away from the wives, and the stone, and the comfort of home. But it is a pursuit that every soul need take, so that the world can remain one of faith, hope, and dignity. It is that pursuit that hath lead me to your doorstep- err, flapstep-" I say, remembering the tent, "-on this fine day. We have need of your potions and wares."
"Frankly, I'm sorry I asked," mumbled the hag.
