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 village is just as you remember it. You’ve seen countless others like it, houses burned, crops confiscated or trampled, villagers put to the sword by your side or the other. But your own home was spared. Another stroke of good fortune. And now, you dare to hope for yet another. You ride into the village atop a dappled stallion, dressed in gleaming mail and fine silk. You dismount at the modest home of Johann the Miller, and knock on the door.
${What is her name?} was your first love. You grew up together, and you promised yourself that one day, if you made your fortune, you’d come back to her, and give her the life she deserved. You’ve made your fortune, and then some. But will she still remember you? Is she even still alive?
The door opens. Old Johann stares at you for a moment, before he recognizes you. “${character.name}? We all thought you were dead! Welcome back, boy!”
You bow to the old man, and smile. “I’m here to see ${What is her name?}. Is she well?”
“That she is.” Johann says. He turns and calls into the next room. “${What is her name?}? You have a visitor!”
${What is her name?} walks into the room. The chubby, freckled girl you remember has blossomed into the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen. “You came back!” She says.