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.”
"Oh, I just, uh…" you stutter, tensing up. You eye the crone, then back outside the tent. For a moment, the air thickens with anticipation, until…
I settle onto the cushion, glancing around the flickering tent. “You’ve been expecting me?” I ask with a half smile. “That’s a first. Most towns don’t even expect visitors, let alone me.”
“I come from a long way east, from a town where the wind never stops blowing and the soil turns to dust if you stare too long. My father was a guard, my mother a trader. I grew up learning to fight for what little we had food, coin, reputation. Life was simple until the fires came. Bandits, they said. Maybe they were. All I know is, when it was over, there wasn’t much left to stay for.”
“I’ve been walking ever since. Mercenary work here, odd jobs there. No ties, no roots. People say every road leads somewhere but mine’s been nothing but dirt and bad weather.”
I glance up at the hag. “Then I heard about this place. Something about the way people talked half warning, half invitation. So I figured I’d see it for myself. Maybe there’s something here worth stopping for. Maybe not, but i really hope there is, i really don't want to keep walking for hours, days, weeks...i'm tired."
