Busa

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?)) Now inside the tent, I decide that the woman was trustworthy. I glare at the lady and take my seat. "My name is Raqiros.It started when I was about fifteen. My family were Sailers, and we were at sea almost all of the time." I adjust myself in my seat. "One day, when we were at sea. We encountered another ship. My father sailed near them, as we commonly encountered traders." I adjust back to my original position. "They were raiders. We were ambushed but I managed to hide in one of the crates. They took the crates onto their ship, and I was in one of them. I have no idea what happened to my parents, as I instantly hid." I pause for a moment. " When I assume we reached land, I was loaded off with other crates into some sort of storage. I peered through the cracks in the crate, and waited until it was dark out. I then fled and ever since then, I have been traveling these lands in order to either find my parents, to find someone who knew them, or to simply find a safe space." I clear my throat. "So, what's it to ya?"