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When Lucian awoke, the first thing that he felt was a set of chains dangling from his hand. On reflex he pulled on then, seeing if they would ever grow daunt as he did so. They did, sort of, like a goblin was pulling on the other side of the chains. They were trying to hold him down, keep him down, so that the Knight could not rise to the challenge.
He pulled hard, an immense strength flowling through his body as he did so. Yet instead of a Goblin on the other side of those chains was an Ork, a massive beast who was now fighting against him to keep him down.
Yet it was not strong enough. He felt a subtle give that was just enough for the man to rise from the first and stand upon his own two feet. Upon his two feet, where he stopped fighting against the Orks on the other side of the chains, did the Goblins take the chains instead.
He was in a village. A hovel of homes that was numbering no more than ten from Lucian’s sight. They were in a forest but the forest was not nearly as thick as the forests of Albion. One could say that the forest was cultured like this through the generations of peasant farmers who worked the trees and took a great many saplings for home use.
Now that he studied, as if they were appearing before his very eyes, was the villagers working handily at the forest and the nearby fields. Each of them were worn down, a trait marking them as the peasants of Bretonnia.
His eyes moved from them and towards a dirt path. It was not the most well worn path to say the least, for the path was only trotted by the members of this village. No outsider, let them be Merchant, Knight or Taxman, ever came to this village.
Yet Lucian glanced to see where the chains came from. From beyond the trees Lucian had to guess, for there was no end to them he could see. Only that on both his wrists were chains that led in the same direction.
>Inspect the village
>Take the path to town
>Follow the chains