Rumors circulated Alabaster last year, detailing a mysterious tent appearing in the kingdom’s monthly bazaar. It is known that the bazaar attracts all kinds of weird people and things, but there is nothing that can top the contents of this rumor.
They say that there is a bright blue tent hiding amongst the bazaar down Helia’s Alley. The bazaar is a sea of all vibrant colors so that particular tent is hard to find. But one could notice it from the rest with its strange flag, a triangular white fabric stapled crudely on a wooden pole.
Once you find the tent, prepare your money and your host sacrifice for its services is out of this world. The crazy old man whispered, “He can swap your bodies with someone else.”
It is true - the denizens of the bazaar would tell you. Two men go in the tent with their distinct personalities and they come out swapped. A lanky guy acts like a brute while his brusque companion is surprised to the slightest of touch. No one in their right mind would ask the blue tent for its services, because it takes a special kind of obsession and craziness for one to do that. No one would willingly give up their bodies that they’ve known all their life in exchange for a foreign one. No one, except for a few crazies.
The old man coughed over the campfire. Several merchants were in awe of his story while most did not even bother to give him a look. He was an old man with death gripping on his neck. Anything that comes out of that mouth is either a hallucination or utter horse shit. As for the old man, he did not care about their mocking laughter and calls of him about him being out of his mind. His job was done.
The old man retreated in the dark, and once the shadows fully embraced him, a bright light flashed lighting the darkness in a fraction of a second.
[Possession] the old man said, his voice turning to that of a younger guy.
In this foreign land, you can’t just put billboards saying you have the power to swap bodies for a price. Alec learned that the hard way when the Church of Zelianthos asked for his head for practicing unknown magic. The only way he could spread the name of his establishment is through the mouth of gullible merchants and sidewalk vagrants. That way, his establishment is embroidered in an aura of mystery that seeks those desperate enough to ask for his service.
Alec returns to his measly old tent, one that has his underwear, the last memory of his old world, stapled on a pole.
And so, the night is dark while the large blue moon illuminates the night bazaar in its grace. The tent entrance flips, showing his first customer for the night.
“Welcome, to the Tent of Swapping. How may I be of service?”