In my past life I eyed each turn with suspicion. I didn’t know what hid in the shadows, lurked in the gloom and peered at me from within the dark corners of each dungeon. I do now. In my past life I didn’t know my limits – we grouped together and ran into the unknown hordes, drunk on the previous victories to limp back out broken bodied. Crimson blood pouring over the moaning lips of comrades clinging to their friends shoulders. The dead flung over backs and warforges soulless vessels beyond repair dragging trails from the gates of our demise, hiding our defeat from others.
Sometimes we drank and boasted our deeds. Other times we sulked in our drinks. Such is the luck and draw of eager adventures looking for fame, glory and coins.
Now I know. The road. While things change; the kobold chief chattering in one dungeon replaced by another in the endless succession of critters wanting to rule and destroy – just to be defeated by someone stronger or adventurers like myself.
The Kobolds have Assaulted the gates. It’s not the first time. Their numbers far exceed their mental capacity and by the share number that I’ve broken and have been broken by others, you’d think they give up.
The place stink with their rotten carcasses. Yet they drive for the gate with the fervor and hiss of fanatics. Their shamen unleashes deadly magic – acid, curses, lightning, magic missiles and dark clouds meant to hide them from pursuit. Their skirmishers throw fire bombs at you. Claws, poles and knives stab at you from warriors and chieftains.
I’m stopped in the street. The soldier asks me as he leans at the fountain holding his tender ribcage with a grin. He implore me to gather a group of adventures and brave the storm.
I eye him – and he drops his eyes from the intensity of my emerald gaze. ‘I will do it’.
I summon dogs from hell and I sweep across the hordes storming the gate with my sword gleaming of pure good.
I let the wizard I hired stay in the background and guard the gate – smashing bodies apart with fireballs, while I hack with gritted teeth through the first wave of reptilians, running in fear as the hell hound sprays them with corrosive breath and destroys them with phantasmal power.
30 minutes later with the grime and life essence of 200 critters on my armor I walk out from the gates to the guard that hired me.
My armor slightly scratched and dented. The halo of my re-birth a blue hue in the morning light. I wash my face in the fountain and move on. He hands me a sword, but I shake my head. I didn’t do it to gain coins as there’s little value in what he offers. I did it to rebuild who I am and was in the eyes of the city.
My memories of the past delve in the obscure; I remember my past deeds as a man looking through a amber thick glass. I remember knowing how to unlock doors, chests and disable traps. But no more. I am a Favored Soul. My goals and wishes purified by purpose. Yet I miss it – so it feels. I miss what I could do. But the feeling fades away as someone else in need flags my attention.