“Imber, you know how it is. Your brother is…” Imber’s mother’s voice trailed off, suggesting that the young Courser knew what she was referring to. Of course. Imber was the youngest of several siblings, and his brother was the eldest. The one to inherit the family name, not that it mattered at this point. They didn’t have a name anymore. They were Scorned, their name removed from the books. Bringing honour to a name that didn’t exist felt like a cheap joke, but his parents were adamant. 

Sending out their youngest for riches and fame in the dungeons was the way to get back up again. Rise again to status and beyond what they had. Heavy expectations were placed on Imber’s shoulders, and he was more than aware he was not the first of his siblings to head out into the depths. The others hadn’t returned, but the rumours were they hadn’t died, but he questioned whether he would be told the truth even if they had died. She gives him a half-hearted hug, wrapping her neck around his and pressing her head over his withers. 

“Be good. You can do this. You can… fix things.” She says, with a soft voice; her best imitation of being motherly. A cheap imitation, if you asked Imber, but it didn’t matter now. He was to head off into the Buried Kingdom, into the unforgiving depths to find the family honour that was lost. It went unsaid that he was not expected to return until his name was known all around, until his Scorned status was forgotten and everyone knew him as something greater. Something so uplifted that any mention of Scorned would be washed away by the riches and tales of greatness his name was attached to. Imber said his goodbyes, and some part of him knew he wouldn’t return, regardless if he found fame or fortune. If this was the path his family wanted him to be on, then he would not return.

They knew sending him out was a bad idea. He wasn’t particularly strong, tall or adventurous; in fact, he was the opposite. He was small, quiet and best in social situations. He was not strong, and he would rather run away than confront any dangers. Even if his family would never openly admit it, they were more than willing to sacrifice him in the slim hope that he could bring them more than they had ever given to him. If he was to die, then he would be remembered fondly. 

His little bag of meagre belongings held some food, a little brooch with his family crest, and a small dagger that was more useful for cutting plants than actually being used as a weapon. He had a simple cloak, made of high quality materials, but otherwise looked very nondescript. He wished to be anonymous, to shed the reputation and family burden from his shoulders; that meant travelling far. His first focus was on travel, making sure the further he got the less he recognised the sigils and family crests. That was good; he wanted to be away from the families he knew. Away from the ones who referred to him as Scorned. 

Making it through a small village, they warned him to stay for the night; the sun was getting low, and while the travel to the next place was fairly void of dangers, it was a lot closer to a known entrance to the Buried Kingdom. He figured it to be a good choice for his first adventure beneath the surface. He might not find a lot of goods, but it would be better than nothing. He could get a sense of the place. He had heard that some adventurers felt a call to the Kingdom, to keep visiting and explore deeper into the depths, but Imber had never felt that call. Regardless, the sense of duty weighed too heavy on his shoulders to decline his parents' decision to send him out. Maybe he would find a new purpose, or a simple job somewhere in a quiet town where nobody recognised him or his family crest.

He watches the sun colour the world in hues of yellow, orange and red, quickening his step. The road led him through vast fields of crops, and he was promised the road was safe to travel, even late in the evening. It was near the fall harvest, many of the fields already cleared of their crops, so only fall vegetables were left to grow. The sun set behind him, creeping down slowly and lessening the light. He had the sense to get himself a little lantern, even though he tried to avoid moving in the dark as much as possible. He kept telling himself: the road wasn’t that long, he could make it to the next village soon and find shelter for the night. The open fields gave him plenty of visuals in case someone tried to attack him and the road was well built so running away was his easiest option. Imber kept his thoughts on the Buried Kingdom and what he could find there. He knew some had made themselves a big name as adventurers, some coming from very humble beginnings. That gave him a fraction of hope, that if he could make it big, he could shed the shadow that his birth name cast over him. 

Deep in thought, Imber hadn’t realised that the sun had set completely and he was alone in the dark. Awakened from his thoughts, he stopped for a moment and looked around. It still looked surprisingly light, but that was because the moon had risen fully by now, in colours of orange and red. The harvest moon made everything seem like it was lighting up, the pumpkins and gourds on the fields around him gaining an otherworldly look to them, like at any given moment they would grow arms and legs and start moving on their own, turning around to show faces like the ones others would carve on them around this time of year. He shook himself out of it, starting to move again. He shouldn’t stand around waiting to see if the fields were about to come alive. Imber picks up the pace, going from a walk to a brisk trot as he hears noises behind. At first, it’s just leaves rustling, or so he tells himself, that it’s just the wind picking up but the sounds following aren’t something he would expect just from the wind or even an animal moving in the woodline beyond the fields. He slows down slightly, peeking behind him only to nearly fall face first when he gets scared, trying to move his feet even faster.

The Harvester stood in one of the fields, scythe standing tall next to him and hinges of the ancient armour creaking as he straightened up. The Harvester was incredibly tall, the red beams of his gaze scanning through the fields. Was he looking for something? Imber wasn’t going to stay around to find out. He gets himself sorted, taking one last look at the Harvester before he sprints away. He was not going to make closer friends with the creature if he could help it. Who knows what it was looking for, maybe something to eat? A succulent Courser meal? He was sure the dungeons would be less bad than coming face to face with the creature again, so he sprinted off, as fast as his legs would carry him away. While running, he can see the red beams scan the fields and road. They go over him as well, but he hopes that the creature didn’t find him interesting enough to follow. Imber doesn’t dare to look back to find out. He gallops as fast as his legs would let him, taking the first turn off the road he could find, ending up in the woods.

He could still hear the Harvester move around, and finds himself a spot to hide in. His lungs were burning, his breathing shaky as he tried to be as quiet as he could laying low in the midst of thick woods. He cursed himself for choosing to go out at night, thinking he could reach the other village in time, that he thought he was up for going into the Buried Kingdom. He should’ve listened to those who knew better but now he was laying in some muddy, cold ground hiding from a creature taller than some houses he had seen. He wasn’t sure what the Harvester’s motives were, only hearing a few stories of him as a colt, but stories weren’t the same as looking at the creature eye to eye. He was not going to find out what his motives were first hand. One look at the formidable scythe was more than enough for Imber, and he pulls his cloak over himself more to hide. He realises to blow out the light from his lantern, squeezing down lower when he hears the Harvester move nearby. He couldn’t make out the exact words the Harvester spoke as he moved around, his voice like dry leaves moving in the wind around the trees. Imber felt the creature was beckoning for something, asking things to join him, but Imber was certain he would not join this harvest if he could help it. Huddled down in hiding, he tries to keep as quiet as he could while waiting for the mercy of the rising sun to tell him it was safe to continue his travels.