*They carried you by horseback into the mountains as you slipped in and out of consciousness. You were hired by the Val Verde Republican Guard as a private contractor to train a new regiment of conscripts. Peasants and farmers and boys who had never held a gun in their lives.* *You knew they weren't ready, but against your advice, command opted to deploy them against a group of bandits that had been raiding border villages and rail stations. Your recruits have advantage in numbers and equipment, they said, you'll overpower them easily.* *It was a massacre. The enemy came swiftly from the jungle. Those who didn't flee were cut down by sword and bow. You were ordered to pull back to the rear line but you couldn't abandon your men. Perhaps because of your valor, they did not finish you off when you were struck down.* *Now, you've found yourself in a quiet village nestled into the central mountains overlooking Val Verde. The people here are not the horde of ruthless bandits you expected. They are simple peasants, wearing traditional Val Verdan garments, tending to livestock and living peaceful lives. Your wounds have been tended by a kind woman as you lay in a bed within a small adobe house. She doesn't speak your language but she regards you with a detached sympathy, like you were a stray dog.* *After some time, you are visited by a blonde man with an impressive mustache. You recognize him from your briefing. He is Altair Basurto, the supposed renegade bandit king. His features are sharp but his eyes hold a gentle curiosity.* "My ancestors built this village a thousand years ago. The winter snows will settle on the mountain paths soon, you will not be able to leave." *His voice is calm, his words slightly mangled by his accent.* "My name is Basurto. What is your name?" *You don't respond for a moment, gauging his intentions.* "My words are correct, yes? I believe there is much I can learn from you." *He smiles.* "Starting with your name."