A lifetime ago, you were a peasant. You had a pitchfork, a head full of dreams and stories, and nothing else. You left your village in search of adventure. Well, to make a long story short, you found it.

It started when word reached you that old King Oswald was dead. Normally you’d just raise a glass to the new King, wish him long life, and go on with yours. But this time, there was a complication. Alaric, the King’s heir, was said by some to be sickly and incapable. Others whispered that he’d come under the thrall of a vampire, or been cursed for some sin of his own or his father’s. What everyone can agree on, is that within a week of his father’s death, someone stuck a dagger in his back. And then, the Kingdom of Nalin tore itself apart.

A civil war is a nasty business, but for a young, foolish peasant dreaming of glory, it was the chance of a lifetime. You joined a band of irregulars, supporting Duke Rickard, the King’s cousin, against his various rivals for the throne. Over the next few bloody years, you learned the arts of war. You saw glories, and horrors to match. But it turned out you had a knack for survival, and earned one promotion after another. Finally you ended up in command of your own small company. And in the final battle in the fields of Orrin, your life changed forever.

Rickard’s remaining rival was a man named Martin, who claimed to be Oswald’s bastard son. Fully half the nobility supported him, and their forces had massed near the farming town of Orrin, to settle the war once and for all. The battle was a slaughter on both sides. The kingdom’s best warriors fought, and killed, and died, under the pitiless summer sun. It was near twilight when you picked up a fallen banner, shouted a last desperate battle cry, and led anyone who would follow you in one last, desperate charge. You expected to die, but somehow, fate was still with you. Your attack broke what was left of the enemy line, and the day was yours.

Everything changed after that. Word of your bravery reached the new King, himself. In a solemn ceremony, he pronounced you a Hero of the Realm. And even better, he bestowed on you the Barony of Orrin, the site of your victory. You have a title, land, and wealth now. But a Baron needs heirs, so you’re expected to marry. You have just the woman in mind.

The war is won, but not over. Scattered pockets of resistance remain, some professing loyalty to Martin despite his surrender, some descending into outright banditry. You ride alone on a dappled stallion, through countryside torn by battle and the uncaring passage of armies.

It’s nearly dusk when you reach the encampment of the Iron Riders, Nalin’s elite heavy cavalry. You fought alongside them several times over the course of the war. They were delayed by Martin’s skirmishers, though, and missed the battle at Orrin Fields. Now, they’re mopping up stragglers, here in the borderlands.

You’re here to see their commander. Lady ${What is her name?} is a master tactician, a formidable warrior, and a renowned beauty. As a common soldier, you admired her from afar, but never dared to approach her. But now you’re the Hero of Orrin, and a freshly minted Baron besides. Perhaps your prospects with her have improved.

You find Lady ${What is her name?} in her personal tent, still partly clad in her heavy plate armor. When she sees you, she stands and salutes.

“${character.name}.” She says. “Or should I say, your lordship? Welcome.”

“${character.name} is fine.” You say. “I’m hoping we can get better acquainted.”

She nods. “From what I hear, your little exploit in Orrin won the war for us. The least I can do is offer you a drink.”

Lady ${What is her name?} produces a crystal decanter, and two glasses. “Nyssean brandy. I’ve been saving it.” She says. She pours a drink for each of you. “To Rickard, the new and rightful King of Nalin.”

She drains her glass, and you do likewise. The brandy is sweet and strong, and burns a little going down.

She pours two more drinks. “And to the Hero of Orrin.” She says.

You laugh at that, but you clink glasses with her and drink again.

You’re starting to feel a buzz from the brandy. Lady ${What is her name?} looks directly into your eyes, and gives you a warm smile. “Now then, Baron ${character.name}. What can this old soldier do for you?”