Arrival in Valorn

I awake beneath a bitter mid-day sun, my hair tangled with chaff and summer dry flowers, and dusty with the earth that cradles my aching body. It takes more will than strength to push myself upright, and pain intensifies with motion until it's like a sickness beneath my skin. I breathe as deeply as the pressure on my ribs allows, taking control of my bones and muscles and the pacing of my heart. My eyes begin to focus on the environment, and my senses reel again.

Nothing is familiar, except the sound of my heart beating, and the feel of the wind upon my hot skin. Lumps of grass stand brittle and golden about me, swaying and hissing in the hot breeze, producing the illusion of liquid metal or a sea of light. Smoke rises in the distance, a thin thread that disappears into the vast, indigo skies. I swallow, my throat tight and sore from the screams ripped free in my falling, and shudder with the memory.

It seemed like I fell forever, twisting and clawing at empty air in a futile effort to safe myself, the echo of the stone tiger's scream fading as the bronze ripples of cliff became only darkness. I knew my death, and saw the face of the swallowed queen, mother of death, come to claim me. No spirit is more feared among my people, nor more storied. I knew my death, but here I stand, unbroken.

I'm also unarmed. A pace away from me lies the broken haft of my spear, posing as a splintered ebony stick. I eye it with dismay and survey my immediate surroundings. A lumpy brown bag catches my eye, and reveals upon further inspection ten small vials of liquid and five beautiful rounds of metal. Nearby I discover battle weapons, such as those used by guards in the City of Winds. They number a sword and shield, cloth armor and woven clothing to replace my tattered silk tunic and torn leathers. Last, I discover this book, writing itself with the words of my thoughts, and in the script that so vexed my tutors.