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?))
"You know me?" I give the hag a suspicious glance and keep the volume of my words low and steady.
Looking into the hag's eyes, I feel a sense of unease, yet in the background there is an undeniable comfort. I feel a tug on my chest, pleading me to answer the hag's question, despite the fact that she had not answered mine. My mouth opens, and from it come words I normally avoid speaking.
"I am young, yet I dream of things high above my station. I desire to take the crown for myself. I plan in darkness, hoping to achieve my goal. Only one problem remains, stopping me from taking the necessary steps. My own honor shames my desires..." I lean in toward the hag, studying her non-reaction to my words, "but what do you care? You are only a relic, leaving your stain on this swamp. Someday I'll be able to forsake my honor and take what I want. Whether my methods be dishonorable or righteous, it matters not."
A chill travels up my spine. "What I've revealed is treason." I put my hand on a dagger that I carry, ready to tie up the new loose end. But I falter, a mixture of pride and fear causing me to shake and release my grip. Her lack of reaction creates an aura of danger around her. "Count yourself lucky, witch. I am feeling gracious."
I turn and leave the tent, walking the town's streets in search of my next step to overcome my foolish honor and take the crown.
