“The Legacy of Kings is something I find fascinating. The fact that Esultare’s most arrogant ruler, whomever they may be in a given decade, ever proclaims himself King of the whole continent and then, inevitably, of all the world, before his dominion collapses into ruin within ten to twenty years at the most, is ever a source of humor. It has become a recurrent event that we can almost mark our calendars by. My favorite example was some four hundred years past, when Zarconius the Mad audaciously proclaimed himself an Archon Incarnate upon this world.”

Oreann Vainean, Emerald Sage, remarking on the follies of the Kings of Esultare

Zara leapt to her feet in battle stance, then assessed her surroundings, all bleariness vanishing. She heard the sounds of fighting, of flesh ripping and tearing, of men and some kind of beast screaming and yelping in pain. She quickly shook Bim awake, who sat up groggily, rubbing his eyes.

“The caravan is under attack.” She hurriedly said. “We have to go.”

Bim fumbled, bringing out a key from his back pocket, still getting to his feet. Zara grabbed the key, shoving it into the door lock and opening it as swiftly as possible.

She hoisted Bim up with one arm and put him over her shoulder, then sprinted out of the caravan. “Wait!” Bim exclaimed. “The others-- the other prisoners-- we have to save them.”

Zara turned to look at the carnage, what little of it could be seen in the darkness, and how little time they had. She turned back to look at the cages, people huddled in misery, broken, alone, afraid. She leapt back onto the Caravan, and started unlocking doors as quickly as possible. “Come with us if you want. We can’t guarantee happiness, wealth, comfort, safety, or even your lives. But we’ll try our best to keep you safe.” Bim addressed the entire group of skeletally thin soon-to-be escaped prisoners.

About half of the two dozen or so prisoners in the wagon with them joined them as Zara hoisted Bim up again and they ran away as fast as they could from the carnage. Zara panted, batting away a large wolf as it tried to bite at them, and they lost one escapee to another wolf.

They finally made it into the hills and away from the madness, and came to grips with the fact that they had no supplies.

🟌

Conditions Met! Class attained!

Level 1!

Talent — gained!

The same notifications appeared for the entire group as they plodded slowly toward civilization, scrabbling for food and water wherever they could find it. They numbered thirteen in total, and they just couldn’t find enough food to feed everyone, even with everyone having the same new Talent.

Bim had been treating wounds and illnesses suffered, but he just didn’t have the proper resources. Meanwhile, Zara seemed aloof, her thoughts distant.

Conditions Met! Class attained!

Level 1

Talent — gained!

Talent Advancement unlocked!

🠊

She thought about the second level up the entire day, her mind fuzzy from lack of food.

🟌

With nothing else to do, at night they told stories. Old legends, wives’ tales, folklore from all over the west of Esultare. One escapee, a one-eyed man in his 60s by the name of Coll, spoke that night of a hermit that was said to live out in the hills.

“He wears robes made from the grass, it’s said, and he’s got more advancements under ‘is belt then I’ve got fingers.” He waggled his nine fingers, left thumb just a stump, at the group. “He talks with the birds and the squirrels and the other little critters in these parts, an’ he knows everythin’ they know. He’s been out ‘ere for a hundred years, they say, and he’s always hangin’ about, never talkin’ to people ‘cept to warn em off messing about with his land overmuch. They say if ya seem him out under a full moon, an’ ya run ‘im down and grab ‘im afore he can vanish, he has to give ya three answers.”

“Three answers? Whatcha mean?” Another member of the group, a wide-shouldered man named Yorem, spoke up.

“I mean,” Coll said with an air of exasperated patience, “That if you catch him such as I said, ye can ask ‘im three questions, and he has to give you a good long answer to each one o’ em. He knows everythin’ about the hills and the mountains and the grass and everyfin’ hereabouts, so it’d be awful useful to catch him, y’see. Damn difficult, they say.”

A third escapee spat on the ground and seemed nonplussed.

Bim just listened quietly and took in the many stories, some he’d heard before, a fair share he’d not. It had an air of hesitant, awkward peace to it.

They made it to civilization on the third afternoon of walking. A small farming town, only a few hundred residents, and yet it seemed to the group like Paradise.

That, of course, was when things got more complicated.