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?))
Ames is quiet for a moment, thoughtful, choosing her words. The cloaked one doesn’t speak often, so it is with a slight croak she begins; “I am tired.” A short sentiment, but it hangs thick in the air for a moment before she continues, “I left a place I did not belong. A place that did not wish to call me one of their own. My beliefs; they caused some.. issues.” Ames thinks for a second, a hand coming up to slightly move the thin mesh fabric tied over her face, that which shielded her eyes. “They would call me the Tempest.. I simply wished to harness the water, I have always communed with it. Felt an affinity of sorts. They didn’t like how.. emotional.. I became.” Ames hasn’t sat down yet, despite instructions from the hag, but now kneels in front of her. “I simply wish to belong. To write my poetry. The stories I hear from the waves. That’s all I ask.”
