A/N: The random skill description in this chapter is a mimicry of the Dark Souls loading screen, which I might bring up again whenever the character falls asleep or unconscious.

I created a library of Outrealm skills & penalties that pull from legends of different worlds, but the character won't get all (or even most) of them. In some cases, the assigned penalty might even outweigh the skill, because Dark Souls factor.

A good 10 minutes pass in which I don't do anything productive. It's OK. I think I need the processing time for the sake of my mental health. I breathe in and out slowly, enjoying the scent of salty air.

I'm destined to become a Risen. That's… unfortunate. I'm trying to recall the lore from the Souls series, but it's been a while since I played, and the plot was always difficult to understand.

Alright, what do I know? I probably have the Darksign brand on my body somewhere, and if I do I'll need to hide it. I don't know if the Darksign actually means anything to anyone here, but there's no point in taking risks.

The Darksign is from the first Dark Souls game. Besides marking those destined to Hollow, it acts as a usable item. Well, it's mostly useless since all it does is kill you upon activation, but still. For me, it seems to have manifested as a penalty skill instead of an item. I wonder if I can actually activate it as a skill, then decide that I really don't want to investigate.

Upon deeper reflection, the Darksign might be more of a blessing than a curse. I mean, becoming a Risen after death is better than outright ceasing to exist. I don't know if I'll instantly hollow and lose my sanity, though, so it's an unreliable safety net that I'm going to avoid testing, if possible.

The real question is how this affects the world at large. If the Darksign is something personal to me, then I'm not worried. If it appears on other people, though, that means this entire world is cursed.

… I really hope there's no Kiln of the First Flame in Ylisse. If I have to sacrifice my soul to temporarily stall the Undead curse on this world, I'm going to demand a refund on this whole SI business.

This cements it, though. I need more information. I need to find out what time it is, what timeline I'm in, and then whether or not other people have Darksigns and how it impacts the world. I can't do that effectively by standing around here in the middle of some backwater island.

First-things-first, though. I close my eyes to check my character page for any extraneous information. If there's any other tutorial messages or twists, I want to get them out of the way now.

There's a "Full" button on the top-right of my page. Examining it changes the layout of my character information, and provides a little bit more information. My overall rating is 28. Not even Level 1 Shepherd-worthy, but not too far behind, either. Other than that, nothing new.

It's only a bit past noon, so I have plenty of daylight hours to use. I'm already getting a little hungry, but without gold, I'm not sure what I can do.

I frown and check my inventory. If my Estus flasks are renewable… perhaps I should try experimenting and using it now that it's safe, instead of in the heat of battle. If I get lucky, it might even keep me from starving.

I nod firmly and focus my mind on the item. Is there a particular way to use items? I was able to navigate tutorial messages by vocalizing mental commands like "Continue" and "Close", so while my eyes are closed I try that.

Activate. Activate Estus Flask.

No luck. I can see my character page and stats screen, along with my inventory, but nothing is changing. What was the command to use items in Dark Souls, again?

… Oh, right. I'm an idiot. I focus on my Estus Flask again until its description pops up, then:

Use item.

My right hand is suddenly moving, gripping a glowing orange flask that wasn't there before, and my body moves to take a sip. It's… surprisingly plain. Like cool, lightly flavoured water, the Estus slides down my throat. After gulping down a mouthful, I put the bottle down. It disappears without a trace.

Then I blink. What the hell? My actions were almost on auto-pilot there. I'd intended to call out the Estus Flask, and then examine it at the very least. Instead I'd drunk from it without even consciously realizing it.

I stare at my hand, a little concerned. Well… I suppose the flask is just following gameplay mechanics from Dark Souls. Using items is supposed to leave you a little vulnerable. It's not like the Chosen Undead can drink from an Estus Flask while running away from enemies or anything.

Although this gives me an idea. The next time I use an Estus, I'm going to try jogging at the same time. I wonder what'll happen?

I examine my inventory again.

Estus Flask 4/5: A Risen favourite. Recovers HP. Restored upon a full night's rest.

The Estus drink actually took the edge off of my hunger a bit. That's very, very relieving. I don't know if 5 sips is enough to get me through a whole day, but I have a feeling I'll probably end up finding out.

I return to the pier. There's a few unsavory looking people milling about, but no sign of the fisherman from before. Damn, that's a shame.

Let's see. I narrow my targets down. There's a group of 3 men guffawing on my right, a pretty woman with two older men guarding her passing by on my left, and a nondescript fellow a bit ahead. The men guarding the woman look a little tense, so I ignore them and approach the solitary man, who looks like he's waiting for someone.

We make eye contact and I suppress an instinct to look away. It's a little awkward maintaining eye contact without being close enough to talk to someone, but I try not to reflect that in my body language.

I approach the man. He's pretty unremarkable, with rough cotton clothes and swept-back brown hair.

"Hey man, got a quick second?" I ask casually.

The man is eyeing my blue jeans, but I don't comment on it. "Whatcha need?"

I think about introducing myself as someone new to the island, but decide against it. No need to make myself look vulnerable. "You know who I could talk to ta' find a boat, or somethin' like that, that's heading to Plegia?"

The man tsks. "Maybe yeah, and maybe no. My memory ain't what it used to be, ya know."

The man is still eyeing my jeans, and it hits me a second later. He probably thinks I have money because he's never seen denim before, and my jeans are dyed blue on top of that. In a belated flash of insight, I realize that might be why the fisherman from before spoke to me, a stranger, for so long. He must've thought I had money, and that always commands some kind of interest.

"That's a shame," I say, feigning disappointment. I turn around to leave. "Don't worry yourself about it then, man. I'll go find someone with a sharper memory."

The man scowls. "Oi, c'mon now," he says.

I look back at him dryly. "I don't got money, ya know. Just this lucky pair of pants, is all."

The man considers that. "Ain't many people here who knows this place well as ol' Bunty does, lemme tell ya. Ain't asking for much, mate. You help me a little, I help you a little."

Well, now I know his name. I snort.

"Would if I could. Ain't got nothin' other than the clothes on my back, I'm afraid," I say. "I'm hopin' to fix that, but to do that, I gotta get myself to Plegia."

The man doesn't look happy to hear that. I'm 99% sure it's because it means he can't make any gold off of me, and not because he actually has any empathy for me.

"If you could help a friend out, I'd owe you one, Bunty," I press a bit, and then decide to stop. At least I called him by his name. It should make him a tiny bit more inclined to be friendly.

Bunty spits. "Har, they all say that. How're you gonna owe me one from Plegia, eh? Ah, forget it," he says, waving a hand dismissively when he sees me about to speak. "Not like you can even get to Plegia if ya don't got no gold, eh? Unless you're holding out on ol' Bunty." He peers at me suspiciously.

I wave my hands placatingly. "I ain't that kind of man, friend."

It's Bunty's turn to snort. "No gold, and you want to get on a ship? The hells you thinking, stranger?"

Ouch, he called me stranger when I called him friend. Ah well, doesn't really matter.

"I'm thinking there's someone on this island who can spare a tiny bit of room for a man who'll work, y'know?" I prod. I don't know whether or not labourers are in demand at all here, but I'm praying that I can fill some role. "They help me, I help 'em, everyone's happy."

"Har!" Bunty laughs. "Aye, that's a good one. The only ones who'll take ya on without gold are their type," he gestures at the 3 men I'd considered talking to earlier, still joking around with each other over something I can't hear. "If ya got the stomach for it, 'course."

I think Bunty's implying that the men are pirates. Or possibly gay and looking for favors, if I choose to interpret his words in a totally different way. My mind instinctively shies away from both options.

"Rough bunch, by the look of 'em," I say. If I could earn some gold elsewhere and then pay for space, that'd be a nice alternative. "If ya know anyone willing to part with some coin to get an honest day's work done, though…"

"Pah!" Bunty says. "D'ya think people like that grow on fuckin' trees?"

I shrug nonchalantly. "Worth a shot. Thanks, Bunty. I'll remember you whenever I come back around from Plegia."

Bunty thinks about that for a bit. He probably writes it off as a worthless platitude as he shakes his head and mutters something I don't catch.

I spend some time talking to others on the pier. I only approach people who don't seem threatening or pirate-y, which seriously cuts down on who I can talk to. As a result, I don't learn much over the next hour. I'm seriously contemplating talking to a few of the more dangerous-looking fellows.

Or not. "Don't look at me like that, ya Feroxi piece o' shit!" a man hollers. It takes me a second to realize he's addressing me. It seems a little early to be drunk, but I guess that didn't stop the man. We're drawing some attention, so I decide it's time to cut my losses and leave. I've pieced together that some of the locals live in a village near the pier, so I head on over.

I've worked up a bit of the sweat while walking and I'm hungry again. I may as well take another sip of Estus, after making sure no one's around. Remembering what happened last time, I decide I'll try using the item while jogging.

Use item.

The flask manifests in my right hand and it consumes my focus as I take a swig-

Damnit, I stopped jogging!

My hunger subsides, though. I've got 3 sips left, which should last me the day. Barely.

I spend the rest of the day hanging around the village, talking to whoever I can. I learn some interesting things.

"Nah, don't think anyone's hirin' on right now. Though you can always ask-"

"I heard Kel's kid went off to work for Zanth. Can you believe-"

"Shh!"

"Yeah, you'd wanna ask Bunty about that. That busy-body seems to know everything-"

"Heard Josy's pregnant again, that'll be her fifth kid-"

… Mainly, that people on this island are serious gossips. I can see people eyeing my clothes and whispering about me, too. It doesn't bother me too much. The people are friendly in their own reserved, sometimes-aggressive manner.

One key bit of info that I learn is that Gangrel is on the throne of Plegia, and there's talk of rising tensions with Ylisse. So, the war hasn't started yet, at least so far as anyone here has heard. That's comforting to hear. I'd worried a little about being summoned into a completely irrelevant time, like a few generations before Chrom is born, but it seems like I won't need to worry about that.

Pirates are a thing around here, but people really don't seem to want to talk about them. It's as if they think by ignoring the problem, it'll go away. Or perhaps they're just afraid of being silenced if they speak out. You can never really know if the friend or stranger you're talking to is secretly affiliated with pirates, after all. I shiver at the stories I hear of pirates looting and killing.

Night falls by the time I take my last swig of Estus. I idly wonder whether or not I'll run into any nutrient deficiencies if I rely on it exclusively, then decide I'm too tired to stress about it. No one's willing to take a stranger in at the village, and I quickly learn to stop asking.

I walk a good 45 minutes away from the village, deciding to sleep on the flattest patch of ground I can find next to a giant rock. I really don't want to get robbed of my pants, so I take a wary look around my sleeping site. I don't think there's anyone living too close-by.

This is the best I can do. I fall asleep under a brilliant set of stars that I've never seen before.

This is the best I can do, but I need to do better.

Dark Awakening – Now Loading

Mark of the Left Hand: A skill inherited from a long deceased Outrealm warrior. Enables use of all weapon types.

According to legend, the warrior single-handedly battled an army and survived.

Despite his fearsome battle prowess, the fabled Left Hand of God was but a servant to higher powers. The Left Hand would use his weapons expertise to guard his Master as she channeled fearsome magics, making the duo near unbeatable in combat.

Some say that the Left Hand grew disillusioned with his Master, and finally slew her to break free of her control. Others say he fell in love with her, and that the two departed for lands unknown.

None remain of the Left Hand's homeland to divine truth from fiction.

I'm a little flummoxed when I wake up and I realize that I can't brush my teeth. Shaking my head, I do my other business somewhere out of the way, and then return to the pier.

From what I've heard, it looks like I don't have too much of a choice. A war is on the horizon, and I still don't know what timeline I'm in. If this is the first, doomed timeline, my foreknowledge means that I've got a responsibility to help. I need to get to Ylisse. I need to warn Chrom about Grima, Emmeryn, Walhart, and everything else.

The fisherman from before is back. He opens his mouth to give a greeting, but it transforms into a dark glare as he sees me approach the 3 burly men that Bunty pointed out to me yesterday. I've spoken to enough people to know who they are, but dark times call for dark measures.

The men give me an interested glance as I approach them.

"Hey," I say without preamble as I walk up to them. "Word's out that you're looking for guys that can get work done…"