cercysurge

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.” Drifting her hands downwards underneath her dress, flattening it out to comfortably sit down on the cushion. Gray eyes periodically flicker their gaze up to the candles suspended in the air. The stench of rotted wood and wet moss was intoxicatingly disgusting. "If I must--It's nothing special, my story is just another's taken and written in a different page sought from different eyes and mind." Inhaling.. "I leave my soft-keep in search of something fresh, outside of the realm I was couped up in. My brother holds no attention to anything but my wellbeing--His worrisome words still float in my mind, but naught be hurtful." Wafting her hand down, as if downplaying the words of her sibling at hand.