You are Alistor, a young nobleman from the Asdael Empire, one of the most prosperous and powerful kingdoms in the entire world.
Since childhood you have dreamed of becoming a legendary knight, and thanks to your noble connections you were able to secure tutelage from some of the finest sword-fighting teachers in the kingdom.
Your motivations for becoming a knight are far from noble and selfless, however. In truth, you wish to win the heart of the beautiful princess Ophelia, but even simply meeting her would require you to become a brave warrior worthy of the king's own attention. Perhaps because of your coddled upbringing and an ingrained belief in the superiority of nobles, you have a rather inflated sense of confidence. It only seems natural that someone of your status and training would stand head and shoulders above the rest and eventual achieve legendary status.
Unfortunately, a wealthy family and an inflated ego is not quite enough to get you there. You have no practical experience in the field at all and no heroic accomplishments under your belt. The best plan seems to be to start small and work your way up the ranks, rather than waiting for greatness to be magically thrust upon you.
You decide that serving as a squire to a more experienced knight is not an option, you simply couldn't stand for that. You are nobody's sidekick.
Instead you decide that starting out as a local hero is the way to go. Catching lowly thieves and dispatching uneducated bandits all by yourself would surely be no problem, and would grant you real world experience and fame.
It is for this reason that you are currently patrolling the lush woods outside of your home city of Trevale.
Your quarry is an orc bandit by the name of Dedrick. According to his bounty posters, the orcish highwayman has been assaulting and looting trading caravans entirely by his lonesome. Supposedly he stands several heads taller than other members of his race, and arrows are said to bounce harmlessly off of this skin.
You scoff at these rumors. Surely the hysterical traders are merely exaggerating out of fear. Most likely, people of common birth are not as equipped to deal with such stressful situations, it's only natural that the threat would seem so much larger to them.
You're snapped out of your smug inner monologue by the sounds of screams and splintering wood emanating from deeper in the woods. Gritting your teeth and jutting out your jaw in a way that surely looks heroic, you edge closer towards the source of the commotion, making sure to stay as hidden as possible. (For your dramatic entrance of course, certainly not out of cowardice.)
Peeking out from behind a mossy oak tree, you spot your quarry. It's rather hard not to, really.
Dedrick stands taller than the trading caravan he has single-handedly stopped in the middle of the forest road.
He wears crude armor that appears to be hand made, perhaps from scrap iron and pieces of human-sized plate mail that he has bent and nailed together by hand.
He is unarmed, but you quickly realize that he doesn't even need a weapon, as he yanks the door off of the caravan with his massive hands and hurls it down to the ground, shattering and splintering the wood.
The red-bearded merchant seated within the caravan lets out another terrified yell. From his unfashionable and inexpensive garb, you can tell he is not a wealthy man nor a person of noble birth, but you know that true heroes defend the weak and do not discriminate against common folk.
And so you leap out from behind your hiding place, drawing your sword and letting out a shaky, wavering cry of "Stop! Bad... criminal!"
Well that wasn't very impressive, you think, and why are my knees shaking?
Dedrick stops what he's doing and turns around to face you, so slow and casual that it is clear that he doesn't even remotely see you as a threat.
"Well well well," he smirks, revealing broken and crooked teeth "look at little lord fancy-pants with his shiny silver mail and his dainty little sword."
The massive orc casually lumbers towards you. You grit your teeth and keep your sword arm pointed at your opponent as beads of sweat begin to form on your brow and your every instinct tells you to flee.
"Are you sure you know how to use that, mate?" he grins.
Suddenly, his massive hand shoots out and seizes your arm, squeezing hard enough to make you yelp and lose your grip on your sword.
With his other hand he casually scoops up your weapon, which looks more like a toy to him, and crumples it in his fist.
Dedrick releases his grip on you and the sword, letting the twisted useless blade fall with a clatter. Then he strikes you with a mighty backhand that sends you flying backwards, your body skipping and tumbling across the rough cobble road before skidding to a halt.
You shakily bring yourself to your feet, almost blind from pain and terror, your heart pounding against your chest and sweat dripping into your eyes. You gather as much strength as you can...
...and run.
So much for being a hero. As you flee frantically into the overgrowth, you hear Dedrick's laughter echoing behind you. To say this hadn't gone as planned would be an understatement. You desperately fight back tears as you run deeper and deeper into the woods.
How could you hope to become a legendary knight if this is how your very first mission ends? Your dreams of fame, of meeting the princess and getting married, they suddenly seem so distant. The stuff of fantasy.
Your heart and mind are racing so fast that you're not really paying attention to where you're running.
Your foot catches on an upturned root and you face-plant against the mercifully soft and plush forest floor.
Looking up from your humiliating prone position, you find yourself in a strange and unfamiliar part of the forest.