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?))
Orlain briefly nodded after peering around and scrunching his nose at the smell. Taking a step toward the woman with caution he proceeds with his hand on his hilt just encase, but upon realization of this woman causing no harm. He sits himself down, sitting Criss cross. "Me? You know me?" He stopped briefly with a flinch of surprise, taken aback for a moment. "I uh.. well, I'm not so sure.. what is it you wish to know?"
