Lost Remnants

Warriors War
And other misused/made-up verbs

A day in the life of Pants

After a couple days on the road, we happened across a carriage with some slaves. Bunch of thugs carrying them off to somewhere. Don’t know where.

Made short work of ‘em, that was for sure, but instead of taking their stuff, we gave it to the slaves and sent ’em on their way. Don’t know why.

So we finally made it to this town in the middle of no where in the dead of night. Lady with the funny name insisted it was important we head there. Someone important, maybe. Don’t know who.

There was nothing important there – bunch of dirt farmers in chains. “Farmers farm,” Flint said, so I figure these yokels weren’t gonna save the world or offer up anything useful. All I did know was that the guards didn’t seem to like Flint very much. Don’t care why.

“Warriors war,” Flint said, so me and him – we made some war. Carved up one of the gate guards good, sent another running away without his weapon. The ladies ran about in the shadows. I guess “Ladies burn,” ’cause lots of fires started while Flint and me tore up the rest of the guards. Once the fires got real crazy, some tough summa bitch came out the wood work – took me and Flint together to take him down.

There was a wizard too, but I guess “Wizards wiz their pants,” ‘cause he didn’t put up much of a fight before I cut him in half. I’d have to ask Flint about ladies and wizards and what they do to be sure, but I’m sure ’bout something.

Don’t know what, though.

Flint’s Journal

Even after all these years with them, I still have trouble understanding mortal titles. A king is still king without a kingdom, because he is a king. A warrior is still a warrior even in peace, and a farmer is a farmer even while traveling. How did these silly guards expect me to stop being a warrior and start being a farmer? We are each what we are, and that cannot be changed. I cannot tell a stone to become water or the air to become wood. Telling a warrior to be a farmer seems just as strange to me.

Getting the Blood Pumping
Fresh From the Grave

As told by Pants

So, I was dead for 10 years. Not my fault. Apparently, I got better. Also not my fault. Now there’s a cave full of dead Kobolds. That was my fault.

So the King of Rags hands us some half decent equipment – that’s what he called it, apparently he’d never seen what decent gear looked like before. So, I take a scythe and some junk armor and right when I’m ready to go find the mage who put me down, some girl with a funny name tells me and my former comrades we need to kill some Kobolds.

I was instantly sold.

It’s not like it was any real challenge, of course. There were a couple that I had to swing at more than once, but they all looked like a bloody piles of slop when we were done in there. The fire girl burned down all their little huts and – I’d never have guessed it – we found a lot of treasure.

I even took one of those cheeky rodents as a pet. I named him Toenail. Just don’t ask me why the hell I did. Or why I killed them in the first place. Blame it on that princess with the funny name.

From Flint’s View

Being dead is different than I expected. Not being from around these strangely-confining material planes, I sort of expected to just get released from this weird meat contraption and head on home. Didn’t work that way. I just died, then I felt sort of… nothing, and woke up for no apparent reason. That last part was the weirdest.

This King guy we were working for tells us its been ten years and the whole world sort of fell apart without us. Anyway, he hands us some loose scrap metal that’s supposed to replace our lost gear and sends us off to work the dust out of our systems (that’s something fleshy people say, right?).

Kobolds. I don’t remember having any experience with Kobold souls before I found my way to this body. They probably don’t have any, so killing them is OK, right? I hope so, because we killed a lot of them in some caves. Found my old bracelet, though. Kobold shit on it now, so I’ll probably just sell it.

The Rising
The Alpha and the Omega.

You are the personal legion to King Lanos, the leader of Alantia. Having served as his platoon during The Opportunist’s War, he saw you as the most trustworthy people he knew.

You have all served him for the entirity of his reign as king, carring out any deads that he might need done to maintain order and ensure the safety of his people. You are widly known by people all over Alatia as well as many of the higher classes from the surrounding monarchies. Today the King has once again given word for your aid.


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