From the moment he opened his eyes, he felt… Different. His wounds have healed and sealed, his body feels lighter and his axe wasn't as heavy as before. It felt unnatural to him, perhaps the witch casted a featherweight spell?
Nah, that's ridiculous. What did she mean by wander forever though?
While trying to figure out what happened, he notices Vesper up and about, grazing the nearby bushes.
"My steed! Oh my boy I thought I lost you!"
He pets his horse and hugged it. The bond between them stronger than ever. Ventren truly loved his steed.
How am I alive?
Before his train of thought could explore that question further, he notices his dried blood on the ruins.
Ventren remembered the betrayal his party committed against him. He grit his teeth, gripped his axe and screamed with pure, unfiltered and raw rage.
They were supposed to enjoy the spoils of the ruins together and drink to their hearts content, yet he was shot and left for dead by his party. Exhausted from tanking the hits within the expedition, the traitors were able to overwhelm and wound Ventren.
Why did they betray me?
Ventren did not know the answer to that question. The betrayal was almost done arbitrarily—at least from his perspective. His burning rage was slowly being replaced with curiosity. He wants to know why he was betrayed and why he was used.
There was no use to think of why now. He would have to question them personally.
Ventren mounted his horse and spurred it as it galloped through the edge of the ruins and towards a nearby village.
Redwood.
A simple name bestowed upon the lumber village due to its red-ish wooden houses. They passed through here before heading to the ruins. Ventren figured if there were anywhere to look for his former friends, it would start with the inn here.
The village looked a bit unfamiliar, however. There were less trees than he recalled and unfamiliar flags were plastered all around the village.
A golden two-headed wyvern on a green backdrop.
Do they have a new liege lord?
Ventren dismounted his horse and entered the inn, his rusty armor catching the attention of prying eyes.
"That is one old and battered cuirass. Couldn't afford anything better?" asked the innkeeper.
Ignoring the innkeeper's sarcasm, Ventren shot straight to the point.
"Give me the keys to room 2-2."
"Huh? Well, alright. Do you have the coin? One night or five?"
"I came here yesterday with my party, our group went to the western ruins to clear out bandits."
"What are you talking about?"
Ventren tilted his head, confused.
"Tell me, innkeeper. Have you seen two men and a girl with pink hair as of recent?"
"I don't recall?"
"How much did they pay you to keep quiet?"
The inn went silent.
"Oi, what are you saying?"
The regulars stood up, ready to defend the innkeeper.
Ventren backed down, stretched his hands out, palms open, moving them in a slow, calming wave.
"I apologise, perhaps I'm in the wrong place."
He did not want to fight with the villagers, not now at least. He knows he would get overwhelmed and he doesn't want trouble now. Figured backing down would be best and sneak in at night to gather clues. Although, why is the innkeeper lying?
"You said as of recent?" asked the innkeeper. "I haven't seen a group like that, although it does remind me of a freehold party called the Blind Stars that conquered those ruins you spoke of a decade ago. Can't forget that beautiful little lady and we did throw a party for 'em,"
Ventren was stunned.
A decade ago? Is he drunk? Am I drunk? What is going on?
Ventren thanked the innkeeper, exited the inn and minutes his steed. His eyes drifted onto the flag once again.
"What is this flag?"
A drunk beggar stumbled near Vesper.
"Ae coin, pleashe?"
"Tell me what flag this is."
"Aree ya kisdin'?" he mumbled, swaying. "Thahs… thahs the bann-rr off thee Prince Regent, Vaenir," the beggar burped mid-sentence. "Hhe is the soon to-be king, hhkheard that the churrent king is dying."
Ventren reached into his pouch and tossed the beggar a coin. The man caught it and began to fiddle with it, turning it over and over before breaking into a crooked smile and offering his thanks. There was something off about his movements—too careful, too intent—and the way his eyes lingered on the coin. It was only a penny, yet the manner of with which he handled it made it seem worth far more than it was.
Ventren spurred his horse into a trot, towards the village exit.
Unfamiliar banner, cleared forests, last seen a decade ago… and a beggar fiddling with the coin in a peculiar manner… I need to check one last thing before confirming.
He stopped at the edge of the village, held up a coin, and asked a nearby grocer how much it would buy.
"Well, that's worth my entire stock. What kind of question is that?"
"What year is this?"
"1222 of the Lord's calendar."
The grocer looked at Ventren as though he were a fool.
This confirmed everything. This coin is worth more than ever, inflation? Was I really out for ten whole years…?!
He spurred his horse into a gallop and rode for his home with haste.
Mother… No..!
The sun was sinking, yet he rode on without slowing. He felt no fatigue, no ache in his limbs and no hint of hunger.