ignore this my dumbahh is whitelisted from 10+ years ago dawg
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?))
****. This was just what she needed-- some no good, aging witch. Belief wasn't the issue. Fake psychics dotted every poor district in nearly every city of the realm. Fake psychics didn't call a penniless place like this home. Hesitantly, Katrin sank into the rotting chair before her. The table looked precarious at best, with a tattered blue blanket covering what was undoubtedly woodworking in worse shape. "I don't like your kind," she mutters, fingers picking at the opposite's nails in her lap. "None of you can be normal. You couldn't pretend like you didn't have some sort of vision?" The silence that followed was humorous. Katrin nearly could have laughed.
This is ridiculous. "I'm tired. I'm old-" Was that too impolite? "Not as old as you." Katrin's hands moved with more intensity. She was hungry, dirty, and scarred. She was only 28 and not nearly as old as she felt. "I don't know where I'm going. I'm too beaten to sail anymore." The truth was, Katrin had seen more death, addiction, and illness than she could have imagined before her journey began. "Everything I own has holes in it..." Her demeanor was not unlike a dejected child. Her options had run out. Her partner, her crew, her sisters- dead or moved on. Why even tell this woman, didn't she already know? If she saw her arrive, and was curious enough to ask, didn't she know?
Her eyebrows lowered, her mood drifting slowly drifting south. "Just tell me where I can find some work. I've been a shop-keep, a bartender, a sell-sword-" Not a very good one. "A pirate." She hadn't done anything to be proud of in years and it showed in the deep lines formed around her frown. Did she not deserve a place like this? So run down, so empty. Her jaded mindset was repulsive even to her. Someone had loved this place before-- perhaps even the odd woman sitting quietly across from her. "Just tell me where to go."
