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?))
Eamon steps into the tent, boots squelching in the mud. The air smells of moss and smoke as he studies the hag through the flicker of candlelight.
“Aye… didn’t think anyone’d be expectin’ me,” he says, settling onto the cushion. “Name’s Eamon MacThain, from the northern farlands — I farm, brew, and keep a small tavern. Simple life, or it was, till the winds started carryin’ strange tales — beasts in the fog, fires in the East.”
He fingers the small stag charm at his belt, eyes narrowing.
“Didn’t plan on endin’ up in a swamp, but if you truly were expectin’ me… you’ll have to tell me why.”
