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?)) With the feeling of unexplored air tensing his vocal cords, "well...my story?" a brief yet important silence took place before he could withhold his courage and with a boosting deep breath, "I am the last hope of a poor family who lived of agriculture on an island far and further away from here. We lived of peace with nature and of festivities until we didn't. The gods were fulfilled with us and the people of that island so a great fire destroyed it all." Gazing upon an empty blue sky feeling shameful of such destiny hitting him he then continues, "Now, in honor of my heaven touched brother, I must carry on with our legacy and bring our name to greatness." As manly as he could tell this story, he still left some tears touch the muddy grass before entering erupting into silence waiting for the lady's response.
