One night, after your training was completed and you found yourself wondering what’s next, you were abruptly awoken with a knife to your throat and a hooded figure holding their index finger over their pursed lips…
The only light source in your makeshift room at the equally makeshift tavern you’ve made your home is the glow of nearby torches illuminating the path outside filtering through the cracks of the random boards that make up the walls. Your eyes fight for to take in all the available light to discern any features of the assailant. As you fight instinctive panic to formulate any worth of worthwhile defensive action, you hear a gruff yet oddly squeaky voice loudly whispering something in commanding tone utilizing a language you don’t understand.
You then make out the strange sound of child-like footsteps rushing towards you, and a puff of what feels like some type of powder being blown on your face. Unprepared for this assault, you can’t help but breathe some in. Too much, in fact. You recoil from the strange earthy taste and sudden burning sensation. As the knife moves away from your throat you reach up to strike, but before you’re even able to make any form of meaningful contact, you slip out of consciousness.
…And this is where our adventure begins.