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?))
I lower my eyes, bowing my head respectfully. The tent reminds me of home, almost. "As-salamu alaykum." I say, bringing my eyes back up to meet hers. "I am Tansen, son of Ezana, and I am far from home." I cast my eyes around the tent, drinking in the surroundings. "My parents were once peasants in Khalestine before backing the wrong side in our civil war. We escaped from the soldiers by swimming across a river, but my brother did not make it. " I swallow. "He turned back, and was captured by the enemy." I mull over my next words before continuing. "I travel the world to peddle my wares, but also to find my brother. I see his face every night in my dreams. I know he is alive. I will find him and bring him home."
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