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 have always lived in the snowy mountains. Every day when I go to bed I always see the beautiful lights of our village. It usually smells of smoked food. When I was a small boy I lost my parents in a raid and have been alone about my whole life. Now I am moving to a new kingdom to start fresh.
