A man stands before all, his robes concealing him. All can tell he is new here, for his brazen stance could only mean he is one with authority, or one seeking such. He stands there silent as the breeze, for only his breath is heard. Suddenly, with smooth care, he removes the veil from his identity. With a clear voice of slight foreign accent, he speaks to any that may listen, for his story is perhaps interesting to some... A terrible night lost in mists, but yet the gods deemed a soul worthy enough of life. So, this humblest of men staggered from the darkness toward a twinkling light, and finds himself wandering into strange lands. Beseeching the stars of heaven, the man gasps and falls to his knees - for the stars he's known since memory was had, are gone, replaced by such strangeness. Constellations of heroes and gods unknown dance the skies here of multiple colors and configurations. Alas! Ab al Wajdi no longer breathes in the air of his father's father-land! Forsooth, Ab al Wajdi is lost! Not for long was this amazement upon Ab al Wajdi when hunger and thirst snapped at his heels. Fresh water is to be found in a small spring near what can only be some sort of shrine. As crystalline water soothes the burning throat, the sun came forth to shine across the sands and give Ab al Wajdi a glimpse of this new world. This land he now knows as Sosaria. Silently, carefully, secretly and mysteriously, Ab al Wajdi learned the ways of this land. From the crenelated cavorting of the venerated Yew Gate to the languid loitering in the holy city of Luna, Ab al Wajdi has watched. Periodically, a citizen or another would come forth and stir the memory of grandeur, calling to his fellows, "Hark! We are still alive!" And for a short time, the denizens of Sosaria would come forth from their beleaguerment and partake of great activity and joy! Then all too soon, disappear they would into the confines of their grandiose dwellings filled with hints and memories of times far gone. Ab al Wajdi has no such dwelling. Ab al Wajdi has lived from tavern to tavern, keeping only a horse and what he could carry. Sometimes a bit of gold would fill his palm, but always it would be given to someone else in need - left on the ground or hidden in places none expect to find anything. Thus has Ab al Wajdi lived since the days one called Lord Brittish ruled the lands. From shard to shard Ab al Wajdi has traveled, seeing many wonders and many failings. From shard to shard, to this, called Napa Valley. For some time Ab al Wajdi stalked the shadows, observing the people, the alliances and the bonds that makes this home for so many, yet so few. A contradiction amongst all of the shards, this home of elite and beggar. Here are those who wish to thrive, but yet they leave. Here are those who skim the cream, yet are poorer than beggars. Where life is rich, sloth has entered. In no other shard has there been such a cry for Wajdi! So here, before all, I stand. Ab al Wajdi! I bring with me nothing, but offer everything. Perhaps, if others are of interest, we may form an accord and see to a brighter future. Respond, if you will, by hawk [pm] and together we shall venture into a new age of Sosaria! With that said, the man performs salam to his neighbors and awaits what may be.