For as long as she could remember, Zhielan had an innate desire to do something. She was not absolutely certain whether that something was to help people; or to create with her bare hands; or to protect her fellow citizens of Gielinor, but she was certain that whatever it was, she had to do it. Unfortunately, her memory only spanned the course of two or three days. She was not quite certain of that, either. Did the sun ever go down on Gielinor?
The woman stood, clad in the bronze armor she had smithed herself, and stared into the glowing, green gaze of a giant. Somewhere, she had taken a wrong turn. She brandished her sword. She knew she was outmatched, but the creature had chased her when she tried to get away from it. She had just barely avoided the blow from its club. She refused to go down without a fight. The gust generated by his swing threw her slightly off balance. She recovered quickly, her sword doing about as much damage to the beast's leg as a piece of paper.
She caught the giant's blood-thirsty glare once more, and it suddenly occurred to Zhielan that she still remembered the very moment she first opened her eyes. The club connected with her torso, knocking her into a tree. She coughed, blood dribbling down her chin from her mouth. She struggled to get back to her feet. I'm going to die here. I've only been alive for three days, and I'm going to die here.
Zhielan glanced around as the giant loomed over her. She could try to run, but she doubted she would make it very far. She braced herself as the club came flying towards her with a deafening whoosh.