"You may have heard that our tribe has been defeated in battle," you begin. "That our chieftain has been slain and our forces have been scattered to the winds by Zhan-Ukhel. This is true, and great tragedy has most surely struck our tribe. Yet look at those of us who remain. We are as strong, as determined, as resolute as we have ever been. Now the time has come to take the first steps on a path toward a new destiny. Only one thing is for certain: We cannot stay here, for Zhan-Ukhel and the Tribe of the Black Wolf will surely come for us soon."
"Where can we go, then?" asks one onlooker. "The Black Wolves will soon control the whole steppe, and nowhere will be safe."
"That is why we have to travel beyond the steppe," you reply, "and the gods have shown me where. We must go north, through the Varrel Hills, through Blightmarsh and the lands beyond. Across the mountains to the place where our people originally hail from. To the Valley of the North Wind."
A man steps forward from the crowd. "I have heard of no such place," he says. "For all we know, this valley does not exist, and you'll lead us to our deaths. Your father was a great man, but he would have done no such thing, and I see no reason to follow his son now, especially when he proposes we go with him on some mad quest."