You are in a tavern. Water is dripping from a wet spot on the rafters, and it smells like something earthy and fungal is growing inside the walls. It is early morning and so quiet that you can hear the crunch of the waterbug you have just crushed beneath your boot.

The tavernkeeper is setting mugs on the counter when he glances over at you. "We don't serve your kind here," he says.

"But I'm human," you reply.

"I meant foreigners. You ain't from around here."

This is true. Where are you from again?

>A remote monastery in the woods, after being left there in a breadbasket when you were born
>A quiet logging town a few leagues yonder, born to a family that owns the local sawmill
>The jungles of an island off the coast of this land, raised by a dragon with 11 heads