"Oi, Uncle! He's awake!"

A man hurried into the room, where a young boy and a mysterious older one were. The younger of the two sat in a chair next to the cot where the other boy lay on his back. Upon seeing the strangers, the stranger began to panic, and in a fit of adrenaline rose from his bed. 

"Get away from me!" He blurted at the younger boy. "Or-or-I..."

"Hey, kid, calm down," the boy's uncle said. "We aren't trying to hurt you-"

"I don't know where I am, I don't know where I am, where am I, what is this place? Who are you?"

The man rested his hand on the stranger's shoulder, causing him to tense up. Realizing this, the man backed away. 

"Just, calm down. Focus on your breathing. I'll explain everything to you."

The man looked to be in his forties, with long red hair that was on the cusp of going gray and a short string tying his mane into a ponytail. His white robe drooped down to his ankles, and he leaned over on a crude cane in his left hand. The younger boy, who had become noticeably constricted in how he held himself, had similar features to his uncle. His hair was ginger, he wore a cloak, and by his height the older boy could tell he was around fourteen. Both, however, had strange blue marks on their wrists.

"Alright," The old man said, "Is everyone calm now?"

Both boys nodded in total silence. 

"That's good. You, kid, do you have a name?"

"I-Um...I...I don't know my name."

"Hmm. Well, you can call me Ington, and this is Dal, my nephew. Dal found you unconscious in the cattle field this morning, and you've been here ever since. Say, your wrist is purple now. You're definitely healing quick, that's for sure."

"My wrist - is purple?"

The boy turned his wrist, revealing a mark similar to the ones on those of his host's . It had a purple hue, skewing a little more towards red than blue. 

"You don't know about lifemarks?"

"Lifemarks?"

Ington looked slightly concerned. "They're marks on your wrists, you get them at birth. Depending on how hurt you are, from disease, wounds, poisons - it fades from blue to red, and when you die it fades to black. It's...Odd that you do not know these things." 

"Say, kid," Ington continued, "Do you live near here?" 

"I...I don't know where I live. It must be near here, somewhere."

"That Guild member Demen told me about people like this before," Dal muttered to his uncle. "They don't come from anywhere, they don't remember anything about themselves, they don't understand the world around them. They call them Lost-minds. They're very rare, and nobody understands them, but...I think he might be one of them." 

"Are you sure?" Ington asked. 

"He just...Appeared, didn't he? He doesn't really know much, that's for sure. I don't think we can just send him back home or whatever. He might need time to adjust. That's what Demen said. Say, uncle, didn't you say you wanted to hire a farmhand?"

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"That's true," Ington replied, his voice growing loud enough for the Lost-mind to hear. "We could let him stay here for a while... Work the fields with you to earn his keep... Just make sure nobody learns about him, about his, erm, condition." 

The boy looked up. "I can stay here?"

"For a while, at least, you can, until you figure out what you want to do next." 

Over the next few weeks, the boy became a member of the household. He came to go by the name Regg; a common nickname, he heard, in the region where their village Hemmit was. Those weeks, he spent working the golden autumn fields alongside Dal.

"Ever since last year, Uncle's been unable to work the fields," Dal had explained to him. "He fell and hit his head on a rock, and ever since he can't move his leg very well." 

"Is that why he has a cane?"

"It is. His leg is just too wobbly to hold itself on its own. And you can't really use a scythe with only one hand, that's why he was so eager to bring you on." 

Inscribed in one of the rocks in the field just a few days after he heard this, Regg found a set of strange symbols. They looked oddly familiar to him, as if they had some sort of meaning that he understood some time ago. Curious, Regg tried to make sense of them.

(Literacy Check: Challenge Dice = 1d10, Skill Dice = 4d4. The Challenge dice is rolled, equaling 2 points. Regg rolls 8 points with his skill check. He passes the test.) 

"Here lie the dead" the text read. Regg was startled to realize he could understand it. 

"Oi, Dal!" Regg called. "Over here! There's something written on the rock!"

Dall hurried over. "What do you mean, something's written on the rock?"

"Right here! Can't you see it? It's text.

(Dal's Skill Dice for Literacy = 0. He is unable to read or perform a literacy check.)

"I can't see nothing. I mean, a bit of gibberish, but nothing else," Dal said. Suddenly, he jolted. "You can read? Only noblemen can read!" 

"Well, I'm not a king or anything, I don't think."

"What does it say?"

"Here lie the dead," Regg said. "It must have been an old graveyard." 

"Demen told me he found something like this when he was a -"

"A?"

Dal shivered. "R-Regg," he stuttered. "Y-y-y-y...Your neck!"

--

Regg

LVL. 1

EXP: 1/100

STR +5

DEX +0

CON +2

INT +4

WIS +0

CHA+2

--

Four Skills:

Literacy 4 (+4d4)

Healing 2 (+2d4)

???

???

Quirk: He is made uncomfortable by people being physically close to him.

Current Location: Hemmit