She has silver dreadlocks that hang down to her waist. She has elaborate storyteller's tattoos on her dark brown skin. Her face has seen a thousand tales. She wears a heavily embroidered, calf-length dress over wide, mirror-hemmed pants. Her voice is throaty, yet somewhat soothing, the entire room was focused on her as she spun a story, a story of the tribes who were in a constant war, how the empire has ruined the land. Not a single soul was talking in the entire pub, their eyes focused on her and her golden brown eyes. They were fully engrossed in the story. The low lighting of the pub blurring her features. The people around her in a trance, sipping their beer slowly. She has a sense of respect that everyone longs for, the sense of belonging that everyone deserves.