TaxesAreBad

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.”

The boys head tilted involuntarily a tic he had picked up unknowingly whenever he was confused. A breath escaped him as the calls of ravens echoed outside the tent. Nerves boiled like froth up over the edge of a pot. Another breath. He stepped forward the mushy swampy mud below his dark brown boots squelching out as he moved closer to the woman who reminded him of someone he must have known in a past life. He removed his overcoat, idly applying it to the rear of the seat. Before soon pulling the seat to the side he didn't know why he did but- he sat. His eyes locked on the crone ahead of him the olive skin appearing even more so in the dim light. His eyes flickered beneath the illumination before he said; "My name is Ishmael Arsenyev, I was born in Haense and adopted from a orphanage before I could even remember. My mother and father are saints- merchants who made sure my stomach never went empty. I never need worry about sleep or where meals came from. And most of all I never needed to live in fear of not being able to defend myself." A pause as a smile crossed the boys face in memory of them. "They left not to long ago aboard their craft. Leaving to far off places for trade." He shrugged as he turned his head to the side, gazing into the firelight before turning his head once more to her.

"But- I grew up under them learning things of the way of trade how to speak to people, and learning sword beneath one of their personal friends." He said as he concluded unsure of why he spilt his near entire life story short and boring as it was to a woman he had just met. Sighing quietly he simply stood without a word, donning the jacket once more and walking from the woman's tent back into the cold swamp ahead of her abode. And moving once more forth and through the dim town.