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.”
Jakob would take a moment to internalize the question asked by the old women, trying to understand what she means by 'it's you.' After pondering so he'd begin to respond "My story? I'm sorry have we met before, you seem quite unfamiliar." The hag would look towards Jakob with a blank face, clearly she did not expect Jakob to recognize her as she did him.
She'd then attempt to pursue further words remarking "How I recognize you is not important child, what is important however, is that outfit you have on. It's clear you're not from here isn't it? A sandy and well-worn overcoat in a rainy and wet forested town like this. Well you're an outsider! If there's one thing your kind have, it's a nice story to help me pass the night."
Jakob would sit there, overlooking his own uniform, she was right. The poncho was never intended for rain, and these boots carry much more water in them then he'd hope. "My name is Jakob, I come from Almaris, a desert land south of us. A few unfortunate cases of theft, a few guards that had to die for catching me, and a few people that didn't like that lead me to a boat, and that boat led me here." The hag would move back a slight bit, leaving the man alone as a result of his blood thirsted story. It's one thing to flee as a criminal, and another to wear that on your sleeve.
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