“People say it was a miracle I survived. My wounds… they were too deep; I should’ve been dead three times over. I was lying on a pool of my own blood when they found me, babbling like a madman. The farmers were inclined to put an end to my misery and spare me needless suffering, but they couldn’t bring themselves to kill someone in cold blood, so they dragged my not quite corpse to the stables to let me die in warmth and at least a bit of comfort. Except… I didn’t.

When they saw I was not only alive but recovering, improving… they took me to Swingmore. There’s an innkeeper here, a good woman, someone who wants to take care of me, to let me… I don’t know. I don’t know nearly anything. But here I can rest till I’m ready to decide. To decide who I am, and maybe discover who I was.”

This is the story of how you got your new name, Horos, and the man you became with it. The monster-slayer, the lover of many. The seeker of what you lost.