Crain

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?)) Oh... Wasn't expecting to get recognized," he stutters for a second, then clears his throat. "Do I know you, ma'am?" As the words come out, he inspects the tent for any signs of danger. The dim light from the candles casts flickering shadows, making him uneasy. He reluctantly sits on the cushion she indicated, still wary of his surroundings. "I come from a small village by the river," he begins, his voice steadying. "Growing up there was peaceful but challenging. My parents were farmers, and they worked hard to provide for us. My mother used to tell me stories of places far beyond our village, places like this one. But I never imagined I'd actually visit such a town. What brings me here? Well, I guess you could say I'm searching for something... or maybe running from something." He pauses, his eyes meeting the old hag's. "But why were you expecting me?"