Scholars have debated this question for centuries. Philosophers have written enormous books about it. Priests have prayed over it. Kings have funded expeditions in search of answers. Entire civilisations have risen, flourished, collapsed, and been rediscovered beneath several feet of mud without reaching any kind of firm conclusion.

Fortunately, they were all looking in the wrong place.

The meaning of life is, quite obviously, to wake up somewhere outside Rattay with absolutely no memory of how you got there, three groschen in your pocket, a stolen spoon in your inventory, and an urgent appointment on the opposite side of Bohemia that you agreed to attend approximately nine in-game days ago.

From there, life’s purpose becomes considerably clearer.

You must acquire a horse. Lose the horse. Whistle for the horse while standing directly beside it. Pick several hundred herbs despite being a grown man with important responsibilities. Become distracted by a suspicious-looking woodland path. Follow it for twenty minutes. Discover absolutely nothing. Get attacked by three peasants wearing potato sacks who somehow possess the tactical coordination of the Royal Guard.

You must then limp home carrying fourteen swords, six pairs of trousers, an entire hauberk, seventeen cabbages and a drinking goblet that you are absolutely certain will be useful later.

It will not be useful later.

Along the way, you will learn several important lessons.

Money cannot buy happiness, although it can buy armour, dried meat, bathhouse services and enough Saviour Schnapps to make the distinction largely academic.

Possessions are temporary. Groschen are temporary. Reputation is temporary. That very expensive sword you spent two hours saving for is temporary, because sooner or later you will find another sword with a number slightly higher than the previous sword’s number.

Friendship, however, is eternal. Particularly the sort of friendship where a nobleman wakes you up at an unreasonable hour because he has devised another catastrophic plan involving alcohol, hunting, gambling, women, violence, or some combination of all five.

There is also honour.

Honour means behaving with dignity, keeping your word, helping those in need, respecting the laws of the land and returning property to its rightful owner.

Unless nobody saw you take it.

In that case, honour becomes a complicated philosophical matter best discussed after the item has been sold to a miller.

You should also remember to appreciate the small things in life: a beautiful sunrise over the Bohemian countryside, the sound of birds in the forest, a warm meal after a long journey, the comforting clink of groschen entering your purse, and the unique satisfaction of winning a game of dice against a man who has absolutely no idea you are carrying six suspiciously fortunate dice.

Perhaps, ultimately, the meaning of life is not something that can be measured.

Perhaps it is not wealth, glory, power or reputation.

Perhaps it is the people we meet, the adventures we have, the mistakes we make, and the stories we accumulate along the way.

Or perhaps it is simply this:

JCBP, Henry’s come to see us!

We may never know.