You’ve just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As you look around, your gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. You 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?))
I cautiously take a seat on the cushion, eyeing the old hag warily. "You say you've been expecting me, but how could that be? I've never set foot in this town before," I reply, my Irish accent tinged with a hint of skepticism. "Nevertheless, I find myself drawn to this place, seeking answers and perhaps a bit of guidance."
Leaning forward slightly, I continue, "My story is one of battles fought under someone who doesn't care for the people who fight for him . I am a ginger Irishman who has seen the horrors of war, and my trust is hard-won. I have fought alongside many a man like myself, I have always been the side thought of a king ruled land. It is freedom and purpose which I seek in this land for myself ."
I pause for a moment, reflecting on the memories that weigh heavy on my heart. "But the battles, they have taken a toll on my soul. I seek solace, perhaps a chance at redemption or a purpose beyond the relentless cycle of conflict. Tell me, wise one, what secrets does this town hold? What path should I take from here?"
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