[2.07] Foul Omens
The sound of the bell echoes through the swamp, breaking the stillness of the air. The party stands on edge, waiting for a response from within the hut. After a few tense moments, they hear a shuffling of footsteps and the creaking of the door.
The door swings open, revealing a hunched figure standing in the doorway. The woman before them is old and weathered, her face lined with deep wrinkles and her hair a tangled mess of grey and white. She wears a tattered and stained robe that hangs loosely around her frail frame. Her eyes, however, hold a glimmer of sharpness and wisdom that belies her physical appearance.
The old crone gazes at the party with a mix of curiosity and annoyance. Her voice carries a raspy tone as she speaks, her words laced with a hint of bitterness. "Well, well, well, what do we have here? Adventurers, trespassing on my domain, are ye?" she mutters, her voice filled with a mixture of resignation and defiance.
"Well, out with it. What do ye want, and it better not be any of my potions. My potions would kill the likes of ye. Ye cannot handle them so if that's what ye looking for best turn around and begone with ye."