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.” I respond, "I was on a voyage a couple of weeks ago. It was going well until..."
"Go on..."
"There was a storm. lightning lit up the sky in brilliant white flashes. I was below deck, tending to man with a broken leg. All the sudden, the ship turned over. I was hit in the head with a barrel, knocking me out." I pause, and look out the window. "I got washed up on a beach. Probably a couple miles north of here. Some men fishing discovered me. A man in rags told me about this town, and said I should come talk to you."
The old women replies "Yes. This is because I've been here the longest. I have seen things that you can't even comprehend. And today, I shall get you started on your journey."
"What journey?" I say.
"Your journey, my friend. This is where it starts. Now leave my tent, and find more about yourself. Good luck."
