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?))
They step forward with a polite bow, regarding her skeptically. It takes a moment for them to join her, extravagant robes hiked up elegantly as they settle onto the musty cushion. "My surname is Jiang, given name Chengyun," they begin, voice light.
"I come from a family of tailors, generations passing their knowledge unto the next." Fingers trace the hem of their sleeve fondly, pale wispy clouds meticulously sewn into gauzy silk, stark against the cyan of their robes.
"As is customary, I began learning our trade at a young age, studying the intricacies of needlework, the language of color, of our cultural symbols. For decades I studied beneath them, an apprentice to our finest embroiderers. Now I've set out to share our art with the rest of Aevos, traveling in pursuit of new markets."
Eyes run over the garb of the old hag, the tattered, faded robes. Hands fold in their lap as they straighten, a polite smile creeping onto their face.
"Perhaps you know someone who might appreciate the work of a tailor?"
Recommended Comments