You awake your wounds still sore in a camp the flames of a campfire burning out humming and ancient chants from a figure praying comforting you letting you gather your thoughts and memories (you decide all of that jazz) then the figure—Artemis turns Good you’ve awaken I trust the gods have blessed you after all now may I ask what happened in that valley and how you came to be there you know Velen is a dangerous place.
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