The nothingness dragged on for a time that was impossible to measure. It felt like an eternity, and yet in what seemed like no time at all, it changed. There was a blinding flash that was soon followed by increasing warmth which gradually became burning heat.
When the heat became unbearable it slowly cooled, fading to soothing warmth once again. There was shaking and the impression of speed. When at last the pain was gone, there was an explosion of pressure and sound which seemed to come from below.
For a time, there were muffled sounds that he couldn't understand. Was it a different language? Could he just not hear clearly enough? Finally, there was a sharp crack, like the sound of thick glass breaking, and the sounds stopped. Air swirled inside, cooling his skin and filling his nose with the scents of earth and plants. There was also a slight tinge of blood.
The man opened his eyes, as if just remembering he could do so, and he saw faces staring at him through a lens of cracked crystal. Closest to him was an older man, he guessed about forty years of age, and just behind him were a few other people, all of which in varying stages of injury and every one of them showing exhaustion.
The cracking sounds resumed and the crystal that Tars was in started to break around him. The older man turned behind him and gestured for several people to come forward and pointed at the crystal. Though the voices were clearer, he couldn't quite hear them yet.
From the left side, a man of only average height but impressively muscled, approached and grabbed part of the crystal that was sealing Tars. At the same time, a thinner man who appeared dangerous, despite, or perhaps because, of his ability to appear unnoticed, moved to the right side of the crystal. Tars' eyes swiveled back and forth between the two since his head was unable to move.
"On three we'll lift and pull forward, yeah?" the muscled one said.
The thin man merely nodded and they shortly separated the crystal prison Tars was trapped in.
"Gently, gently!" the wider of the two coached. His voice was deep and had a bit of an unfamiliar accent. "I don't know what this crystal is. Could be valuable or dangerous, yeah?"
Soon enough the crystal lay on the ground with only a small crack added to the web of them from before. Tars tried to move but found himself tired and stiff.
"Wah," he croaked. His throat hurt and his voice sounded wrong. Frail and quiet. Tars wasn't sure how he was supposed to sound, but it wasn't like that.
"Where," he tried again but only managed one word before hacking coughs forced him to lean forward. The large man gently grabbed his arm despite the coarse calluses Tars felt.
"Easy now, easy!" he admonished. "Not sure what ya did to get here, but ya seem a little worse for wear!"
The older man stepped forward again once Tars was upright once more.
"Greetings, stranger," he began. This voice was clearer, the accent not as pronounced. "My name is Mayor Kinton Miccan. I'm the leader of Immica, a small farming village in southern Ulstwen. You can call me 'Mayor Kinton', everyone does," Kinton explained with a smile. The smile slowly faded into a grimace.
"I was the leader of Immica, anyway," he said, sadly. Several of the closest people looked either sad or angry.
A woman, who appeared to be Kinton's wife, approached and held his hand.
Kinton took a deep breath to compose himself before looking up at Tars again. "The large man on your left is Hamal, our local blacksmith. To your right is our best hunter, Kino," Mayor Kinton said, gesturing to each as their name was called. "Despite how bad things are, we are still alive thanks to you. Could we have our savior's name?"
"Tars," the crystal encased man said after a moment. The name felt right, if incomplete. He opened his status menu, feeling as if he'd done so thousands of times before.
Name- Tars*****
Titles- Light Shard, Blessed One of Arthaesis, Blessed One of Ospenielle
Status- Weakened
Class- Unclassed
Level- 1/10
Exp- 0/20
Skills-
"I … I don't know what most of this means," Tars mumbled to himself.
The words made sense, and he felt he should understand exactly what it was telling him, but for some reason he couldn't quite grasp the concepts of his menu. Something was wrong with his name, what were those characters supposed to mean? He knew what a title was, but he wasn't sure why he had them or what they meant. He felt weak, which made sense, but Tars was pretty sure there was more to it than that. Unclassed seemed wrong to him also, but why? Level was as low as it could be, but that felt wrong too. No skills to speak of, which only made him shake his head. Domains, something to do with magic?
"Tars, is it?" Mayor Kinton confirmed, "Worry not, young man, I'm sure there is a reason for all of this. For now, let's get you out of there. Then we can get some food and water for you." He turned to look behind him at a young girl of maybe fifteen years before nodding his head.
The girl nodded in return before turning around and walking towards a nearby cart. She was carrying a bow in her hand and had a quiver of arrows on a belt at her hip.
Looking around, it seemed most of these people had weapons. The Mayor had said he saved their lives, but Tars wasn't sure how. He could tell that they had indeed been in a hard-won battle. Their clothes were ripped and many of them were exhausted. Several were so tired they simply lay on the trampled grass trying to slow their heartbeat and catch their breath.
"Let's get Tars out of there, shall we?" Mayor Kinton asked rhetorically.
Putting words to action, Mayor Kinton, Hamal, Kino, and several others who were able bodied enough, started trying to pull Tars from the seven-foot-tall yellow crystal. More pieces needed to be broken in order to pry him out, since he was stuck fast. The crystal seemed to be grown around him, creating a perfect shell with only the smallest space around where his body lay within.
Tars found himself wearing a strange white robe that seemed more like a blanket with holes cut into it. He felt like the garment was primitive and shabby, but the material felt so smooth and the cloth so clean. It was like getting the most ornate hilt, lined with valuable metals and gems, shaped by a master craftsman, and enchanted with the best magics, only to attach it to a dull, rusty blade.
After a few minutes, the people of Immica finally managed to safely remove Tars from the giant crystal and get him propped against one of the wagons. He took a moment to look himself over and see if he could make sense of his situation. But answers didn't come.
A moment later the young girl returned with a wooden tankard full of water and a plate with strips of meat and several pieces of flatbread. It took both of Tars' hands to steady the tankard and drain the water that was within.
"Thank you, young lady," Tars said with a smile handing her the tankard back.
She smiled in return before offering him the plate in exchange. "I'll get you a refill," she said before leaving without waiting for a response. Tars spent the next few minutes eating quickly and feeling energy slowly pouring into him. Once he'd finished his food and his second cup of water, he started thinking about what he was supposed to do.
He was scrawny and weak, as if he were underfed for the entirety of his life. He couldn't remember family, friends, a home, a job. Nothing made sense. Tars knew there was more to his past, but the thoughts remained foggy.
That was when someone brought something to Mayor Kinton, something that sparked a memory.
"Mayor Kinton! Look what was laying at the bottom of the crystal!" The farmer, who as yet was unnamed, was excitedly showing a pair of items. One was a rolled-up piece of leather, and the other was a sword. The leather was simple, a smooth tan color about two feet wide and four feet long, tied with a white piece of cloth the same as the one Tars was wearing. It was a map, he knew. How he knew was the question.
The sword was similarly simple with one exception. The blade was a standard double-edged piece of steel colored metal that was fitting for a longsword. The cross-guard was a basic piece of similar metal running perpendicular to the hilt and blade. The hilt was wrapped in black leather that Tars couldn't identify. On the pommel there was a large gemstone that looked like a diamond. It was clear and faceted, sending glittering rays of light in all directions. He couldn't see it from here, but Tars knew that at the base of the diamond was an etching of a sword balancing a set of merchant's scales.
The symbol was important, he knew, but a sharp pain in his head caused him to stop attempting to force the memory to come to him.
Mayor Kinton looked to Tars as he accepted the items from the farmer. "These must be yours, Tars," he stated.
"Yes, they were given to me, but I don't remember who gave them." Tars shook his head in frustration. There were so many questions, and he felt a strong desire to undo this mystery. Unfortunately, this was something that would most likely take some time.
Mayor Kinton handed the sword and map to Tars, but the weakened man's arm couldn't support the weight of the blade. The blade fell into the dirt beside his leg and Tars frowned again. 'That shouldn't have happened,' he thought. 'I should be able to wield this blade easily.'
Leaving that matter alone, for the moment, Tars untied the cloth and opened the rolled sheet of leather. It was an incredibly detailed map, with strange glowing markers sprinkled throughout. Tars didn't understand what he was seeing, but the Mayor who was leaning over recognized the area instantly.
"That is a map of the area around Immica!" he exclaimed. "No, that is a map of this farm and covering Immica's territory! In fact, we are at the exact center!"
Mayor Kinton looked at Tars with surprise written on his features. "I've never seen a map of this area so detailed, I think this might be enchanted!"
"It is," Tars agreed, nodding his head at the Mayor. "So is the sword," he added. The weakened man wasn't sure how he knew, but something was telling him that he was given three gifts.
"Oh? What does the sword do?" Mayor Kinton asked.
Tars stared at the sword willing it to give him answers but none came. "I don't know," he finally admitted. "I know this symbol is important though, do you know what it means?"
Tars tilted the sword so the etching on the Pommel was visible to the Mayor.
"Can't say that I do," he replied before standing straight again and looking around. "Hamal! Come here a moment, would you?"
The blacksmith with arms as big as most men's legs nodded and made his way over. He had a long gash on his sleeve that looked like it would have done a serious wound, but Hamal seemed uninjured. Tars set the matter aside as the man arrived before them.
"You ever seen a symbol like this one, Hamal? Might it be a maker's mark or maybe the symbol of a kingdom or adventuring group?" Kinton asked the blacksmith.
"Not a maker's mark," Hamal answered quickly. "That'd usually go at the base of the blade. Gem like that? Has to be enchanted, more likely to damage it than anything otherwise, yeah?"
He held his hand out towards the sword but looked at Tars for permission before touching it. When Tars nodded the blacksmith grasped the blade and held it in a simple fighting stance. He swung it a few times and then balanced it on a finger from several places.
"The sword is perfectly balanced, and those scales are used by merchants to make sure items are even. Maybe it is a fancy enchantment for balance?" Hamal seemed to disbelieve his own words as he said them. "Seems a might too fancy for such a simple enchantment, though, yeah?"
"Well, Tars can figure it out as he goes, I suspect," Mayor Kinton said.
Hamal handed the sword back to Tars who used both hands to grasp it this time. He held it up but his arms strained and the blade was shaking.
"Don't worry, lad," the blacksmith said when he saw the anger and frustration on Tars' face. "We'll get you a few levels and that sword'll feel right at home in your hand, yeah?"
Tars just let the blade fall back into the dirt with an exhale.
The Mayor changed the subject. "So, what about the map?"
"It leads you to where you need to be," Tars said with a small shrug.