One Small Step

You walk through a forest that was not here before, more like when you first came here a long time ago. You decide to test out your skills against a few unfortunate trees, careful to not use any form of pyromancy lest you anger any spirits dwelling here.

Being part of a nameless army designed to be near perfect in every field has its perks. A few test swings of one of your swords prove that you have not lost any motor skills, but you are a bit rusty.

You switch to the mystic arts and cast a few beginner spells, nothing fancy just yet. Nothing goes wrong meaning you haven't forgotten any of that.

You instinctively reach for your throat and feel the scar. You received it when combatting a dying divinity. Your men had taken care of its followers but even then it refused to accept defeat.

As you delivered the killing blow it struck your throat with its clawed hand, clearly aiming to decapitate you in a last-ditch effort. Luckily you avoided the main force of the strike but it slashed your throat, taking your ability to speak with it to the grave meant for gods.

You've hunted several gods in your time. Some fought bravely while others cowered in the face of inescapable extinction. So much for the accolades they gave themselves.

Focusing on the present, you scan the nearby area. Fauna of species you have not seen before roam freely. Just how long has it been since your memories were taken?

No matter, you lumber on, following a random path through the trees until you come across a campsite. The fire pit feels warm meaning someone just left.

There is rustling behind you and you mentally chastise yourself for an action that should have been utilized earlier. A sweep reveals three life signatures. They approach in an arch, probably hunters.

You decide to wait for them and sit by the still-warm ash pile. You suppress the urge to mess with them. They step out of the bushes, weapons drawn and gazes fixed on you.

The trio is wearing leather-based clothing with their weapons being sharp but not sharp enough to even break your first ward.

Would you be able to understand what they say? Do you wait for them to speak first? No. You know better than to leave things up to chance. Skimming through your memories, you subtly deploy a linguistic sage art and wait.

" Who are you, old man? " The middle one asks. A gruff-looking man and the main strength of the group.

" I am but a traveler." You project your inner voice loud enough for all three to hear. " Perhaps we can help each other."

" Define help." He points his large battle axe at you. Cute. " Or you will meet your end at my axe. "

You sigh. This is no different than dealing with feudal tribes in a new region intended on being added to the empire. They are scared but are doing all they can to project stoicism and caution.

The two behind the man are no more than children. Perhaps they could be his? You don't take him to be a family man but that's just you.

" You can lower your weapons, " you say as you telepathically place your weapons by your side. " There is no need for violence."

Their eyes shift from you to your weapons. Then back to you. At least they are willing to listen to reason before trying to 'fight'. You can't deny that the thought riles you up. Perhaps the big one would be willing to go a few rounds with you.

" Speak." He orders as he drives the pommel of his weapon into the ground.

" What year are we in? And what do you call this region? Where is the nearest city? "

" The year is 1031 A.E and this is the North Shoreline forest. The nearest city is Portsmouth, West of here. "

So it has been over 300 years since that fateful encounter. You are careful to not show any reaction to that, you are already suspicious as it is. Best not to push it any further.

" Much appreciated." You perform a bow and begin to walk away from the group. You can feel their eyes on you as you leave, something you've grown accustomed to.

A few hours later you stand on a hill overlooking the city. Portsmouth is well, a port city. The name is self-explanatory after all. There's a road leading into the city and if there's one thing you know about port town is that information is abundant. One just needs to ask for the right sources.

A thought hits you, what exactly counts as money in this new age? Perhaps it is still gold and metals with an equal or greater value. But it could be something else. The aerokeel proves that innovation in the last three centuries has been nothing short of staggering. You won't find your answer by just musing over a hill overlooking a city. Time to meet the inhabitants of this new age.

Slipping into a more subtle outfit from what you can conjure, you look no more than a farmer coming in for supplies. The guards pay no mind as you walk past. The emblem on their breastplate is a lion standing atop a mountain with an arc of light behind it with a white background.

The city is full of life as vendors peddle their goods to possible customers. People walk around with their weapons on full display. There must be a guild nearby and that means information. Perfect time to test the mimic voice spell.

You approach a timid-looking man, with blonde hair and pointy ears clearly defining his race. He clutches his weapon close to his chest and avoids eye contact with any passerby.

" Excuse me. " You offer a friendly wave. " Do you by chance know where the guild hub is? "

He flinches before pointing in a direction. Poor lad. Should he ever be in combat there is a high chance he would perish in an instant. Or perhaps this is an act he has put on.

You thank him and head in the direction he pointed. People pay you no mind, to them you must be another customer here for the services of the guild.

The building is quite impressive. But you've seen better ones constructed by lesser demons. They always loved to play dress up. Pity, it did nothing to save them from you.

You feel the presence of a ward around the building. Magical protection, interesting. Something must have happened to cause this. Perhaps you could find out what it was in the future.

You step through the doors and into the courtyard. To your left is a small training ring with a few people around it. Two men are locked in a duel against each other. To the left is a tent with people going in and coming out.

You walk straight and enter the main building. It's larger on the inside. Must be some new form of magic. People lounge about, either in groups or alone, each doing their own thing.

Finding the reception desk is easy. As it is directly in the line of sight of whoever enters. On the other side is a young elf maiden. She wears a blue and white dress with designs you've never seen before.

" Hello, " she greets you with a smile. " How may I help you today sir? "

" Greetings, pray do tell how one can join this establishment," you say, careful to mimic the sound of an elderly but not too elderly voice.

She falters for a split second and you notice it. She asks who may be planning to join and you decide to wing it.

" Me." You point at yourself with a thumb. " Is there a problem with that? "

" Oh not at all. " She smiles but it is clearly forced. You pretend not to notice. She hands you a parchment-like thing she calls a form. Apparently, you are supposed to fill it out using something called an inkless quill.

" Here you go. " She hands you said inkless quill, it looks no different from a standard quill. You can feel the magic coursing through it when you grab it. Perhaps it uses ethereal energy to write. Interesting.

You walk over to a nearby table that has no occupants and take a seat. The form asks mundane things such as your name, age, race, and many others along those lines. For the name you think, perhaps a long-dead god should suffice. It might raise an eyebrow or two but it shouldn't go further than that.

Filing out the other spaces is as easy as unsheathing a blade. You are, however, careful not to go overboard with things, keeping them simple is key.