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?))
I lower my hood, the scent of damp earth and smoke mingling in the air as I take my seat. “My name is selene,” I say, voice soft but steady. “The moon has guided my path here. For nights, its light has flickered—dimmed—as though something ancient stirs beneath the roots of this land. I feel it in the trees, in the trembling reeds of your swamp. The balance is breaking, and I’ve come to mend what’s been lost… or die trying.” My blueeyes catch the candlelight as I add, almost to myself, “Even the moon weeps for this place.”
