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 Drunken Craxil is the last proper roadside inn between the Kingdom of Nalin and the Eastern Wildlands. As such, many adventurers pass through on the way to seek fortune, destiny, or at least an interesting death. You’re here hoping to find one of them. You entrust your dappled stallion to the young stablehand, and walk inside.
As the war for Nalin dragged on, all sides bolstered their forces with outside mercenaries. They varied in their training and reliability under fire, and many had a disturbing tendency to switch sides according to the fortunes of battle. A band nomadic orcs from the Cleft-Shield clan were a surprising exception. Once hired by King Rickard’s forces, they fought with great skill and ferocity, and considered themselves honorbound to see the campaign through to the end.
${What is her name?} was one of their best. Taller and stronger than most human knights, deadly with sword, axe, and bow, she was a champion of her kind, and the daughter of a chief. You fought and marched at her side, and quickly became more than mere friends, bound by battle and shared hardship.
The big orc was good company on a campaign, quick to anger, quicker to laugh, with a love for strong drink, lewd humor, and raucous marching-songs. When the war ended, you went your separate ways, but…damn it, you miss her already!
You find her at the bar, nursing a giant mug of strong ale.
“${character.name}! She calls, beckoning you over. “Drink with me!”
Three rounds of gut-scouring ale later, you make your proposal. She laughs.
“Marry you? ${character.name}, if you’re mocking me…”
You gesture with your mug, and take another sip. “Not at all. I’m a Baron, now. An alliance with your clan would benefit both of us. And besides…”
You sigh, and drain your mug. “I miss you, ${What is her name?}. I need someone to watch my back.”
The big orc stares at you for a long moment. Finally, she laughs again. “I like you, human. So we’ll make it a wager, and let the gods decide. Come outside with me, and we’ll duel to first blood. If you win, I’ll marry you. If not?” She grins evilly. “You pay my bar tab, and we’ll part as friends. You’re a Baron, you can afford it.”
You follow ${What is her name?} into the road outside, along with drunken crowd of onlookers. She draws her sword.
“On your guard, human!” She says.
You draw your own blade. She lunges to attack, but you’re ready. Your swords clash, once, twice. You part, and circle each other, each looking for an opening in the other’s guard. And then, you see your chance.