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?))
She pauses for a moment, her pale blue eye studying the old woman through the dim candlelight before slowly sitting on the cushion she offered. "I'm a Highlander," she says calmly, brushing a strand of white hair behind her ear. "Not the kind that usually wanders into places like this." Her gaze briefly drifts toward the entrance of the tent, listening to the wet sounds of the swamp before returning to her. "I wasn't always someone who traveled alone. I was born among the highlands, where people learn quickly that survival matters more than titles." She pauses slightly. "Raiders came through years ago. I lost my eye that night...and the life I knew with it." Her voice stays steady, almost detached. "After that, I stopped living the way most Highlanders do. I traveled- mercenaries, traders, people who survive by instinct rather than honor. Turns out being small and quiet makes people underestimate you." A faint, knowing smile crosses her face. "So I've been making my own path ever since." She leans back slightly and met the old woman's gaze again. "But if you really been expecting me...then you probably already know that."
