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?))
Faunalyn's throat bobs, and her face screws into a muddy, pale mess. Her eyes well, and through the dryness of her throat, she manages.. "Aliwynn, I .."; Faunalyn drops to her knees, cut and brusied from days of trecking through the southern wood. Her face finds refuge in the palms of her hands, and her eyes give in to the tears that are anxiously waiting to escape. They carve their way down the palms of her hands. Sobs fill the silence of the tent, and between each sniffle, she manages: "I can't- tell you- how good- it is to see you".
Her torn leather sleeve is dragged beneath her nose, clearing the meld of snot and dirt. "I'm sorry. It's been a hard week. I was told to find you and, now that you're here, in front of me, I just...". The need to sniffle away the mess escaping from her face interrupts her. "Aspects preserve me, I don't know how I'm alive."
