| Sage GM |
In a clearing of tall oak trees an old woman sits, stirring a pot of what looks like bubbling mud over a small campfire. The color of the vegetation is muted as if there has been a drought. Everything looks dry and dirty, especially the old woman. She seems like a fortune-teller down on her luck. Her hair is in a large gray bun of sorts with many stray hairs framing her weather-worn, wrinkled face. The dress and shawl on her shriveled frame is thread-bare and dirty. She moves her arm very slowly as she stirs. Even though her body seems frail and weak, her eyes betray strength and wisdom. They are the piercing green of spring growth. The kind of eyes that hold your gaze and see into your soul.
A man lays sleeping near her and the fire. Another figure moves about the trees, just outside of the clearing.