About a thousand or so years ago, my friends and I saved the world. Or broke it. Maybe a bit of both — it depends on who you ask.

  Ever since, There've been books, TV shows, movies, and whatever else, all telling those stories. Each generation has their own spin on it, devotion to 'historical accuracy', telling a cool story, etc. But what most have in common is painting me (and the others) in a better light than we probably deserve.

  So I thought hey, why not tell it myself. Not the way it was, maybe, but at least the way I saw it then. No "benefit of hindsight", just the thoughts of a surly, impulsive, sixteen-year-old girl with two left hands and half a clue what was happening.

  I've included some thoughts from the others, too — those who are still alive anyway. They're all as biased as I am, so... keep that in mind.

  I'm not the Chosen One. I don't have a destiny. I just learned too much.

  The first time I met… the others, was under fairly inauspicious circumstances, in an altogether unlikely location. The fact that these were the only kinds of circumstances and locations we ever really ended up in shouldn’t detract from that point.

  I was conducting a solo dig in the plains of Denofell, an area which still bore the most scars from the last great war, purely because it had been so heavily scarred that it was promptly abandoned in the wake of it. The area takes its name from the abandoned city at its heart, and from everything I’d heard, going there was just a very drawn-out way of killing yourself. The plains as a whole were no picnic, but the city of Denofell was as ruined physically as it was spiritually, and that was saying something. Picture any city at the height of post-war destruction, and now imagine that every dropped bomb and fired shell also had a ghost inside it. There was a malaise about that place, and I was in no hurry to go there.

  As it was, I was pretty much just over the river that separated the plains from Vigridr, so even if it was stupid, it wasn’t yet suicidal. There was so much to be learned over here that I couldn’t stay away. I had been in the area for about 2 months so far, just exploring and excavating. Nothing too deep, but the whole area was littered with remnants anyway, be it destroyed structures, expired Autognomes, or pockmarked battlefields shot through with old fortification systems and the like. Everything I could hope to find, if I was being honest.

  Whatever jokes you might want to make about ‘grave-robbing’ aside, I was genuinely very interested in all the history. The fact I was turning this into a long trip proves that I wasn’t just jumping over the river, nabbing some shiny old tech and then pawning it off again. I’m too scrawny to carry things for long, and I was here to learn and discover. Sometimes that involved cannibalising these old pieces of technology, or dismantling them, but nobody else was using them. I don’t have to defend myself to you anyway.

  My ‘dig site’, as I was determined to call it, was part of an old fortification line hastily constructed by the forces of light during the last war. I was trying to excavate what I think was a field command bunker, the place where orders and information would be collated, analysed, and then new orders issued from that affected the local area. I had my bag full to bursting with all the supplies I needed for this trip, and had more things hanging off the sides as well. I’d been camped out here for a few days at this point, and generally I find solo work relaxing, so it was a bit of a surprise when I could suddenly hear raised voices a little way off.

  My excavating had uncovered that this structure was at least partially underground, and even though the entrance had collapsed long ago, either during the war in combat, or after with time, I had opened that up and been working mostly in this ‘bunker’ section which had stayed intact. I’d put a magical light up in the gloom, so I stayed lurking inside while I heard voices and footsteps.

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  By the sounds of it, it was a small-ish group, and they weren’t making any effort to stay quiet, although I could hear one voice shouting occasionally, telling them to shut up. How brazen they were was a bit of a tip off about their possible intentions, and showed they were either stupid enough or powerful enough not to worry about attracting attention in a place like this. Neither of which necessarily boded well for a solo archaeologist in a place like this (especially one that looked like me). I had some defensive measures sure, but against multiple humanoids? Unlikely.

  I heard the footsteps stop practically overhead and immediately cursed myself for an idiot. I’d left my cooking gear and some other supplies above ground, so they obviously knew someone was here now. The voices became a bit quieter, and muffled from underground I couldn’t make out what they were saying. What I could hear though were the distinctive clanking noises of weapons being taken out and the slower gait of footsteps indicating readiness.

  One of the things that worried me was that I knew I wasn’t the only archaeologist in the world. Part of the reason I’d been part of a group previously is that it offered a chance to pool skills and resources, and made the whole process a bit safer. An unwelcome thought flashed through my head, that they might be a similar group, and would therefore at the very least try to drive me off this pitch.

  If I stayed in this section I was only going to end up getting cornered, so I realised I’d have to go outside. I took a bead out from one of the dozens of pockets and pouches I had, and holding it tight, funneled a small amount of magic into it. Immediately I felt the familiar shimmer of illusion wrapping around me, and I could see the faint outline of my assumed form.

  I’d taken on the appearance of a particularly intimidating dwarf. Slightly shorter than myself, about twice as wide, and covered in scars and scraps of armour. Nothing about me had actually physically changed, but I clutched my dagger in my ‘right’ hand as I stepped out, to better sell the image.

  The group I saw as I climbed out of this hole both was and wasn’t what I expected. Armed travellers, of a mix of races, who were slowly approaching my campsite. A relatively small squad, mixing Elves and Dwarves, which was weird in its own right. Some looked like they carried weapons, and some held staffs or holy symbols. Honestly it was the second of those that were probably the most concerning, since it indicated people who could cast spells. And spells are bitches.

  A standoff is always a tense moment, and as the one on the back foot, I had to try and keep momentum on my side as much as I could. Tact and diplomacy was the name of the game, seeing as offending them could lead to me getting jumped four-on-one.

  “Who the fuck are you all and what the fuck are you doing here?” There we go. A clear, simple message. Direct communication is always the best path to success, so I continued in that vein. “This is my digsite, and I’m not giving it up, so the rest of you can fuck off” I spat.

  My immediate impression was that they were a bit confused. They started looking at each other, then back to me, occasionally noting the dagger in my hand, before there was a chorus of shrugs.

  “Are you going to attack us?” asked one of the dwarves. She was a youngish-looking woman with plaited blonde hair, smooth features and gentle green eyes. With dwarves, young-looking is of course relative. For all I know she was anywhere between 15 and 150.

  “Why would I do that?” I asked.

  “Because you’re holding a knife and yelling at us,” she replied. It was a fair point, but I wasn’t going to concede the momentum.

  “You’re all armed as well, and there’s fuck-all else reason to be out here,” I said “so either do whatever it is you’re here for or piss off”. At this point another of the dwarves stepped forward to speak up. He was a much older gentleman, propping himself up his staff but somehow managing to look bored by the whole situation. “We aren’t actually here for your… digsite, was it?” he started. "We’re just here bumbling around this distinctly charming place in the hopes of conducting a spot of political assassination.”