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.”
Vaelindra looked toward the lady with great suspicion, her eyes calculating before she sat calmly.
“My story?” she asked, amusement playing in her voice.
“I was born the daughter of a farmer in Len’miruel. My mother died when I was five, leaving me and four siblings. My father remarried a woman who hated children, so soon enough we were told to find our own ways. I was fifteen, and I decided then and there that I deserved more. So I left, and after four years of travel, I ended up here.”
Her eyes hardened into a glare as her tone shifted, sharp and demanding.
“Now. Tell me why have you been expecting me?”
She fixed the woman with a stare that could kill
