"The old witch gave you nothing, but cryptic talk of ravens and woe." an old man says with a hint of a laugh, from not far away. He wasn't with the dancers originally and is escorted by a young woman who could be Madam Eva's twin (where she a bit older). The man wears a fur blanket over his shoulders to fight of the chill in the air, and he must have been roused from one of the tents.
"That is Stanimir, this groups diajan, umm... mystic or sage." Wagner whispers to the others.
"The Vistani have no lords or kings, a diajan serves the people like one."
The old man gives the tiefling a nod and smile. The girl shifts from foot to foot and tugs lightly at the blanket.
"Please Papa, you shouldn't be..."
"Nonsense!" he says without looking at her.
"I should always be here to greet our newest Mistwalkers." he adds more lightly and bows deeply to the group, the fingers of his hands steepled together in front of him as he does.
"Please share our fire. Partake of our meat, and fill your bellies with our wine." He says rising from the bow and throwing his hands wide.
"We are now your servants as much as we are His. I have a story. Yes! A story. Gather round everyone, it is time to tell The Tale..."
With that the young girl reluctantly leads him to a chair by the fire.
[sblock=The Tale]
Stanimir fills his mouth with wine, then spits into the fire. The flames turn from orange to green. As they dance and sway, a dark shape appears in the bonfire's core.
"We come from an ancient land whose name is long forgotten, a land of kings. Our enemies forced us from our homes, and now we wander the lost roads."
The dark shape in the fire takes the form of a man being knocked from his horse, a spear piercing his side. Stanimir continues.
"One night, a wounded soldier staggered into our camp and collapsed. We nursed his terrible injury and quenched his thirst with wine. He survived. When we asked him who he was, he wouldn't say. All he wanted was to return home, but we were deep in the land of his enemies. We took him as one of our own and followed him back toward his homeland. His enemies hunted him. They said he was a prince, yet we didn't give him up, even when their assassins fell upon us like wolves."
Deep in the bonfire, you see the dark figure standing with sword drawn, fighting off a host of shadowy shapes.
"This man of royal blood fought to protect us, as we protected him. We bore him safely to his home, and he thanked us. He said, 'I owe you my life. Stay as long as you wish, leave when you choose, and know that you will always be safe here.'"
The figure in the dancing fire vanquishes its final foe, then disperses in a cloud of smoke and embers. Stanimir's face becomes a somber mask.
"A curse has since befallen our noble prince, turning him into a tyrant. We alone have the power to leave his domain, and sometimes our dread lord travels with us. Together we travel far and wide and when we find worthy heroes such as yourselves, He brings you back to his homeland, to try and put his troubled soul to rest."
[/sblock]
