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?))
"You Have? How has one such as you got access to that kind of information?" I Inquire, waiting for a tense moment I recognise I will not get the information I so desperately seek from this woman, She is not one associated with my path to the answer of the question, I stalk out the tent without giving this woman another thought and I begin to dwell on the journey that led me to this place, All sparking off from one fateful night when my mother ignited the ancestral ritual of the con'dar being the last of the line of Confessors, those who stood to find the truth no matter what. My mother when I last saw her, was in the prime of her life it seemed, only 36 years of age and as beautiful, so my dad says as when he first met her, with lustrous locks of silver hair, unique to someone of her profession, he, a simple woodsman had no hope of escape once ensnared in her charm, He was but 28 when they married, strongly built and imposing with normal auburn hair and an incredibly stout and hardy complexion with hands as rough as stone and a chiselled demeanour to match, it was the fateful evening when my mother in a craze stormed into my room with a fully-packed bag that seemed like it had been prepared a long time ago from the looks of the dust on it and implored with her whole heart I must leave to seek the answer to the question, It was time and as she always put it, a quick break is a clean break and so not 20 minutes later I was gone on the woodland path to the heart of the world, to this day I wonder why she was so panicked. It matters not now though, for I am sure that they are long gone from this world to their peaceful afterlife, we simply do not live long enough these days and with them being 70 they could hardly survive by themselves anymore, it was a sorrow but also a comfort to know they waited for him, united in the afterlife, if there was indeed one. Every day since he had been travelling, taking to his fathers profession as a lumberjack and handyman, finding work in the towns he went to whenever he could to fund his way to the truth, he still had no clue what he was looking for but only the words from his mother that he'd know when he found it, to follow the con'dar to the end and honour the Mother Confessors memory was his purpose, he was sure and so with a grunt and sigh, I quit reminiscing in the past and focused on the future, I needed some work for today if I were to sleep in a nice inn-room or perhaps a stable, I feel it will be a cold night tonight, a passing tradesman sees my plight and hollers over "Are you up for some work? I've got an inn-room for the man who helps me shift all these barrels before dark", "Add some warm supper in and I'll be your man" I wager with a sly voice and the worker grins and gestures over, indicating a deal struck. Perfect, I thought.
