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?))
Star pauses just inside the tent, rain dripping from his hood. He gives the place a quick scan — candles floating midair, the hag watching like she already knows too much. He lets out a quiet breath through his nose, then steps forward, boots squishing slightly on the damp rug. He doesn’t sit right away.
“Didn’t think anyone was expecting me,” he says, voice low, steady. “I don’t usually tell stories. But I guess if you’ve been waitin’ this long...”
He lowers himself onto the cushion, resting his arms on his knees, fingers still damp from the rain.
“I’m not from anywhere you’ve heard of. Grew up where the trees don’t end and the snow never really melts. Wasn’t trying to find this place — I just kept walking. Places like this tend to find me.”
His eyes flick up, meeting hers.
“I’m not here for gold. Not chasing glory. Just following a thread that started tugging a while back. And now I’m here, in a swamp that stinks like rot, talking to a woman with floating candles.”
He smirks, just barely.
“So go ahead. Tell me why you’ve been expecting me.”
