A town in the Borderlands - story time

In the kingdom of Midgard has come a new time - a time of change and new beginnings. Adventurers and pilgrims have set their sights to the north, where lies the great forest Ellathar, once - the dreaded land of elves where no human dared to trail. But as its ancient masters have abandoned it, the fearless fools have elected a new name for it - the Borderlands. A land of unclaimed riches and countless opportunities, calling for the strong, the brave and the daring to settle it and find a new life for themselves.
This is a story of unlikely heroes, who came to this new land from all corners of the world, each for their own reasons. But our story does not begin in Ellathar, but rather to the south of it.
In the infamous Spiderwoods.

Is this a sequel to the Heroes of Spiderwoods?

Well, Veeky Forums, it's writefaggotry time. This one will not be in the format of a greentext yet - I'll listen to the feedback and change things if necessary. Maybe greentext will be used some of the times, or I'll switch to it entirely - and rewrite the posted story to fit it.

Yes, I'm glad somebody remembers it. But it's an indirect one, with a different plot and characters. But if you want to see Fiona or Gunnar, don't worry, you'll get to meet familiar faces. Eventually.

Maybe, it all started when a man lying by a river started slowly drifting back into consciousness - and with his very first thought, he immediately regretted it. His head rang in pain, and no matter how hard he tried to stand up, he could not find enough strength in his aching body. It took him a few failed attempts to realize that he can’t win this struggle, but eventually he gave up and tried something that made him hurt less - thinking.
How did he even end up in the middle of nowhere, beaten and bruised? The more he thought about it, the more puzzled he became. He could not remember it - and neither he could remember who did such a number on him.
“Who…”
In a single moment, his confusion evaporated into nothing, as dread stepped in its place. Those woods being unfamiliar to him was the least of his worries, for he suddenly understood that he could not remember anything at all - not what came before, not whom to seek help from, and not even his hometown or name.
He laid there, weak and confused, as he stared into the blue sky above. “At least I’m alive” - he found the silver lining eventually. Resting and gathering his strength, he listened to the soothing sounds of the forest - while they could not help him up, at least the songs sung by forest birds could calm his chaotic thoughts.
He could not remember for how long did he lie there, before amidst the sounds of the forest he heard heavy footsteps. And then - a voice.
“Hey, you there! That’s no place to sleep at! Come on now, get up.”
He groaned, as he struggled to lift his head, so he could see his visitor - and in a few moments, he could. The stranger was a woman - an extremely short woman wearing a suit of chainmail. From her leather belt hung a hammer.
“A dwarf” - he realized after a moment of confusion. And then he wondered when he even remembered what a dwarf was.

As he tried to answer her, she already was sitting beside him, mumbling about how somebody ought to really hate him, to do such a number on him. He was about to agree, when suddenly he felt an unusual warmth and lightness in his body - disturbed by unusual sensation he suddenly lifted his back from the grass. He wasn’t sure what was the source of his sudden second wind, but his instincts told him to speak.
“Greetings, miss…”
When he realized what a huge mistake he has made, it was too late.
“Before you stands Hildegarde of Ostagur, daughter of Hakon of Osmuth, son of Hrolf of Osmuth, son of Hrafn of Laketown, son of Harald of Laketown! I am the adopted daughter of the great craftsman Folki of the Stormforge clan, son of Fannar of Ostagur, son of Flemming of Ostagur, son of Freyr of Ostagur, son of Folki of Laketown!”
The man only managed to smile and nod in response, barely understanding a word from this tirade. The dwarf seemed to introduce herself as Hilda or something of sorts, and seemingly expected him to introduce himself in turn - something he couldn’t do. Which he immediately confessed.
It seemed that the dwarf was in trusting and helpful mood, so she took her time, sitting beside him and answering his questions. Sadly, she did not have the slighest idea of who he is, but she could tell him about the place he was at - the edge of a dangerous forest called the Spiderwoods. It was a long road until any settlement - so whoever has beaten him so badly, they must have really hated him, carrying him all this way, and really lazy, not even trying to bury him alive or at least tie him up.
The more she talked about kingdoms and duchies, forests and villages, the more he realized just how little all those names mean to him. She must have noticed it at some point, because eventually she just stopped, and advised him to think of getting somewhere safe first, and remembering things later.
That would be a great advice, if he even knew where to go.

He could barely make a step in his sorry state, nevermind make it out of the forest on his own - something he immediately pointed out. Beaten, alone, defenseless and without as much as provisions, forget a map, he would likely perish in these woods, and she was the only one who could help him now. He would be a burden, he admitted, but he would also try and be as much of help as possible - even though he wasn’t sure himself what exactly could he do.
Hilda gave it some thought. Trusting a complete stranger, especially the one making outrageous claims about having no memory, was a gamble - but eventually, she agreed. There was a camp nearby - and she would take him there. No true dwarf would leave a man for the beasts to find.

In the following couple of hours, he learned everything about the dwarf and her journey there was to know. She was moving to the place called the Borderlands, to live with her family. A free, if barely settled, land for the free people - a fitting place for great minds such as her father's. Hakon Hrolfsson soon became the second person amnesiac knew far better than himself, whether he wanted it or not.
It was a while until Hilda stopped yapping about her distinguished family, but it was only so she could move the conversation onto topic of his person. At least this time, he got an opportunity to speak. Many questions were asked, such as…
“You really don’t remember anything, or just making it up?”
“Are you remembering anything yet?”
“You think you know which country you came from?”
“You have anything on you?”
“Have you thought of a name yet?”

Maybe I'm an odd fish, but I'd really like to read about the regions, what they are like, how they got their names, what lives there. I'd like to understand that before getting into the plight of some guy. Sure, you put a parenthetical blurb about those places in the dialog, but that's not enough for me. I want those things first. Ignore me if I'm the only one who feels that way, but after all, the pic is an unfamiliar map and I don't know what to do with it.

A few of those were valid points - on the road to the camp, he already found a scabbard with silver dagger hanging from his neck together with a necklace - those seemed to be his belongings. Now, near the campfire, he could give them a closer look. After a few minutes of fiddling, the necklace turned out to be a locket hiding a portait of a young woman with red hair - a token of his past, no doubt. Yet no matter how much he looked at it, trying to recall who that woman was, he could not. The only thing he felt looking at it was growing sadness - and he could not understand, if it was because a part of him could remember her, or because it could not.
His blues were quickly scattered by his new companion, who declared that she can’t look at a man in such a sorry state no more - and she has to give him some medical attention, being an able healer. Her assurances did not sound true at all, and her salves smelled disgusting, but he was in no state or mood to refuse. Grumbling something quietly, Hilda lifted his shirt and began her work.
Frankly, he could not believe how quickly he got better - it must have been that the fouler the medicine, the better it works, since only in a few moments he could sense warmth and lightness spreading across all of his body. He felt like he ought to stand up and dance from how good his suddenly felt - but firm hands kept him in his place. She has found something.
Apparently, on his back there was a strange mark - a distinctive silhouette of a hound, and a number - 1605. Once again, this has told him absolutely nothing - but according to the dwarf, it was somehow hugely important. How and why - she would not tell.

Your wish is my command, user.

In a few minutes, she has also proclaimed that she’s tired of calling him “Hey, you”, and having a name is greatly important anyway. And since he has none, she will give it to him. For what seemed like hours, young man desperately resisted and struggled against becoming Hakon, Asbjorn, Sigurd, Gudrun, Rurik, Dorri and many other names, each sounding more dwarvish than the last one.
Yet in the end, one of the names she spouted suddenly struck him as fitting. “Einhild”. That one sounded right. Maybe, he should be Einhild after all, if only to avoid becoming Dorri.

Their journey to the Borderlands was long and boring. They sticked to the safe routes and only travelled during the day, so newly named Einhild did not even get to see any of the great dangers of the Spiderwoods. To pass time, amnesiac did his best to learn - partly because the world around him still did not make any sense, and partly because if he didn't answer questions every minute, Hilda would spend this time telling him an "exciting" tale about her ancestors - something Einhild soon learned to dread.