Chapter 8: Surprise & Respite

Chapter 8: Surprise & Respite

The Fae of the deep woods and the places of the In-Between honored ancient pacts and promises, presenting their best warriors and life mages. They also gave unto the First Children great stores of witchwood lumber, grown from the giant sentient trees that had roots in both worlds so that the elven craftsmen might make living ships to travel the deeps. The forces under the command of the Elven High King were named the Eastern Alliance, as an entire continent prepared for war.

- On the Cataclysm by an unknown Quassian Scholar circa 103 AC

I awoke first to a kick in the stomach, where I felt nothing, which was followed by another more painful strike to the small of my back. Howling in pain, I forced my eyes open, reaching for a weapon that was no longer there. I dimly realized I was surrounded by four individuals clad in heavy-looking fur-trimmed leathers and chainmail. Shock filled me, as it dawned on me this was my first encounter with people, and they did not seem at all friendly. Through the pain, I tried to explain that I meant no harm, that this must all be some sort of mistake. But all that came out of me were wheezing coughs.

One of the men, the leader I presumed, was equipped with a plumed iron nasal helm. He spat out what I guessed was a mixture of invectives, curses, and orders in a coarse guttural language that had far too many consonants. I glanced at the other men, my eyes drawn to the mixture of cruel weapons hanging from their belts. An eclectic mixture of weapons, ranging from cavalry sabers to crude-looking clubs, heightened their menacing presence. One of their number held my broken half-spear reverently, which I subconsciously reached out for only to be met with a stinging backhand to the face.

The men were laughing cruelly at me, no doubt viewing me as no threat. Grasping at straws, I mentally targeted the leader of the small group and invoked Identify to try and regain some control of the situation.

Bogurchu Batbayar - Waverider (Human lvl.12) Health 142/144 Stamina 36/37

Mana 8/8

Taken together the nomadic tents, the rough stone buildings, and the presence of primitive industry defied direct categorization. But the academic in me placed the level of civilization at around the 11th or 12th century, and a really rough guess would establish the population at perhaps twenty to thirty thousand. As I performed these rough calculations in my head, I was filled with a renewed sense of wonder as I realized that this single area was bigger in scale than the entirety of any of the adventure role-playing games I had played back on Earth.

Someone kicked me from behind as I had stopped in my tracks, snapping me from my reverie and forcing me to hurry and keep pace with the horse. Weary and exhausted, it was sundown when we finally approached the southern gate. Bogurchu exchanged words with the group of guards at the entrance before handing a length of knotted leather string and a single copper coin to a young boy who then quickly scampered into the city.

The streets were dry hard-packed mud, with the occasional deep ruts. People were closing down shutters as the city began to wind down for the day and make ready for the night. I could hear the daily sounds of city life when humanity is pressed together; the arguments, the minor violence, the crying of babies. A long line of miserable pale-skinned muscular men was being led down a street in chains, their eyes devoid of hope. They passed just as we walked by a great tent filled with music and the sounds of laughter and merriment, a stark contrast to the misery of the chained men. Their equivalent to a tavern I presumed. Occasionally a mounted patrol would pass us and Bogurchu would salute them, a closed fist over his chest.

Finally, we arrived at our destination; a squat building of rough-cut stone around two stories high. Every window of the building had wooden shutters and cast iron bars. At the entrance, two guards stood. They looked bored and tired in the way of men who had performed the same duty many times over, every action and order now just rote and repetition. They saluted our leader before lazily making way for our party.

Inside a stubby, bored-looking man was reading characters written on animal hide at a desk. He looked up to give us a lazy nod as we passed before I was roughly shoved into a stone cell. The hinges of the stout iron door squealed in protest as it closed with an ominous clang, heralding the finality of my imprisonment. I saw the guards turn to leave through the bars of the cell, a jaunt to their step of a job accomplished. Further down from my cell, the sound of playful laughter could be heard; men giving each other a ribbing, only to be tersely cut short by an authoritative voice.

My new environment consisted of a small cell, with a pile of straw in the corner. In the other corner were two buckets, one filled with water and the other empty. The walls were made from solid stone of uniform length and shape, the gaps filled with damp rotting mortar. A small window secured with iron bars just above my head let in a drizzle of twilight into my new dank dwelling.

I moved to the straw in the corner, sitting almost catatonic. A glance at my Health reminded me that I had suffered great damage with my beating this morning. Silently I cast Heal. Normally in a game, I would always be eager to try out an improved spell or skill, but now I felt nothing but dejected exhaustion. Halfheartedly I noticed that my spell was healing me for five points of Health, a vast improvement. This helped soften the aches that were running through me.

However magic could do little for bitter humiliation and hope cut savagely short. Huddling in the corner on the straw, I hugged myself in my cold damp cell. Feeling helpless, alone, weak, and under-leveled, I longed to return to the comforts and security of my old life. Frustrated at the absolute powerlessness I had experienced, I wept myself to a troubled sleep, filled with grim dreams of cruel men.