Bowhan shielded his eyes as he opened them again. He was sitting inside a cart with some various commodities and a chicken. The voice spoke to him again, and he identified the speaker, a twenty-something year-old, thin-looking man, guiding the donkey pulling the cart.
“Hey, good to see you awake. M’name’s Peter, but people call me Petey. Ya know? Petey Pal the spicer? No?”
Bowhan ignored him, clutching his head. “It…it was all a dream…” he explained to himself.
“Bad dreams? Your house really burned down, if that’s what you mean… You’ve been out cold for most of the day, and it’s about noon now. The robbers burnt your house and fled. I salvaged all I could from the wreckage.” He handed him a small pouch of singed coins and an unburned note. “I found this lying right outside when I got there, thought it was lucky not to get burnt like the other ones. Your horse followed me after I loaded you onto here."
Bowhan examined it. It was a note from the governor of a small town called Harlow. He gazed at it hatefully, and it, in turn burned a hole in his soul. It was the slayer request that led him to the succubus that had seduced him.
Bowhan accepted his belongings and checked for his prized possesion, his holy enchanted sword, Bane of Darkness.
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