Thunderclaps reverberate throughout your post in the far-flung reaches of the Colonies, the faint smell of ozone brings forth the all-too-familiar sense of unease.

In the sombre downpour, a broomsticked outsider circles and touches down in the field ahead. Ashen hair drenched in both rain and sweat, she slogs through to the shelter of your verandah.

She asks haggardly, voice drowned out by rain patter on corrugated iron. Hello there, do you have any free lodging available for a traveling witch?