He awoke to the sight of two people standing over him. One, a matronly woman, short in stature with eyes filled with concern. The other, a taller gentleman with a look of triumph below his silver circlet.

The woman spoke up first. “How are you feeling, dearie? You’ve been through a lot.”

As she was speaking, he became more aware of himself, as if he was slowly falling out of suspension. He felt battered - even his bones were aching. Opening his mouth to speak, he was instead overcome by a coughing fit, turning his head to one side since he was too feeble to lift his hand to his mouth in time.

The man opened his mouth to speak, but the woman spoke over him. “Shh, Alistar. He’s in no state to answer your silly questions yet.”

Walking over to a nearby table, she delicately picks up a vial from a rack, then returns to the side of the bed. “Open up, dearie. This will fix you right up, yes it will.”

The man, Alistar, spoke. “A healing potion?” His voice rose indignantly. “Why waste a healing potion on this kind of case? Are you crazy, Ilde?”

As she poured the potion into his obediently opened mouth, Ilde locked gazes with him in a staredown. She won. “It’s not a waste when it’s used to help someone, Alistar. That’s what I’m here to do.”

Alistar hesitated, then nodded and stepped back..

As he swallowed the potion, he felt invigorated - as if he was strong enough to fight a Minotaur unarmed and win handily. The woman put a hand on his bare chest as if to hold him down. “You should stay down, dearie. It’ll wear off in a second and you don’t want to be up and about when that happens.”

And indeed it did. He acutely felt the effects of the potion leave him as it dispersed through his bloodstream, and relaxed back into the surprisingly comfortable, though small, woven cot.

He could speak now. “Thank you.” he said to Ilde with true gratitude. “I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done.”

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“I’m just doing what I have to, dearie. You can thank Berronar instead - I’m just doing Her work.”

“Bah, superstitious dwarf,” Alistar said dismissively. “You did what you did because you wanted to.”

“Alistar,” Ilde warned, “Remember your place.”

Paling slightly, but still somewhat belligerent, Alistar sat down in a wooden chair next to the cot, emblazoned with a symbol that resembled an anvil, set in golden metal. “Let’s get on with it so I can leave this accur-” He broke off as Ilde again glared at him, eyes flashing, then finished lamely: “...place.”

Leaning over, Alistar snapped at him. “Well? Give me your book, boy!”

He didn’t know how to react. “What book?”

Alistar seemed to deflate, and sighed as if in anguish. “Your book, son. The book of you.”

“Like this.” Alistar made an odd motion with his fingers, then pulled a small book seemingly out of thin air.

He attempted to emulate Alistar’s actions but soon gave up and sat back. “I look ridiculous. Why am I doing this?”

Ignoring his question, Alistar ordered “Just think about it and pull.”

Of course, this back and forth between he and Alistar continued until he eventually managed to do it. Except for one problem. His book looked completely different. And…. it was heavy. He went crashing to the ground, cot broken beneath him. Ilde had been working at her table in the meantime, but now walked over, mouth agape.

“Who are you?” She asked.  

Staggering to his feet, he placed the book on the table and then took a half step back. “What do you mean, who am I? What’s this book even for?”

“This book is like a record of you and your achievements. It tells you who you are - like a way to compare yourself with others. Some say that it’s a gift from the gods, but I think it’s just their way of keeping score,” Ilde motioned to his book. “In any case, it will tell us what we need to know.”

And then it hit him; he staggered. He didn’t know who he was. He didn’t have a name; he didn’t know what he’d done or how he’d come here. He didn’t know why. And this book was supposed to tell him.

The book. The book that he had just pulled out of thin air like it was supposed to be there. The book, easily a foot thick of layered parchment and unidentifiable materials, imperfectly cut to size and stitched together. The book, covered in a thick, dark leather, inscribed with symbols whose meaning he could only imagine.

He opened it. And everything went white.

Character Sheet: [Redacted]