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.
You were hoping for a peaceful start to your tenure as Baron, but it was not to be. You’ve barely settled into your new manor when your guards bring in an apparently crazed, extremely angry woman, shackled and locked into a heavy wooden yoke. Her dark hair is in disarray, her face is scarred, and she’s dressed in filthy rags. Her right hand appears to have been hacked off at the wrist, and then crudely bandaged.
You knew Sergeant Ralston in the war. He’s normally a steady sort, but he looks confused, and worried.
“We found her at the crossroads, screaming obscenities at passers-by. She threatened our patrol with these”. The Sergeant says. He holds up an odd-looking firearm, and a strange metal device.
“She called them a ‘boom-stick’ and a ‘chain-saw’.”
“Let me go, you assholes! They’re coming!” The strange woman shouts.
You approach her, careful to stay out of biting range. “What do you mean?” You ask. “Who is coming?”
She lets out a crazed laugh. “The dead! Evil spirits! I read from the Book of the Dead, and they got loose! There was this cabin, and they killed all my friends, and…”
She cocks her head, and looks at you curiously. “Look, it’s a long story, okay? My name’s ${What is her name?}, by the way. I’m from the future.”
For some bizarre reason, her story has the ring of truth.
“I’m Baron ${character.name}, lord of these lands.” You say. “Let’s say for the moment that you aren’t completely insane. What do you propose I do about it?”