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?))
The nervous halfling woman enters the dimly lit tent, the scent of rotted wood and wet moss filling the air. Stuttering, she responds to the old hag, "I-I'm just passing through." The hag, seemingly expecting her, gestures for her to sit. Trembling, she perches on a cushion, avoiding eye contact. "M-my name's T-Talula," she stammers. "I-I'm just a traveler. N-nothing special about me." Talula fidgets, her gaze fixed on the floor, uncomfortable but compelled to share a bit of her story.
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