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?)) Alexa, her boots covered with swamp muck, steps into the dimly lit tent. with a hand resting on the hilt of her trusty blade. She lowers her hood, revealing a face weathered by harsh elements. Her voice, tinged with the rough brogue of her Highlander upbringing, resonates in the stifling air.
"Aye, this place is darker than the icy tundra where I was raised," she replies. "I come from the snowy wastelands, a place where the biting winds and unforgiving blizzards are your only companions. Me family knew naught but struggle, and it was there that I learned the ways of survival, for a blade was the only inheritance I had."
Taking a seat on the offered cushion, Alexa continues, "The snow-covered mountains, they taught me strength, and the endless nights guarding our rugged homestead, they taught me vigilance. When I came of age, I took up the sword and became a mercenary, for it seemed the only path to a life beyond mere survival. It was the only way to make enough coin to provide for what remained of me family, who had been cruelly slaughtered by bandits."
Leaning forward, her gaze locked with the hag's, she states, "Now, I've journeyed to this godforsaken town, a place unlike any I've seen before. The reasons are me own, but it seems fate has guided me here." Alexa falls silent, awaiting the hag's response.
