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?))
Omaro takes a seat on the cushion "my story huh?" he says with a sigh "its a simple one, and complex at the same time. it all started when I was 19, I grew up learning about my ancestors from my parents, my dad especially. He would always tell a story for dinner, first it was iblees' War, then it was Veluluai's mandate. every night. I understand the importance of my ancestors. and slowly he would ask me to tell the stories, forcing me to read, hours and hours of my ancestors history, and i couldnt do it anymore i told him it was stupid! couldn't we get just ONE dinner without a 4 hour long history lesson?" he yawns "sorry.. just tired from all the walking. Anyways we fought about it a lot, and it ended with him kicking me out and here ive been.. wandering for the last couple years just surviving from place to place... just trying to find myself i guess"
