Chapters 18-19 (Early Versions)

Chapter 18 - The Grind

Spies from the alliance and divine scrying showed that the mage-king was actually no king at all. In fact, he was seen to be more of a Steward and Servant of the people and was in fact chosen by the majority of them which was a concept that was so alien and foreign to the members of the alliance. The system of government was seen as preposterous for who would ever in their right mind allow the common man to dictate the rules of power above their station?

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


Dark things had plagued my dreams, stalking me throughout my imagination. Dark sharp things that pierced, stabbed or bludgeoned as they laughed cruelly. Dark tentacled things which whispered raspy sweet promises as they caressed my cheek, before wrapping around my neck and wringing the life out of me as they plunged down my throat. Several times I had awoken during the night, limbs flailing against invisible assailants before finally slipping into deeper slumber.

A worker inadvertently banging against my wooden pallet raised me from the last vestiges of my troubled sleep. The slaves moved in silence, like well-trained soldiers about to embark on a dawn raid. Looking out at the open wooden entrance, still dark before the first light of rosy dawn, I saw that they had begun to arrange themselves into passably neat columns and rows under the watchful eyes of our overseers. I hurriedly followed suit, not wishing to draw the ire of our masters, or the promised pain of my new collar. As I got up, I noticed a few of the insect-like creatures with double thoraxes and large mandibles that I had seen before scuttle into safety from the stampede of humanity into various holes and corners. There was at least one positive; as I started to make my way outside I noticed that despite my disturbed sleep, I had fully regenerated all of my status points.

Health: 105/105
Stamina: 41/41
Mana: 11/11

Falling into line our slave drivers exhorted the benefits of hard work, and the promise of pain to the lazy among us. However, they lacked the oratory skill and finesse of Hassan. That corpulent fatman truely had a charismatic voice even though we were had been quite literally part of his captive audience. Listening to them with only half an ear, I decided to cast Identify on my new collar.

Iron Slave Collar of Obedience
Durability 400/400

Something about the name of my slave collar niggled against my subconscious as we marched down into the mine shafts to repeat the drudgery. During the day while others along my line were rotated out and allowed a reprieve, I was forced to keep on working. I met Durhit again during my last shift, but I was so tired that I could barely manage a simple grunt in greeting.

Such was my determination to resist the promised pain from the collar, I veritably assaulted the white rock. Throughout the day I had carved great chunks out of the rock with my growing Strength. I had made progress, gaining a single point in both Constitution and Strength. Fear had pushed me so hard, and so good was my conditioning, that I had lost a few points of Health as I had bottomed out my Stamina several times through my labours from dawn till dusk.Though I did not make gains in Mining, which I didn’t care much for anyway, I still earned a nominal amount of experience for my level.

Taking my evening meal, Adita made sure to stack my bowl full. I sat quietly in a secluded corner. No one looked at me, and I took the time to review my character sheet.


STATUS
Calling: Gilgamesh Level 6 Acolyte of Avaria
Strength: 19
Dexterity: 13
Constitution: 27
Intelligence: 16
Wisdom: 12
Charisma: 8
Luck: 13

SKILLS & PROFICIENCIES
Pain Nullification  (lvl.1)
Power Strike (lvl.2)
Endure (lvl.2)
Stealth (lvl.1)
Rest (lvl.1)
Backstab (lvl.2)
Dodge (lvl.2)
Polearms (lvl.2)
Dual Wield (lvl.1)
Critical Hit Mastery (lvl.2)
Mining (lvl.1)
Unarmed Combat (lvl.3)

SPELLS & MAGIC
Heal (lvl.5)
Rust (lvl.1)
Identify (lvl.2)
Silent Casting (lvl.1)

GIFTS
Curse of Entropy -20% all starting attributes.

Experience to next level 830/991

Health: 87/109
Stamina: 7/43
Mana: 10/11


Good, I thought to myself. The increases in Health and Stamina were always welcome. My limbs felt like they weighed of lead now that I was finally allowed a moment’s respite. As I watched the slaves go about their evening meal chatting among themselves, I heard a language that sounded similar to the one Navigator Olai first used when she was interviewing me. It was much more musical and lilting, like a sing-song version of a Latin language. I sat back and projected a few Identify spells at the words, increasing my knowledge with every cast. I stopped after the ninth spell, unwilling to push myself to undergo what I had begun to term as ‘Mana Sickness’. After my casting my magical spells I had gained a very crude understanding of the language now, attaining some very basic knowledge of its grammar structure.

In my musings, I briefly touched my Iron Slave Collar of Obedience with a distracted finger, before I was met with a sharp stab of pain that ran along my spine and through my limbs like wild unbridled lightning. I almost wretched up my evening meal, but my instinct to survive forced me to keep it down through eyes filled with tears. I could see that my Health had fallen by two points, which I felt was completely disproportionate to the agony I had been inflicted with. The message was clear; I was not to touch the Iron Slave Collar of Obedience. Iron Slave Collar… the name of the heavy yoke around my neck stirred something in the depths of my mind. However like a falling leaf that escapes your grasp the harder you try to catch it, the connection still eluded me.

Shaking my head in resignation, I washed my bowl and spoon in the running water. As I took a drink I spied a familiar sight. The fierce-looking wildman with a collar like my own, looking like some sort of half-tamed animal was sitting down a ways from me. The man from our slave-indoctrination.  The man who had dared to resist.

Blonde dreadlocks hung down across his neck like a lion’s mane.  His eyes were like smouldering blue coals filled with icy fire. They locked for a moment with mine before pointing at the heavy iron collar around his neck. I moved across, feeling somehow that we were kindred spirits.

The wildman rose and slapped me on the back as I came closer, a mischievous smile on his face. He guffawed as he greeted me, “You are a troublemaker! The yoke does not sit so lightly about your neck, no? I am Kidu the Raider of the Three Bears clan.” Pointing at his left breast, “Like you here, I am not a slave,” he stated in a loud voice, almost as a challenge to the other gathered slaves.

Someone in the back jeered, “You have a slave brand just like the rest of us your highness, just with a bit of extra heavy jewellery!”

Kidu scoffed, “Come let us ignore these sheep. Let us talk like men. How did you come to be in this thrice-cursed hell hole?” he inquired, his inflection growling a little towards the end.

I told him my name and my meeting with Avaria, detailing my encounters with the dark things beyond the void. The need to spill the emotions that had bottled up inside me simply overwhelmed any and all of my inhibitions.  In some part of my logical mind I knew it was wrong choice, but logic is merely emotion’s vassal. For some reason I chose not to disclose that I was from another world completely, instead stating that I had completely lost my memories before the shrine. He listened, nodding as if affirming some pre held supposition.

“You are one of the god-touched. Some in my tribe go into the god madness, limbs shake and they drool like mad dogs, though different to the Berserk. They are honoured among our people. Your gift must have been too great, your tribe offered you to Vari, chooser of the slain, in some form of appeasement.” He spoke these words in thoughtful seriousness, incongruous to his wild appearance.

He must have mistaken the look of confusion that crossed my face as sadness for he tried to brighten my mood.

“You missed your chance to fight the endless battle in the heavens my friend! But, I am fortunate to make your acquaintance Gilgamesh of Uruk.  Perhaps with a little divine guidance we may yet make our way out of our predicament, yes?” he said more as a statement than a question as he slapped me on the back in encouragement.

“Yes, let’s get out of this thrice-cursed hell hole. One way or another,” I replied, nodding in agreement. A few slaves nearby shook their heads in pity and sympathy. No doubt we were not the first to make such a vow.

“Do you know anything about levels?” I asked him as nonchalantly as possible.

“Levels?” his eyebrows furrowing in thought, “like how high something is?”

“No no, to determine one’s strength. Experience points and such? How do you get more skillful or stronger?” I quizzed him, determined to get some answers.

“Friend, truly you must be god-touched. I know no such thing of levels, but there are ranks in the armies of men and so forth. Points of experience, I guess as one practices at some things you will get better at it,” he replied earnestly, not truly understanding my line of my questioning.

I continued to quiz him about his past in the stolen moments before we were herded off to sleep. Obviously the locals had no knowledge of the system that was responsible for my growth, though I did glean that they were perhaps affected by it. He told me that some warriors of his clan appeared to grow physically stronger as they continued to prove themselves on the battlefield or successful hunts. According to my new friend older beasts and creatures grew stronger too. Kidu spoke of monstrous ice-drakes of the frozen north that became fiercer and more malevolent with each passing year, preying on their herds before a team of determined hunters or plucky adventurers would cull them.

I took note that perhaps the NPCs of this world had more organic growth in their strength and development as from our conversation they had no idea about the ‘system’ of the game. I on the other hand could, to a degree, guide my own progress as I levelled up. This would be of great advantage to me as I hopefully grew in power.

Going through the doors to the slave stables we chose pallets next to each other, some form of security against the other true slaves. Exhausted, I slept. I awoke sometime in the night plagued once again by dreams of dark things that stalked. I tried to find my errant friend sleep once more only to be interrupted by the sound of two creatures trying to find what solace they could in the night. Finally their rut finished and I was lulled once again into the land of dreams.

The next day found us much as the previous day. The wildman and I, obvious troublemakers, were separated into different teams. Like the previous day after a rest, I had regained all of my Status points. Also, I was given a new notification that concentrated efforts at trying to sleep had given me an increase in Rest, raising it to level two.

Falling into line I toiled in the light blue gloom of the mines. In my second shift Durhit also worked next to me. While I was hacking away at the white stone with my crude mining pickaxe with the single-mindedness of a machine, Durhit paused in his labours for a moment and talked to me while our whip carrying minders looked the other way.

“I’ve never seen a fellow dwarf, let alone a human like you, hack away at the stone like that. Have you made an enemy of Mother Earth?” he said behind his bushy beard, straining between each breath.

Curious at his use of the word dwarf and with Mana to spare, I decided to cast an Identify spell his way, wishing to sate my idle curiosity.

Durhit Coal - Sapper (Dwarf lvl.14)
Health: 273/280
Stamina: 38/50
Mana: 11/11

Striking the alabaster rock I grunted before answering, raising the tool above my head, “This is ‘grinding’ sir dwarf, I need to build up my Strength if I am to ever escape.”

Durhit had a prodigious amount of Health, truly formidable probably due to his dwarven Constitution. Dwarves always were famously hardy in modern fantasy depictions and it was little surprise to me that this paradigm applied to this world too. I half-heartedly concluded that the Sapper class alongside his name likely explained his economical strikes against the rock. I had already burned through more than half of my own Stamina as I pounded furiously at the rock.

Durhit pretended to understand my response, no doubt thinking I was perhaps a little touched in the head. Come to think of it, an infection caused by the myriad of wounds I had suffered and my questionable diet may well have caused a riot within my body and addled my mind. I mentally shrugged to myself, as my I rolled my shoulders. Perhaps this was all just a fever dream?

This line of thinking would produce no real answers so I focused back on my work, striking out against my enemy the alabaster stone. Mimicking the dwarf, I raised my pickaxe slower and used more of the tool’s weight than my own muscle when striking. Subconsciously an unspoken bond was formed between us as we toiled under a blue glow. Just as Durhit was relieved of his shift I was rewarded with a notification.

You have learned Hammers
You have learned Mining (lvl.2)
You have gained 1 Strength

Humming a catchy tune from my own world between strokes to break up the monotony under my breath I continued my assault on the rock. Some of the slaves around me took up the tune before they were silenced by the crack of whips on pliant flesh.

The dwarf noticed my smile, however, and just shook his head at my antics as he slung his pickaxe over his shoulder and left. I continued to hum the tune, albeit under my breath, in discreet defiance. Like Kidu, I was not a slave in my heart.




Chapter 19 - Talk of the Past

Dragonroot harvested in the depths of the most primal forests is jealousy guarded by the great Jaderock bees. According to the observations of the researchers of Quas, these giant bees need the poison produced by the flowers to raise one of their number to a new queen. Dragonroot, also known as the Widow’s Mercy, is much sought after in many alchemical concoctions. According to legend the dragon slayers of old coated their weapons in a paste made from the root to slay their scaly foes.

- The Fanciful Travels by Beron de Laney 376 A.C


When finally my shifts were over, the exhaustion I felt could still not quite dampen my good spirits. I made sure to hide my smile from the guards who looked at me as if I was deranged, and I made sure to smile at each slave who met my eyes too. Some of the poor slaves even hesitantly smiled back.

“You look to be in good spirits boy, did something good happen in those godforsaken mines? Maybe you poked about in a different shaft!” Adita jibed jovially, laughing at her own crude joke.

“No, no madam Adita.  Nothing of that nature, but I see that this evening’s meal looks as delicious as ever,” I replied adroitly, my good spirits lighting my eyes.

“Told you I’m not a madam, not one of those high-nobility types, and flattery will get you nowhere!” she cackled as she dolloped an extra portion into my bowl. “Old Monta caught himself a little delicious Rockcrab by the Latifundium, threw that in today.”

You have gained 1 Charisma

I smiled knowingly, taking my bowl filled to the brim with the questionable stew. The gain in Charisma was extraneous to my current dire circumstance. My mind was more focused on the fact that the game’s internal logic had translated the Adita’s words into the ancient Roman word for slave quarters. An oddity that I puzzled over as I began eating my evening meal. Soon a familiar hulking manacled shape hobbled over. I rose and clasped his arm at the elbow which he returned in greetings.

“Welcome Kidu the Raider,” I grinned up at him, my neck having to tilt upwards to meet his cold blue eyes.

“And you Gilgamesh of Uruk,” he chortled, settling his bulk down cross-legged on the hard-packed earth.

“I have questions…” I began hesitantly.

“Of course you do god-touched, as long as we do not debate Quassian philosophy I welcome them. Perhaps through the answering, you will gain a little of your past,” he said with sympathy colouring his voice as we both sat.

We talked for a while. I confirmed that he truly had no knowledge of the strange mental script which I dubbed the UI or user interface, one that apparently only I could see. He viewed my interpretation of the UI’s messages as some form of communication from the divine.

I also learned from Kidu that the language of the Children of the Tides was simply called Trade and that the guttural language was almost the lingua franca for this region. He considered my pronunciation of Trade to be above average; my grasp of the spoken language had clearly grown by leaps and bounds. The singsong language I had some experience with was called High Quassian and was also spoken by the desert people of the south.

In time the large man told me his tale. I found out that Kidu was from the far frozen north. His tribe was a nomadic people that hunted a massive creature called the Cronir. The Cronir travelled across the tundra in massive herds in the manner of caribou and were sometimes preyed upon by vicious ice-drakes. His tribe had lost several skirmishes and hunting rights to rival tribes weakening them. The Windspeakers of his tribe, a group of the elderly and the wise who kept the oral traditions of the Three Bears, advised the chief to send a raiding party to the South.

The chief sent Kidu, who even then had a reputation for being a belligerent troublemaker, along with a few other men to form a raiding party and travel south as raiders. The leader had planned for them to bring exotic riches from the warm verdant lands back home so that they could trade for favours from other tribes. However in a frontier town near the frozen wastes, they had been duped by shady characters in the local drinking den promising them the location of a rich caravan that was scheduled to pass through.  Instead of a profitable raid, they were assaulted in the night in their drunken stupor, stripped of their weapons, and sold into slavery to the said caravan.  Kidu had been sold and traded from master to master due to his fractious and violent nature. Eventually he had changed so many hands that he had finally made it to Ansan, the jewel of the grass sea of the Grieving Lands and a gateway to the Wilds.

Spying Durhit with a group of tired-looking men I called him over. His face at a distance looked like he had just swallowed a sour plum as he made his way over. Suspicion warred with a need to make a connections across his bearded face. In the end despite initial reluctance the need to find some form of solace won.

“Be a little quieter manling, the guards here be sensitive to those with loud tongues,” grumbled the dwarf.

I held my hands up in mock acquiescence, a grin still on my face.

“I’ve never seen a human, yes dwarves aplenty, but never a human so happy pounding away at rock. I swear he is a little queer in the head,” he grumbled again.

“Then you have probably never heard of the gold rush,” I replied. The dwarf’s eyes almost comically widened at my mention of gold. “Men would cross oceans, plains and deserts in their search of gold,” I tried to intone as wisely as possible.

“Aye that, it is well known that man’s greed of gold can rival even a dwarven Deeptaker’s,” Durhit nodded sagely into his bowl, his long beard almost brushing into the stew.

“I know you are god-touched, but at times you sound like my tribe’s Windspeakers Gilgamesh of Uruk. Are you a scholar?” interjected the wildman in all seriousness.

A bittersweet smile formed on my face, shaking my head as the lie found its way to my lips, “No Kidu of the Three Bears, though I have heard a few things here and there.” Already treading on dangerous ground with my mention of the California gold rush, I was wary that continuing the line of thought would lead me to share more about my origins.

“Your tribe will enjoy many good years with their offering, to give not only a god-touched but also a man wiser than his years to the Chooser of the Slain,” he nodded, accepting my lie totally.

“How about you mysterious manling, what brought you here to the great Ansan?” the dwarf inquired, bushy eyebrows raising a fraction in interest.

Thankfully Kidu interjected, eager to tell my story to the dwarf, with just a little bit of joy in the telling. He embellished little except for my fight in the arena. According to the savage-looking man, instead of killing a green and untested youth, I had slain a scarred seasoned warrior, his blade pitted with the clash of many battles.

“...And what brings a stone-eater so far from your mountain halls?” the wildman finished finally with a question.

The dwarf’s face scrunched in irritation before looking down troubled, as if trying to retrieve the memory from the ground itself.  In time he too told his tale, “Bunch of lads and I signed as mercenaries for the manling Lord Hayles against one of his neighbours, the Lord Farilse. Something about an exorbitant port tax that one of Haylebury's ships refused to pay for. This led to the city Lord Farilse seizing his vessel the Pride of Iron that was berthed.” Something ticked the back of my mind with the ship’s name but I quickly turned my attention back to the dwarf’s tale.

“The port of Seaguard had strong high walls and even stronger coastal defences, and little Lord Hayles decided he needed a bit of dwarven ingenuity to do something about the defences. A messy affair if there ever was one.” He spat on the ground before continuing, “Good rights to pillage and steady coin are a siren song to any good dwarf worth his ore and we marched under Haylebury’s banner with the baggage train. But, Farilse was a cunning one and he hired mercenaries of his own. Hateful pointy-eared scum, Dark Elves, quiet like shadow they fell upon the baggage train near, gutting the sentries and picket lines with not so much a sound. My own mate Kabruk was taken down right before my eyes, one of their cursed black blades across his throat as he tried to raise the alarm. I gave as good a reckoning as any of the Stoneborn and I perhaps got a few of them with my trusty hammer. Like hitting leaves and twigs those Dark Elves are. They faded away like morning mist just as the first light hit, and the damage they had done was great. They had hit our poor Girabis, poor blundering beasts, and just like that our whole venture was hamstrung. A curse of ash and ruin on the sharp ears!”

“Farilse never faced us in open battle after that, he hit us again and again and finally forced Hayles’ surrender.” The dwarf paused for a moment as if dredging up the memory caused him bittersweet pain.

“My sister Evenes could only afford the ransom of her man Nolat, and I don’t in half a mind blame her in truth as it was more my idea to go about on that slagheap of an adventure. She promised that once Nolat and her started work on the new claim they had, they’d find a way to pay my bond price. But with no way to pay my immediate ransom, Farilse sold us to a passing slaver caravan. Those vultures always be about the edges of war, like flies to a fresh corpse. Now here I am in Ansan mining ore for manlings to make weapons to wage war upon one another.”

Something must have struck a chord with the wildman as he silently patted the dwarf on the shoulder in compassion, only to be brushed off brusquely.  I was silent for another reason. Something the dwarf said set off something in my mind, like suddenly remembering an important memory.

Then it was there in my mind, the spell Rust. Like a slippery eel, it had always wriggled its way from my attention. Circumstance had meant I never had any leeway to experiment with its use. Determined now, I called out to it and was met by resistance. Black slithering things crossed the edges of vision and cold sibilant whispers caressed my ears, making me shiver as electricity travelled down the nape of my neck. A sense of wrongness so profound and utterly inimical to all things filled me. Wanting to release this dark energy as soon as possible, I eyed a random slave engaged in evening conversation in the corner of my eye. Focusing my target, I surreptitiously cast the spell at his manacled feet.

Black lines of power left me then, seemingly invisible to everyone else, wrapping around the chains like velvet lightning as he continued talking.  The whispers slowly left me, the feeling of wrongness lessening, but I could still see the dark lightning working its way around his iron chains. Gradually now the lightning danced around the iron, slowly and steadily like a funeral procession. Where it touched, a few dots of orange and red could be seen as the metal was slowly oxidised at an accelerated rate. The spell had only cost me a single point in Mana.

I made every effort to hide the grin on my face as I looked back at my companions, questioning looks on their faces at my sudden rise.  I had found the keys to my chains.  Explaining to them that I thought I saw a ghost of a familiar face, they nodded sympathetically at my false hope.

Durhit shared that he had often done a similar thing when new dwarves were welcomed to the mines. We talked about small things of little import, and I learnt a little of the common knowledge of this world. The name of the world I found myself in was called many things by its innumerable people.  But here in this area, known colloquially as the Grieving Lands due to the sudden tumultuous storms that were endemic to the region in the winter months, the locals called the world Gesthe. This meant ‘Garden’ in the language of the first people, as the Elves liked to call themselves. The Grieving Lands were but a small part of an enormous world that was broken up into massive continents, which according to Durhit were the bones of land dragons.

We talked too of strange and fanciful places. According to Durhit his home the Beacon Mountains were an active range of volcanoes, their fiery maws bursting up into flame and ash. I wondered to myself about what sort of people would choose to live in such a dangerous place? Somewhere in the conversation there was talk of place to the far west called the Glass Fire Sea. Here sailors feared to navigate its treacherous waters as great crystalline glass formations floated on its becalmed surface, burning any ship to blackened husk that got too close. Still some savvy captains would venture forth on moonless nights to gather fragments of the precious glass to be sold to the great universities of Quas.

The flames of adventure were lit once more in my heart, and I could feel a desperate need to be free taking a deeper root. However once again before too long we were herded back into the slave stables. Before going to sleep I sat up, casting Rust silently, picturing iron manacles and released the energy in random directions in the room. The black lightning from my spell was invisible even to me in the darkness. I knew the spell was being cast as I could see my mana drop slowly and on the ninth cast I was rewarded with a notification.

You have gained 1 Intelligence

Lying back down on my cot I perused my character status. Like the other day, I had gained some nominal experience from Mining. But more importantly, I now had the tools to make a bid for freedom. I needed the patience to see my growing plans through, and it felt to me that my chains chafed more than usual now that a path to freedom could be seen. To feel, to experience the best this fantasy world had to offer and not be just a slave to destiny. Before too long, however, my current excitement lost the battle to my ever-present exhaustion and I fell once more into a troubled sleep.


STATUS
Calling: Gilgamesh Level 6 Acolyte of Avaria
Strength: 20
Dexterity: 13
Constitution: 27
Intelligence: 17
Wisdom: 12
Charisma: 9
Luck: 13

SKILLS & PROFICIENCIES
Pain Nullification  (lvl.1)
Power Strike (lvl.2)
Endure (lvl.2)
Stealth (lvl.1)
Rest (lvl.2)
Backstab (lvl.2)
Dodge (lvl.2)
Polearms (lvl.2)
Dual Wield (lvl.1)
Critical Hit Mastery (lvl.2)
Mining (lvl.2)
Unarmed Combat (lvl.3)
Hammers (lvl.1)

SPELLS & MAGIC
Heal (lvl.5)
Rust (lvl.1)
Identify (lvl.2)
Silent Casting (lvl.1)

GIFTS
Curse of Entropy -20% all starting attributes.

Experience to next level 850/991

Health: 92/111
Stamina: 13/43
Mana: 1/11