Your pike block was ambushed from the flanks. The standard-bearer suddenly gurgled as an arrow tore his throat out. The Sergeant started barking orders, calling for the pike block to shift formation, but his voice was cut off as another arrow found his back.

Everything went into the molasses-blink moments of combat. Scale-skinned and -clad swordsmen emerge from the forest on the left flank. You only see them because you stand at the front of the left-most column of your pike-block. Your greatsword is all but useless, slung across your back for the long march. You grab your morning star from its belt-loop and tun to face the foe... and are met with an arrow crashing against your helm. You fall backwards into darkness, the sounds of slaughter in your ears.

You awaken sitting at a table. It is a heavy, oaken thing, its top scattered with paperwork. A single candle burns low, wax dripping down onto the quill resting against the ink-pot. You glance about in confusion, but can't see anyone, or indeed anything beyond the dim glow of the candle. Not even a floor. Nonetheless, you hear a door open and then close again. Your eyes snap back to the table and you start in surprise as a black-robed and hooded figure sits down in front of you and starts shuffling through papers. It sighs, the sound of wind over bones. "Mr. Aris Cretu, of the Ironbark Mercenary Band, yes?" You can only nod in the affirmative. The figure sighs again. "Then I have a problem. You see, there are a few humans, that for whatever reason, the Gods won't touch. Or can't, but that's immaterial. When they die, they wind up here, in my care."

The figure pauses to change papers, so you decide to ask a question. "So if this is an afterlife of some sort, and I'm dead, what's the problem?"

The figure shakes its hooded head. "Not that simple. You have, of course, heard of Fate? How some individuals are Fated to have a great influence on their world?"

You nod slowly. "You, whomever you are, are telling me I'm such a person?"

The figures flicks a hand at the papers before him. "Possibly. Some of the futures are... clouded. What they may be, I literally can not say. Same goes for my Name, at least at this juncture. Simply put, the other Gods won't or can't claim your soul, and your thread, for lack of a better term, wasn't supposed to end on that road. Someone, or something is playing games on a extra-planar and cosmic scale. And you, Aris Cretu, have a part yet to play."

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

You lean back and cross your arms across your chest, missing the feel of your heavy armor. "I'm guessing you can't tell me what part either?"

The figure flicks a document to the corner of the table, "got it in one."

You pop your knuckles. "I was only a line-grunt, a ur-hander swinging a greatsword in the front ranks of the pike-block, but even I know that this smells like a ten-day rotten fish. What can you tell me?"

The figure spreads its hands wide. "Only that I can give you a gift. I can give you your life back, perhaps more than once. In exchange, you live out your life to its natural conclusion, and look into this Meddler for me. I'll know what you know, so don't worry about making reports."

"And if I refuse?"

The figure folds its hands in its lap. "This is an offer you can't refuse."

You hold up one hand. "Alright. Can you at least let me know a few details about this offer then? For example, you said that you would know what I know. Does that include...?"

The figure nods. "Everything, in absolutely perfect detail."

"Aww, yuck!"

The figure nods. "look at it from my side. I get no say in the knowing, but at least I don't see it as it happens. Instead, it shows up as one of these reports." The figure gestures at the papers on the table between you two. "Obviously, they appear as something quite different to you then they do to me. but the one-step remove is often quite useful, as is the ability to replay events of particular interest. Or to skim over events of no interest, such as your... biological requirements."

You nod, reassured that this... entity won't be spying on your every moment in real time. And more so that it appears to have no interest in things not related to its objective, which is presumably stopping this 'Meddler'. "Ok, one other question. Define the 'natural conclusion' of my life."

The figure starts ticking off things on its fingers. "One, things like old age, or any death after the Meddler has been dealt with. You will know if this is a possibility if the physical manifestation of my gift vanishes. Two, if you die too many times in my service. I can bring you back, but not indefinitely. You will know this by examining my gift."

"Ok..."

"Ah, right! You mortals cannot see things that are yet to be. Well, not you anyway. " The figure produces a small obsidian ring, set with a single carbuncle gem and boasting two other empty settings. "This is the physical manifestation of my gift. Each gemstone it holds is another life you may yet live. The gems will appear on the ring as the influence of the Meddler lessens, and thus mine increases." The figure places the ring before you on the tabletop. "Take it, and return to your life. Hunt down this Meddler, for It will not stop hunting you."

You pick up the ring. "So the ambush, the death of the entire Ironbark Band... Was just to kill me?"

The figure nods.

"That makes this personal." You put the ring on.