With the cost in blood ever-rising as the war raged on, the leader of the Alliance, the Elven High King even offered amnesty to the Republic on the condition that they surrender their leader in chains. This was met with derision by the senate and their envoy was sent back with a message that there would be no surrender to the savage barbarians from across the seas.
- On the Cataclysm by an unknown Quassian Scholar circa 103 AC
Black things that stabbed, while whispering sweet promises of releases, plagued me as I woke up with a feral scream. Disorientation filled me as I looked around the blue gloom. The insides of my skull felt like mashed jelly as I tried to desperately take stock of my situation. Gingerly I touched the back of my head to find it crusted with dried blood. I winced inwardly as I checked my Status and character, noticing that I had sustained significant damage in the last quake. Chuckling to myself quietly, which soon turned to a dry cough, I remembered that I had gained a level and a few attribute points when I had inadvertently killed a fellow slave. Looking over my character sheet, I confirmed my gains and Status.
STATUS
CallingGilgamesh Level 7 Acolyte of Avaria Strength22 Dexterity14 Constitution31 Intelligence18 Wisdom14 Charisma9 Luck14
SKILLS & PROFICIENCIES
Pain Nullification (lvl.1) Power Strike (lvl.2) Endure (lvl.3) Stealth (lvl.1) Rest (lvl.3) Backstab (lvl.2) Dodge (lvl.3) Polearms (lvl.2) Dual Wield (lvl.1) Critical Hit Mastery (lvl.2) Mining (lvl.2) Unarmed Combat (lvl.3) Hammers (lvl.2)
SPELLS & MAGIC
Heal (lvl.5) Rust (lvl.2) Identify (lvl.2)
Silent Casting (lvl.1)
GIFTS
Curse of Entropy -20% all starting attributes.
Experience to next level 1065/1289
Health93/147 Stamina45/49 Mana12/12
It appeared that my short sojourn into unconsciousness had counted as a rest. This had thankfully regenerated the lion’s share of my Stamina, my Mana, and some of my Health. Even in my current weakened state, I would be more than a match for a few Bibsis, I wryly mused.
Groggily I tried to rise, only to be stopped when I realized my right leg was trapped. A slab of white stone had fallen across it, stained blue in the Zajasite glow. Straining, I tried to push off the rock and was met with a sharp pain that competed with my other previously experienced agonies. Gritting my teeth, I began to push. Straining ever harder against the cold stone slab, I finally managed to move it off, which was accompanied by a final grinding noise that I hoped was not the sound of breaking bone.
Whimpering a little, I tried to gather myself, finding it difficult to cast Heal through the pain. Finally, after a few long agonizing seconds, I was able to complete the spell with a short mental shout as it filled me with familiar warmth. My leg wondrously healed before me, bringing me almost to full Health. I felt a wave of relief that I had put nearly all my level-up skill points into the Heal spell.
Taking a brief moment to collect my wits after that arduous experience, I looked around at what was left of the tunnel. Great slabs of stone had fallen randomly and crushed and killed most of the slaves. The path to the surface was completely blocked, there would be no rescue from that direction. My eyes cast through the gloom searching for familiar shapes and faces, before alighting on the great bulk that could only have been Kidu. Scrambling to his side I could see that he was covered in gashes and cuts across his great limbs and trunk, linen tunic bloodstained in many places. By the grace of the gods, Kidu was still breathing, his massive chest rising and falling, albeit erratically. His breath was raspy and strained. Focusing my power I cast Heal. Now, instead of focusing the power inwards, I pushed it outside of myself and through my hands into the giant’s body. I sighed mentally in relief, as I was unsure if the magic would even work on another being. I watched the healing power flow through Kidu’s body, closing several of his wounds. As he began to breathe easier, I sat down cross-legged beside the large man, mentally exhausted.
A sound halfway between a whimper and a wail distracted me from my reverie, and I turned in its direction. Leaving Kidu’s side, I made my way to the pitiful sound. In the gloom, I spied Durhit’s short solid shape hunched over a small form. As I came closer, I saw that the small shape was in fact a person. It was none other than Gunne son of Gudlaug, the boy barely into his teens who had sworn vengeance against me for killing Harun. Looking back at my actions, I was somewhat perturbed at what I had done with the man Gunne had idolized. Did the crime of cutting in line merit such violent reaction? Had this world already changed me to such a frightening degree? Still, I realized, the experience from his death was probably instrumental in helping me survive this far. This world rewarded killers after all.
Gunne was mewling something weakly, his lithe youthful body half crushed by rocks, a puddle of red forming around him. Durhit was holding his hand gently, offering soft meaningless words of comfort to him in his final moments. Durhit then looked up at me, and I imagined that his eyes were perhaps a little shiny with the start of tears in the gloom.
“The boy, he is in great pain, I have seen this like before…in the field” He paused for a moment, “I can’t do it again, and you are, well you know…“ I raised a single eyebrow, which he may not have noticed. “Take away his suffering, he might be a long time dying otherwise,” he begged of me softly, the last barely a whisper. Cowardice and weakness threaded into his plea.
I looked down at the boy and his mangled body, and perhaps a little too eagerly I picked up a mining pick from a pile of loose rubble, its point wicked in the gloom. I wanted this pathetic NPC to suffer for a long time, to feel even a fraction of the pain and humiliation that I had felt when he dared to threaten me. However, mentally shrugging my shoulders, it was free experience and Durhit was practically begging me.
Without any further ceremony, I looked into Gunne’s eyes as they widened slowly in horror as I raised the pickaxe. His hands clenching, his mewling growing a fraction louder in desperation. Durhit began saying something like “It is all going to be alright,” or some other pointless tripe, as I brought the pickaxe down in cathartic anger into his skull, smashing what remained of his youthful features.
You have slain Gunne 70 experience gained