Victory brought no solace to Tark, the weary-eyed soldier. Though his sword had sung the song of triumph in the battlefield, his heart bore the melody of despair. Returning home, the sight of smoldering ruins greeted him where his cottage once stood. The ashes carried no answers, only the screams of his family lost to the flames. He hunted for justice, his blade thirsty for vengeance. Yet justice was a cruel jest. The local guards grinned as the men responsible swung from nooses in the town square, their lifeless bodies swaying mockingly in the wind. Justice was done, they said. But Tark's heart remained heavy. Grief-stricken, he turned his back on the world and disappeared into the wilderness.
Years passed. The wilderness became his sanctuary. Tark’s home was a hollowed-out cave nestled between thick oaks, a refuge of silence. The only interruptions came from the occasional dirt-dragons slithering in search of prey and the rustling trees dancing in the wind. Peaceful, solitary, and unchanging—until the day the girl came.
She burst from the treeline like a frightened deer, collapsing at the mouth of the cave. Her dress was tattered, her face smeared with dirt and tears. “Help,” she gasped. “They’re coming!”
Between frantic breaths, she explained her plight. Her family had been tasked with collecting taxes for the Crown. Bandits ambushed their convoy, slaughtering the escorts. She alone escaped, running until her legs gave out.
Tark’s weary eyes studied her. “Find another savior,” he muttered, retreating into the shadows of his cave.
The girl’s cries were drowned by the arrival of her pursuers. Bloodstained and sneering, the bandits emerged from the trees. “Give us the wench!” demanded their leader, a portly brute with a crooked grin.
One heavy bootstep crushed a bed of wildflowers at the cave’s edge—his wife’s favorite. Tark’s grip tightened on the hilt of his Eastward sword. He sighed deeply and stepped into the clearing.
The portly bandit barely had time to react before Tark’s blade smashed into his jaw, sending shattered teeth flying. Above Tark’s head, glowing numbers flickered briefly: _[Precision Strike: 15 (DEX)]_. Chaos erupted as the remaining bandits rushed forward.
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Tark reached into his belt, releasing a handful of orbs. With a whispered command, the orbs glowed faintly before erupting in thick, choking smoke. The faint flicker of stats hovered in the haze: _[Smoke Bomb: +10 Stealth, -5 Vision to enemies]_.
Blind and coughing, the bandits swung wildly. Tark moved like a shadow through the haze. _[Shadow Step: 12 (AGI)]_. A backhand sent one bandit sprawling into the dirt. Another flew over the girl’s head, landing in a heap. A third crashed into a rock, the impact silencing his groans. Above each defeated foe, translucent words appeared: _[Stunned: 3 turns]_.
As the smoke cleared, only one bandit remained standing. Trembling, he dropped his weapon and fled into the trees. A faint prompt flashed in Tark’s vision: _[Intimidation Success: 18 (CHA) vs 12]_.
Tark exhaled slowly, rubbing his sore arm. His health bar pulsed briefly, showing a slight drop: _[-5 HP: Minor Strain]_. He turned to the girl, now unconscious in the dirt. A glint of light caught his eye. By her head lay a circular pendant etched with blue and gold markings. He picked it up, brushing away the grime. His breath hitched. The double-folded silver and Wings of Grace emblem marked it as a royal signet—the King’s. A new quest alert shimmered faintly in his periphery: _[New Quest: Protect the Princess]_.
The smell of roasting pig roused the girl. She opened her eyes to find herself lying on a crude cot inside the cave. Tark sat nearby, tending the fire.
“You’re not a tax collector’s daughter,” he said, holding up the pendant.
The girl’s gaze hardened. “And you are neither lord nor sovereign to address me in such a fashion,” she snapped. “I am Princess Luna of Zelotrum.”
Tark raised an eyebrow. “What does a princess want with a hermit?”
“My father is dead,” Luna said, her voice breaking. “My mother is missing. Before the bishop sent me away, he gave me this.” She reached into her pocket, pulling out a crumpled map. “This map leads to a sanctuary, but I cannot make the journey alone. I need your blade to protect me.”
Tark took the map, studying it briefly before tossing it into the fire. “This is a dead end,” he said. “Leave me be.”
Luna’s eyes filled with tears as the parchment curled and blackened in the flames. “You coward,” she spat. “You hide here while the world burns.”
Tark’s jaw tightened. Memories of his burning home flashed in his mind. He stood abruptly, his shadow looming over her. “The world took everything from me,” he said, his voice low and cold. “I owe it nothing.”
Luna’s defiance wavered. “Then let me repay its debt,” she whispered. “Help me reach the sanctuary. Let me restore what’s been lost.”
Tark’s gaze softened as he saw the desperation in her eyes. He turned away, staring into the fire. Finally, he spoke. “We leave at dawn.”