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.”
In silence, I walk to the cushion and sit down. I eye the crone in disgust of her and of the place we were brought, subtly checking my tunic to feel the blade I have concealed. Throwing my head up in my seat, "Nygorakhon, at your service." I say, expecting havoc to be wreaked outside at any moment, and our brothers to save us from the hands of the Shamanists, while she nods pleasedly. As I open my mouth to continue, shouting is heard from outside, and the crone drops her smile. I stand up, unsheathing my blade and quickly rush at the crone in a few bold steps, raising my blade into the air. "Stop, wait!" she cries, "I'll-" but before she finishes her sentence the blade enters her chest, smothering her. For a moment I stand there, taking in what just happened. 'I have avenged my brothers' I say to myself. The village is in complete chaos by now, our brethren have arrived to deliver justice to these shamanists and free their countrymen. I come to my senses and quickly run and crawl out of the tent from the other side, and, in the middle of the night, begin running into the wilderness: an expansive shrubland, treeless as far as the eye can see.
The light of the Guardsman's lantern once more washes over my face as he studies me by flame, I shield my eyes as he is interrogating me. "Alright. Then what happened?"
"My brothers found me, about 2 days' journey west from the village. Maybe you should loosen these cuffs a bit?"
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