21.11.590 AF (+96 days)
[Third Person]
A guard wearing the livery of House Riverton rode across the vast plains of the Astar ruled by his overlord. He rarely came to the countryside due to the nature of his job. As his eyes roamed over the bountiful fields and multitude of rivers cutting across lush green plains, he could not help but feel that it was perhaps the most beautiful of the continent's Kingdoms.
With the blue sky above him accompanied by soft sounds of water trickling through the many rivers and streams, it was easy to forget that war had only ended a few short weeks ago. Though to call such a minor conflict a true war would be a fallacy. The kingship of Astar had been decided with a couple of bloody battles. The pretender had not even put up a fight after losing two battles, having stayed in Windholm to slit his wrists when the enemy was in front of his castle.
A fitting end for a bastard of a man hated by all and loved by few.
The guard was making his way towards a village on the outskirts of the barony of Ulak. Even the barony was on the outskirts of the kingdom. His orders were simple, having been given to him by the castellan of the king himself.
Find and deliver a missive accompanying documents to a boy named Walter, son of Oliver and escort him back to Riptide Reach.
The man sighed as he steered his horse away from the stream. He hoped he would get to the village soon, a hot dinner along with a mug of ale would be much appreciated. Sitting atop his horse once more, he continued his trek towards the land of the baron. On the third day of his travels, he rode into the unnamed settlement in search of a bed and a meal. He would find the blonde-haired lad in the morning.
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[Walter]
My entrance into this world has been nothing short of a nightmare. I died an old man at the ripe age of 91, with much left to desire. My whole life was spent toiling as a civil engineer, and my free time was devoted to studying history books. I never married, never had children. I had no one to call my own after outliving my nephew, who passed away five years before me. In the end, I died alone in my house. Did anyone notice my absence? Perhaps a concerned neighbor or a worried postman... who can say? In the end, I drifted away, a lonely wisp in a vast, uncaring city.
Regrets, Regrets, Regrets.
And then, there it was: nothingness. The void I had always imagined as the afterlife. As much as I wished to be wrong, I wasn't. I couldn't sense anything. I feared I might spend eternity like this.
I never kept track of time, but after what felt like ages, I felt a sensation on my skin, all over my body. Perhaps I had emerged somewhere else, or maybe I had developed a sense of touch. It didn't matter. I was alive, and that's what mattered.
Before I knew it, I was out of the darkness, almost terrified to death by the grin of a giant gazing down at me.
Eventually, I realized he was my father, and I was a reincarnated baby. I guess the Hindus and Buddhists were right. However, I doubted I had reincarnated into the future given the lack of technology. And so, my research began.
Over the years, I delved into whatever knowledge I could find. Written material was scarce among the common folk, as only a small percentage could read and write. Even I struggled with reading and writing fluently. My father taught me everything he knew, which wasn't much, considering he was a commoner. Still, it was enough for me to grasp the context of a few books I managed to acquire. Coupled with stories passed down by word of mouth, I concluded that this wasn't Earth.
The more I delved into this world, the more it reminded me of my nephew's book, Descent & Ascent of Avalonia. Fun fact: this continent is called Avalonia. I had read that book half a dozen times just to have something to discuss with my nephew, and he was always happy to share. It became one of the few things that connected me to my only family.
The book was divided into two parts: the first part covered from 615 AF to 645 AF, and the second part from 715 AF to 723 AF. I was born in the year 581 AF. I knew I had to prepare for what was to come, but with the limited influence I currently had, which was nothing, my options were few.
Turning my attention back to the task at hand, a bead of sweat slowly rolled down my brow as I worked the forge, hammering metal into the shape of a knife. I frowned in concentration. A year ago, I had taken an apprenticeship with the local blacksmith. In this unforgiving world, every man needs a trade. The blacksmith often remarked that I was a quick learner, and people said he rarely give compliments.
As I raised the hammer to bend the steel once more, fully absorbed in the rhythmic clang of metal on metal, a sudden shout pierced the air.
"Walter!"
Startled, I half-turned just as the hammer descended, the sharp impact catching me off guard. Pain exploded through my hand as the steel met flesh, ruining my thumb in the process. A high-pitched cry escaped my lips, and I instinctively dropped the hammer, its weight suddenly unbearable.
Curses tumbled from my mouth as I cradled my injured thumb against my chest, the throbbing agony intensifying with each heartbeat.
"A heavy hammer for one so young," a deep voice remarked, pulling my attention away from the pain to the unexpected intruder.
I spun around, prepared to confront the unwanted guest, but my words faltered as I took in the sight before me. Before stood a rather plain-faced man, clad in a helm and a shirt of mail adorned with the proud emblem of the The Crowned River Serpent of Riverton emblazoned on a leather brigandine. His brow was raised and a wry smile played on his lips. It occurred to me, almost treacherously, that he cut a rather intimidating figure.
Living in such a remote village rarely exposed one to soldiers. Sure, there were guards, but none with whom I had ever conversed.
I furrowed my brow at the man. "I handle it well enough," I retorted, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in my finger.
The man appeared weary and overdue for a bath, like most people in this relentless world. I winced as my injured finger pulsed with pain.
He chuckled softly. "That much is evident. Are you Walter? I was told I could find you here at the forge."
I frowned deeper. How did this stranger know my name, and more importantly, why would someone from House Riverton be seeking me out?
Anxiously, I replied, "Yes, that would be me."
The man grunted in acknowledgment as he withdrew a rolled-up parchment from his pack. He glanced up briefly before passing it to me.
"Hope you can read, boy," he remarked gruffly. I gingerly took the scroll, blood from my throbbing finger smudging across its surface. Turning it over, I saw the emblem of House Riverton pressed into the red wax seal.
I nodded slowly in response to his question. Learning the Avalonian common tongue hadn't been as challenging as I expected; it shared many similarities with French, more of an older dialect than a wholly different language.
Carefully breaking the seal, I began to scan its contents, my eyebrows gradually arching with surprise.
To Walter, son of Oliver,
I inform you with regret that your father has passed fighting bravely against the forces of the treacherous Hobart of Windholm. Oliver saved my life during the battle, and for that, I owe him a debt. A debt that cannot be paid to him. As his only son, it is to you his reward now falls to.
I have decided that the only payment I could give for my life is some excess land. Once you have received this letter make your way to Riptide Reach, my castellan will have you directed to your lands. Take care of this letter as it is proof of your identity. Adrian who delivered this message will escort you.
King Kenneth Riverton,
King of Astar,
Rightful Emperor of the Arcane Throne.
Fuck.
My father was dead. Not again! Damn it!
Once more, I found myself alone. Alone in this unfamiliar world, and I was barely even a decade old yet.
I glanced up at the Riverton man. He regarded me with pity, as anyone would upon encountering a recently orphaned boy. All I possessed now was a timber hut, the spare bastard sword my father had left behind, and a set of clothes.
"So, I am to go to the capital with you?" I asked cautiously, eyeing the guard from House Riverton.
"That seems to be the case. The king has summoned you," the guard replied solemnly.
"When should we depart?" I inquired, a mixture of nervousness and curiosity swirling inside me.
"Tomorrow morning seems suitable. Pack lightly," he instructed firmly.
I nodded, turning to my master, the blacksmith. His nod of approval granted me permission to leave. With a burst of urgency, I sprinted towards my house. As I pushed open the familiar door, a wave of sentiment washed over me.
This house held ten years of memories. Originally belonging to my maternal grandfather, it became my mother's after his passing. She, too, passed away when I was five, leaving only my father and me to occupy it. Though he was often absent, earning his living as a sellsword.
He may not have been the best father, but he had always strived to provide me with a better life. Lying down on the floor, I reached under the bed and retrieved a small wooden chest. Sitting up, I opened it eagerly. Inside lay a collection of copper and silver coins that I had counted just a week ago. These were my father's savings, accumulated over the past decade.
In total, the chest held 21 silver coins and 90 copper coins. The currency system in this world was straightforward: 100 copper coins equaled 1 silver coin, and 100 silver coins equaled 1 gold coin. An unskilled laborer typically earned only a few copper coins as wages, which put into perspective the value of what my father had managed to save.
I had no intention of selling the house, especially not in the span of a single day. Gathering my father's sword, the silver coins, and my clothes, I packed them neatly into a jute sack that lay nearby. As for the ninety copper coins, I returned them to the chest. They seemed insignificant in value compared to the 21 silver coins I now possessed, and their weight would only burden me on the journey ahead.
The very next day, we departed from the village on the single horse that the guard had brought with him. It was a quiet journey alongside him. We traveled the entire day along a dirt track before halting at an inn for the night. Despite my insistence on paying for my meal, the guard covered the expenses, remarking something about not being frugal with the king's money. I chuckled at his remark.
The following two days passed similarly as we continued our journey alongside the Silverstream River, which also flowed through the capital. The towns and cities along its banks appeared more prosperous than those inland. It was evident why they thrived. They benefited from better access to water for irrigation and boasted more fertile fields as a result.
It wasn't until we were within ten kilometers (six miles) of the capital that paved stone roads appeared. After days of enduring the discomfort of riding on uneven dirt paths, my back had grown sore, so the sight of the smooth, paved roads was a welcome relief.
Before long, I caught sight of it: the castle of Riptide Reach, the residence of the Rivertons. The king of Astar, who hailed from House Riverton, was known as one of the most formidable contenders for the arcane throne in the West.
As we closed the distance to the castle, it loomed larger and larger before us. By the time we arrived, I couldn't help but gasp in awe. My passion for history only amplified my reaction—I must have appeared like a true country bumpkin. The guard chuckled at my response.
When we reached the portcullis, the guard stepped forward and announced our arrival, declaring my presence as well. The guards stationed atop the walls noticed us and raised the heavy grating to allow us entry. The castle was truly impressive, designed to withstand any siege. We had to pass through another layer of fortifications before reaching the inner circle.
Near the stable, the guard dismounted from the horse and assisted me in getting down. A stableboy quickly appeared and took charge of the horse from the guard.
The guard gestured for me to follow him, and soon we arrived in front of a towering stone structure that stood fifty feet tall.
"You're on your own now," the guard informed me solemnly. "This is the castellan's tower. The guard inside will guide you to his study."
I nodded, steeling myself, and stepped into the tower. Soon, I encountered a pair of guards who questioned my purpose. When I presented the letter, they glanced at the seal without reading its contents. Clearly, they were likely unable to read, but the sight of the seal was sufficient confirmation for them.
We proceeded until we reached a door, where one of the guards knocked. A deep voice from within called out, "Come in."