“Yep.”

“Thomas has a wolf,” Marc added, motioning to Garyn.

Thomas sat cross-legged and began petting the animal.

“You’re a cleric, right?” Frank asked.

“Yeah, I guess. I think I actually know quite a bit about Darith.”

“The god of life?”

“And healing,” Marc replied.

“That thing around your neck-”

“It’s the claw of a green dragon,” Thomas said helpfully

“It’s rather a strange symbol for a god of life,” Margaret continued.

“I’m not sure why it’s a symbol of life either,” Marc said.

Frank set his bag on the floor and began rifling through it. He pulled out a rolled-up tent and a coil of rope. Last to be removed was a tube made of leather. Opening the tube, Frank removed two rolled sheets.

“I got a map of the area, and a note,” he said.

“Great! Let me see them!” Marc said.

The cleric took the scrolls, and tried to read them.

“I can’t figure this thing out,” he finally said, handing the map back to the bard.

“Great. We have a map,” Logan said. “That doesn’t help us get home.”

“Now for the note,” Marc said, holding the parchment close to his face.

Welcome, adventurers, to your new lives. All your memories have been distorted. Some are missing, while others were never there to begin with. You are here with a single task: to regain the memories that you can and create new ones as you do so. I advise you all to accept your roles in the coming story and work together towards a common goal. Survival.

Best of luck to you all.

Below the note were their names, and a column of ones ran down the list of their names.

“Well, this raises more questions than it answers,” Marc sighed. “Someone did this to us as part of some weird game or something.”

“But why?” Frank asked.

“I have no idea. We’ll have to figure this out but it’s going to take a while, and I want to keep everything safe,” Marc said.

“Oh, it will be safe. I intend to grab as many undead minions as I can,” Logan informed the group.

“Logan, undead spells are evil,” Marc objected.

“So? If it gets my memory back, who cares?”

“I don’t want to get into this right now,” Margaret said. “What are we going to do tomorrow?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

“I think we should go hunting. We need gold to live, right?” Logan said.

“What?” Thomas asked, looking at the wizard.

“What? Oh, right. You love little rabbits.”

“I actually think that’s a good idea. We should look for some kobolds or something,” Marc agreed.

“I didn’t train Garyn to attack,” Thomas said.

“Yeah, he should stay back, and so should you. Druids have a lot of versatility, but you’re weaker than Margaret or I.”

“But why are we killing innocent creatures?”

“They are evil. Usually, they attack travellers and cause destruction wherever they go,” Margaret said.

“Okay, tomorrow we’ll ask the locals if they need any assistance,” Marc decided.

“We’re already getting memories back,” Frank noted. “Thomas, you remember training Garyn in some fashion. Logan, you know you are… you can reanimate the dead.”

Logan shook his head.

“I can’t reanimate the dead. Yet.”

“Either way, maybe this won’t be as hard as we think,” Marc said.

“Fine by me. I like things to be easy. Anyone want to try out the booze here?” Logan asked.

“I wouldn’t mind a drink,” Margaret shrugged.

“Same here,” Marc agreed.

“I got to stay here with Garyn,” Thomas apologised.

The wolf raised his head at his name, and Thomas rubbed it.

“I’ll stay with you,” Frank said.

“You don’t have to.”

“But it’s better to have a friend,” Frank replied.

“Okay. You can help me go through my bag then,” Thomas smiled.

“You two are so gay,” Logan snorted.

“Screw you,” Frank growled, his cheeks flushing.

“Come on Logan, knock it off.” Marc sighed.

The three walked out of the room, and Marc closed the door behind them.

Thomas looked at Frank.

“Don’t let him get to you,” he said.

“That’s easier said than done,” Frank sighed.

“So, what is your issue with horses?” Thomas asked.

Frank went from red to pale in less than a second.

“I… um.. had an accident at the fair once,” he mumbled.

“Really? What, did a horse run away with you?”

“It was a pony. I was eight!” Frank said defensively.