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.”
I slowly lower myself onto the cushion, the fabric cold and wet beneath me, and a slight chill runs up my spine. The candles sway without a breeze, and shadows dance across your sunken features. "My tale...?"I look into your eyes and slowly exhale. "I didn't come here by choice," I say quietly. I've been drawn to something....dreams at first, then whispers. I assumed it was simply fatigue, but Brushing a few strands of my naturally white hair back behind my ear, I raise a gloved hand.Something is woven into me. Something ancient. I was so fascinated by this magic that I followed it, wanting to harness this unknown power. Through the marsh, I followed the signs, red flowers blooming in inappropriate places, and bird trails that never touched down. Then I discovered this location. The candles flicker again, and I swallow, leaning closer. "I was told that someone here could help me understand." My voice becomes barely audible. "So, tell me, what have I stepped into, if you were really expecting me?"
