We now return to your regularly scheduled programming: some random nerd drowning.


Chapter 14: Kidnapper's Keep

Kick.

Paddle.

Kick.

Paddle.

Kick.

Paddle.

I don't know how long I've been in the river for.

Kick. Paddle.

I don't know how long I've been pushing to keep my head above the water.

I can't afford to think about time right now.

All I can think about is doing what I need to do to live.

Kick. Paddle.

Kick. Paddle.

If I just keep doing this, I won't drown.

My legs are lead weights.

My fingers are numb and pale.

My body is wracked with cold.

No.

Kick. Paddle.

Kick. Paddle.

Until I am safe I can't afford to think of anything else. Only swimming.

Just keep swimming, just keep swimming…

Okay, now I know my brain's fucking with me. Not having it.

Focus.

Kick. Paddle.

Kick. Paddle.

Kick. Paddle.

So it goes…


"Holy shit, we got a live one here!"

"You see, I told you we should fish him up!"

I groan as my eyes try to open. When did I pass out? How the fuck did I survive? The slightest opening of my eyes lights my brain on fire and I immediately squeeze them closed again.

"Is he seriously still awake after that?"

"That makes things easier. Here, tilt his head back, this'll put some fire in his belly."

The mouth of a water skin is held to my mouth, and I gulp greedily, only to gasp as I taste the burn of alcohol instead. "Gah, fuck!" I choke, sitting up and coughing.

"Oi, don't go wasting that, its good alcohol!"

"Only you would say that, Fish."

"Just because I got more refined taste than you!"

"That's enough of yer shit, both of you." A third voice suddenly cuts in, and I feel a pair of hands grab my head roughly. Two fingers pry my open, and I cringe at the sudden burn of light.

"Fuck! What the hell's wrong with you?" I protest, trying to pull away. The hands on my head don't budge though, and I'm forced to endure as my eye adjusts. It takes some time, but eventually I get used to the light enough to see properly, even if my head is throbbing.

The man holding me is slender, almost gangly. If it weren't for the fact that I'm nearly dead of exhaustion, I have little doubt I could pick him up and throw him without difficulty. Which would seem like an odd thought if not for the creepy fucking leer he's giving me right now.

"You're a big fella, ain't ya?" The man says, looking me up and down. "Strong enough to survive that river, too."

"I guess…" I look at him uneasily. Sure, by the standards of this world, I've definitely got a larger frame than most people. Comes from being transported to a medieval land, everyone's smaller around here. But something about the way this guy says it is making me seriously uncomfortable. Like I'm a piece of meat or something.

"Well, I've always got room for big strong men, don't I boys?" The guy's grin widens, and he looks back at his companions, who snigger in response.

"Flattering as that may be, I have my own group that I travel with further upstream, so I'm afraid I'll have to decline." I deadpan, trying to lean back. The man's fingers tighten painfully on my head, holding me close.

"Ah ah ah, there's only room for one pack in these parts. If there was another group about I'd know it."

"Fucking hell, how far did I float?" I look over towards the river uneasily.

"Quite a ways, quite a ways indeed. One big soggy sheep come swimming in for slaughter." The man laughs cruelly. "Well, I suppose that depends on whether you behave yourself."

"And here I had hoped this was one of those times you couldn't judge a book by its cover." I reply, looking over the men with a scowl. "You lot look every bit the part of a bandit group."

"Bandits?" The man laughs, "Oh, I'm afraid you're not quite so lucky. We prefer stealing people over stealing their possessions."

A lead weight settles in my gut. "Slavers then. Well, I am fucked, aren't I?"

"Very much so." The man finally releases my head and rises to his feet. "Well, take heart, sheep! Fucked though you may be, we'll take proper care of you in the meantime. Wouldn't want your price to depreciate in value, after all. Tell me, can you stand?"

I snort in response. "After all that time in the river it's a wonder I can speak."

"Yes…" His hands dart out, looking over my swelling fingers carefully. "Frostbite. And your clothing is soaked through… the hell?" He checks my clothing over again carefully. "This is high quality material… You some kind of noble?"

"More like a foreign mercenary." I shrug. "One with a rich employer."

"A Khan? No, they don't have any use for foreign mercenaries, at least not melee warriors… The Twins don't pay this well, and no Plegian would be caught dead this far north this time of year. Ylisse then." The man grins broadly. "Well, well, you're quite the fattened prey indeed!"

I know it's a stupid fucking metaphor but that stung a little. I grimace at the man's choice of words as the he gestures to one of his goons. "Fish, carry him."

"Aw, Ezra, do I have to?" Ah, so nice to have a name to put to the face.

"If what he says is true, he's worth more than both of you combined. Carry him. Now." Ezra's face twists cruelly, a hand going to the sword on his hip.

Fish clearly isn't the brightest man, but he knows a threat when he sees one, and immediately moves over to me. Evidently not the bravest man either. That or this Ezra guy is a lot more dangerous than he looks. I'd bet on the latter personally; the guy is clearly confident in his abilities to threaten violence so casually.

Fish whines as he puts a hand under my shoulders. "Aww, boss, he's soaked!"

"Of course he's soaked, he was just in the river…" Ezra snaps impatiently, then double takes, looking at me again. "Actually, you know what? You've got a good point Fish. We'd best be taking care of that before the cold kills him. Get those clothes off him. Clyde, help him."

My gut instinct is to start kicking and screaming at this point, but I stamp that down. As much as I don't want to be stripped against my will, Ezra's right. My clothes are drenched and nightfall looks to be rapidly approaching. I need to warm up quickly or I'll die. Of course, relaxing while two slavers pull my clothes off isn't even remotely possible.

I want nothing more right now than to gouge the eyes out of these fuckers right now. But I'm not strong enough to take them right now. They'll kill me. Rough hands peel my jacket and sweater away, and rather than fight back I just force my muscles to stiffen so I can't move around.

"Quit it, you moron." Clyde mutters, peeling my wet shirt from my back. "Don't make this harder than it has to be."

"You're living, aren't you?" I spit angrily, hands clenching and unclenching. Clyde blanches and lowers his head.

"Big words!" Ezra chuckles, walking back into my field of vision, a bundle of blankets under one arm. He sizes me up as the clothes get pulled off me, letting out a low whistle. "Gods, whatever those Ylisseans fed you, they fed you well! Are all mercenaries this soft down south?"

"GO FUCK YOURSELF!" I finally snap, lurching to my feet. Fish and Clyde reel back in alarm, and I rush at Ezra. Fuck the rational option, I'm not putting up with these fucks another second!

Of course being as exhausted as I am I take two steps before my legs buckle. I hit the ground like a sack of bricks, and cringe as I hear Ezra laughing above me.

"Not a fan of the fat comments, are you?" Ezra chuckles, placing a boot on my shoulder. "Well, take heart sheep! Looks like you're not all soft after all." He leans over me and prods at my back, right where I got shot in the back near the Farfort. "You weren't kidding about your job, huh? You don't get an injury like that unless you've seen a battlefield. And you don't recover from an injury like that without expensive resources…"

He nods to himself, seemingly coming to a decision, and looks up at his lackeys. "Those axes of his weren't just for show. Let's keep a close eye on this one!" He leans over me. "That one on the leg is freshly healed. What have you been fighting up here, huh?"

"The walking dead." I spit, glaring up at him.

"Ah, those grey skinned monsters that have been running about lately." Ezra leans back and frowns. "You two, finish the job quick. If there's more about I don't want to find out about it without the others."

It only takes a few seconds of being manhandled again by Fish and Clyde for me to shut off. I pull myself out of my own head and detach myself from the remainder of the process. Suffice to say, it ended with me bundled in multiple blankets, curled in a ball, and being carried along by Fish. Clyde was forced to haul my wet clothing.

"This guy freaks me out." Fish says, as the three set off down the road. "He's acting weird."

"Not without your pride, are you?" Ezra says, looking over at me. "The sheep doesn't care much for shearing. Ignore it Fish, he knows he can't pull anything. Without us he's dead. And he's not one of those fools who think death is better than dishonor. There are fates worse than death, but we aren't one of them."

I curl up tighter. The prick chuckles, and walks ahead, to where a horse is waiting.

He's wrong, as far as I'm concerned. What's in store for me is far worse than death. Slavery… yeah, I'd rather die. Death would be so much easier than this.

I just consider suicide to be selfish. Nothing crueler to do to my friends than to put them through my death. Nothing more horrible for my family than to give up on life before I've found them again, to leave them wondering. It's hardly the first time I've thought about killing myself, and it won't be the last.

But I'm not the kind of guy who ruins people's lives just so I can get off easy.

And if I die here then I won't get to kill Ezra or his flunkies. Damned if that isn't worth living for.

The trip to the Slaver's camp takes a while, since Ezra's the only one who came out with a horse. I spend the entirety of it curled into as tight of a ball as I can manage. What little strength I have left is devoted to sealing myself into the blankets I was given, enclosing my entire body inside so that as little bare skin as possible is exposed to the rapidly cooling air.

It's not enough to prevent me shaking like a leaf. My time spent in the icy river has sapped me of all body heat. I try asking Ezra for my tome so I can cast my heating spell at one point, but that goes as well as one would expect. So I sit, chilled to the bone, with arms and legs that only retain feeling due to the pain from hours of fighting the currents. My fingers are starting to look blueish, and I hope it's just a trick of the fading daylight.

After some time, I hear more voices, and poke my head out of the blankets. Night has properly fallen by now, and were it not for the light of torches ahead I wouldn't be able to see a damn thing. An old ruin, from the looks of it. Just the place for a band of criminals. It's truly kind of this world to be so hospitable to its scum, there seems to be no shortage of places like this for these people to hole up in.

I'm brought inside, past rows of jeering faces, from which I remain detached. Ezra leads me to his own room of all places, where my hands and feet are securely bound by rope, and I'm left in front of the fireplace with several more blankets. I curl up in front of the fire desperately, closer than is really safe, in the hope that I'll be able to warm up at least a little.

Clyde returns with a bowl of soup after a few minutes, and I devour it in seconds, nearly making myself sick in the process. To my surprise, they refill the bowl and bring it back.

Ezra watches me closely all the while, his expression ever calculating. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you not to get used to this." He says as I finish off my second bowl of soup. "As soon as we're sure the cold's not going to kill you we're sending you straight to the cells. Next time you eat this good, it'll be your owner feeding you."

I retaliate by staring blankly at him and picturing all the horrible things I'll do once I've regained my strength. It's not much for retaliation, but even he seems a bit unnerved, though he laughs it off easily.

When I get my chance he will wish for death. That is the thought that finally lulls me to sleep.

I wake at the crack of dawn feeling… not well, but certainly better. The room is empty, but my arms and legs still strained so I don't bother looking around. The most exertion I can manage is tossing a fresh log in the fire. Apparently the slavers kept it burning all night. Doesn't that make me feel special.

I stretch my aching muscles out as much as I dare, then sit back by the fire. It's another five minutes before guards come for me, two of them, who lead me to another room near the back of the ruin. The air reeks of incense and disinfectant, and a shabby looking old man has the two guards fight the blankets away from me. A doctor, or whatever passes for one here. He gives me a full check-up, starting with my scars, then looking over the rest of my body. He concludes by having the men hold me still while he takes measurements.

About partway through the procedure I realize that I've stopped being a person to them. I went to sleep a hungry, desperate man, and woke up as merchandise. The thought is jarring enough that I shut my brain down for the next hour or so. By then the procedure is completed, and I've finally been given clothes to wear.

The clothes are more like rags; worn down, scratchy things with rough stitching that look as though they're barely holding together. And I'm so relieved to have something, anything to wear, that I honestly feel grateful for them. When that realization sets in I feel myself break further.

Ezra finally shows his face again by that point, looking me up and down and grinning. "It's a good look for you. You'll be wearing that until we have to present you to buyers, so try to make it last. There won't be replacements." He nods to the guards. "Take him to the cells. Set him up near the back."

I think about making them drag my fat ass over there, but in the end I figure it's better to just go along with things. As far as slavers go they've been downright hospitable so far, and I have no interest in seeing that stop. So I force my tired legs to move, and let the men lead me out.

Emerging from the building reveals to me that there's a lot more to this place than I originally thought. There are several semi-ruined buildings scattered throughout the area, with signs of more having once stood. The river looks to be flowing directly through everything, and the telltale signs of weathered stone and rotten wood sticking up from the water indicates houses one sat where the river flows. It looks like the river was blocked upstream, and ended up diverting through this town instead. It would certainly explain why the town was abandoned.

Ezra's set up in the largest building of the town, which looks to have once been the town hall. The building I'm being escorted to looks to be the next largest, an old church, half crumbled. The front door looks to be blocked by debris, so I'm brought towards a hole in the wall nearby. My legs aren't strong enough to carry me up the sloping pile of rubble leading inside, so I'm forced to give in and make the guards carry me. The pained groans as they struggle to carry my weight bring a sense of vindictive enjoyment that feels weirdly out of place for me.

I enter the place and immediately feel nauseous. My sense of smell is largely wrecked, but the air in this building is able to punch through all the same. I wish I could say it was surprising, but the smell of too many people stuck in too small of a space with no opportunities to bathe is the sort of thing you'd expect to be revolting. But knowing it's going to smell bad doesn't actually prep you for getting slapped in the face by the strength of the stench. I take one step into the entrance and double over gagging.

The stains in the floor tell me I'm not the first to have this reaction, which nearly sends me over the edge. It's a force of pure willpower that keeps my stomach from emptying. I need what little nutrients I can get, thanks. Just because the air is foul doesn't mean my gut is!

There's no candles in this place, but a large hole in the roof makes visibility easy all the same. The main chapel has been completely repurposed, with lines of cages installed throughout. The rows stretch all the way to the back, a twisted echo of the pews that once sat in their place. The windows that lined this building are all barred, and those that aren't have been thoroughly boarded up. The air is thick with dust, visible through the beams of light leaking through bars and the damaged roof.

There's only one guard, a dark-skinned man with shabby clothing and a scarf covering most of his face, likely to deal with the smell. He looks up at the three of us from his chair near the entrance, then apparently decides we're not worth bothering with. He tosses a ring of keys to the guard on the right and lowers his head, as though resting. I'm just another sorry fuck brought in to wallow in filth until they're sold to the highest bidder. Nothing new to this crowd, and nothing worth losing sleep over, apparently.

I'm brought through the building, step by agonizing step, past lines of cages. Only around half of them are filled, but that doesn't make it any easier to see. Men, women, even children are stuck in cages that are built so short that some of the taller ones don't even have room to stand up straight. They weren't built to be comfortable, just secure. And the defeated looks of those present tell me without a doubt that they serve that purpose.

Prisoners in these cages all have the same shit living situation from what I can see. A ratty looking blanket, a bowl, and a hole cut in the floorboards for them to do their business. The floor space is sparse enough that there's not even enough room to lie down corner to corner; these people are forced to curl up in a ball when they sleep. From the looks of things some of them don't even bother leaving that position.

The cages near the back are different though. They're built taller, with enough room to fit in a bed (little more than a wooden table with some extra blankets), and seem to have a toilet as well (a boarded up chair with a hole cut in it, and some rags). I can only assume the slaves that can sell for more get better accommodations. Better in this case being decidedly relative.

The two men stick me in the back corner, near one of the boarded up windows, and lock me in. There's a brief moment where they check to make sure the door is secured properly, but then they just hesitate, giving each other odd looks.

"Is he still sleeping?" The first asks, not quite able to see over the cages.

"I think so, it's kinda hard to tell from here."

"You think we have time then? I bet we can get in and have our fun with her before he even notices." The first guy licks his lips and glances over to the opposite corner eagerly.

"I dunno Grey, if they find out…" The second man looks back towards the door, clearly nervous. "Ezra doesn't want us spoiling the merchandise."

"Who's going to find out?" The first guy, who seems to be named Grey but whom I dub 'Slobber' in my head, looks back over to the corner eagerly. "He's sleeping and we've got the keys, nothing's stopping us from sneaking over and just… breaking her in."

"Should I start yelling for the guard? Because I feel like I should start yelling for the guard now." I reply, trying my best to restrain myself from throwing myself at the cage door. As soon as I realized what these guys were talking about my instincts started screaming at me to commit glorious murder, but snark is about all I feel like I can safely get away with.

The two jump as though they forgot I was here. The scared guy looks back at me horrified, but Slobber gets pissed instead. "The fuck do you get off threatening me? You so fucking stupid you don't know your fucking place around here?"

"I could ask you the same question." I blink in surprise as the guard seems to materialize behind the two of them. I can't even begin to explain how he might have done it, because now that he's out of his chair it's become suddenly clear to me that this guy is built as heavily as I am and is nearly a foot taller.

"I know you've been talked to." The guard says, reaching out and grabbing each of the two. The scared one shrieks in fright as a dark hand clamps down on his wrist like iron. Slobber just gurgles, being lifted off the ground by his throat in a way that reminds me of my fight with the knight yesterday.

Then I hear the popping of bone and a shrill scream as the guard's grip tightens enough to break bone. The scared man falls to the ground squealing as he nurses his arm, but quickly falls silent as the same hand that just released him suddenly snaps up into the face of his friend.

"How many times Grey?" The guard says calmly, staring at Slobber's broken nose. "How many times have we had this discussion?" Slobber tries to respond, but between being choked and the fact that he just got punched in the face, he can't seem to form anything cohesive.

"By my count it's six. Six times I told you to keep your hands off. Then one time Ezra talked to you." The guard nods to himself, then starts punching. His arm moves like a piston, slamming into Slobber's face with meaty thuds, six more times, once for each slight he apparently committed.

By the end of it Slobber is little more than a gasping mess of blood. He isn't let go so much as tossed aside, and he barely moves, save for the rapid rising and falling of his chest as he gasps for air.

The guard turns to the other guy now, who shrieks in fright as he backs into the wall, covering defensively. "Get him out of my sight. And if he survives tell him I won't spare him next time."

The man nods frantically, scampering over to Slobber. With his freshly broken wrist he struggles to pick him up, but eventually he manages to hook him by the armpits and drag him out. The whole time this happens the guard just watches impassively, not moving a muscle until the two are out of the building.

Then he whirls around and slams an arm against my cage, hard enough that the bars bend slightly. It shocks me enough that I fall backwards onto the bed, and from there I stare up at the guard completely petrified. I hear one of the other prisoners nearby burst into tears.

The man's eyes are like dark pits, devoid of warmth and radiating spite. "If you ever talk back to one of your handlers again I will kill you. I don't care how valuable you are, I don't care what the circumstances are. You are a slave now. You will obey. If you can't do that then you're worthless to us. Understand?"

I open my mouth, but words seem to fail me. I'm forced to settle for nodding my head. Frantically. This seems to satisfy the guy, because he doesn't react save to hook his keys back to his belt and head back to the entrance.

I take a moment to collect myself, taking deep breaths and recovering from the shock of seeing that lunatic guard nearly punch his way into an iron cage just to threaten me. What the fuck do they feed that guy? As long as he's on watch there's no fucking chance I can escape. Frederick taught me a bit about hand to hand combat, but even with the martial arts classes I took as a kid there's no way I'm overcoming that. I have a better grasp of the fundamentals than most people, but I'm not at that level.

I need a weapon. Not something improvised either, a proper blade will be a necessity if I'm going to handle that oversized freak. I could also use some backup, but that seems pretty damn unlikely here. My fellow prisoners look to have been broken already; there isn't a damn thing I can do to help them. Doubt I could do it even if we weren't in cages.

So… I need a weapon, I need backup… I need to know where I can possibly go if I escape. I need to acquire all of this without tipping off Chungus the Guard, and without being let out of this cage.

In short, I'm fucked. It takes me all of a minute to check the cell for anything useful, and rather predictably, I find a lot of jack shit. I'm not killing that guard with a table leg.

And then there's the other problem, an even bigger one than Chungus. Now that I've recovered from my time in the river a little, I'm starting to remember this place from the games. A slaver camp running from a collection of ruins, with a river flowing through the middle. Not to mention Ezra with his stupid sheep talk. This is the chapter where Noire is recruited. Which means that if memory serves these slavers have an absolutely absurd array of cavalry, and Ezra's horse backs this theory up. Even if I get away they could easily run me down.

This also gives me a sinking suspicion as to the identity of the girl Slobber and his friend were drooling over. If Noire is here she could potentially be a huge help, but its dark enough at the back here that I can't really tell. I've been placed far away from the other slaves, likely because Ezra is still cautious of me. The most I can make out on the other side is dark shapes. And if I try calling out Chungus is gonna flip his shit.

I'm comfortable with admitting that I'm scared to fucking death of that guy after watching him in action.

I take another deep breath to steady myself, but now that the terror has largely passed I'm starting to notice the stench of this place getting to me. They clearly don't do much cleaning back here, the whole fucking building reeks of ammonia. Pretty sure that'll get dangerous before too long.

I decide to take a page out of Chungus' book and tear a strip from one of my blankets to use as a makeshift scarf. It's not spectacular, but it does make inhaling less disastrous for me.

I take one last look around the cell, hoping for a solution to suddenly appear. Nothing does.

"Well shit." I mutter to myself, taking a seat on the bed. "I guess I'm waiting."


Two weeks pass. I learn plenty in that time.

The most relieving thing I learn: they do actually clean up in the church. It looks like I just had the misfortune of arriving right before cleaning time, which seems to happen once every couple of weeks. Of course part of the nature of being a slave is that our sorry asses are forced to do the cleaning ourselves. There's a sort of cellar area that they send the slaves into, where they spend the day mucking it out with shovels.

To nobody's surprise though the last thing these guys seem inclined to do is to leave me with a bladed instrument. Instead they march everyone else out of the building into the cellar, and have me scrub the floors while the others dig. Then they herd me back into the cage and lock me away before sending everyone else back. Another important bit of information: they don't want to give me the chance to interact with the others.

This unfortunately means they keep me back and out of sight while the others are lead in and out, so I don't get the chance to check for Noire. I can only assume it's the result of my outburst day one. I stuck up for another prisoner, even if I didn't know who they were, so now they want to keep me separated. They seem to know that if I got the chance I'd rally these people.

Meals consist of stale bread and gruel, delivered twice a day. Occasionally if they're feeling generous the high quality prisoners get some scraps of rabbit thrown in, leftovers from whatever these guys manage to catch. It's mostly offal, unceremoniously roasted on a fire and dumped in the bowl with the gruel, but I take what I can get. Out of everything that goes on at this camp it's the diet of all things that wears at my spirit the most. I'm a big eater, always have been.

We're left to our own devices outside of cleaning duties and mealtimes, with only Chungus the guard to watch over us. The only time I've seen the man take a break is cleaning day. The rest of the time he just sits in his chair by the entrance. As far as I can tell he manages it by sleeping at all times, and waking up at the slightest noise.

Talking is forbidden, so I take a page from a certain wise uncle on television and spend my free time working out. Push-ups, sit-ups, chin-ups, squats… I even try using my bed to lift weights until the noise earns me another warning from Chungus. If a chance to escape does come I refuse to let myself be caught unprepared.

All of this is useful information, but there's been plenty of bad to go with the useful stuff. The place does make regular sales, I've seen several people get taken away to be tidied up and sold to the highest bidder. There's also been a couple of new people brought in as well. All the movement happening has been with the lower quality slaves though; it looks like those of us kept in the back are sold through a different system.

Also problematic is the simple fact that people are dying in here. One of the new people brought in was a woman who sobbed for two days straight until the guard got fed up with it and beat her to death. A man who was caged nearby seemed to think this was the last straw; he was found having chewed through his own tongue the next morning. I only know because I heard the men on feeding duty screeching about it the next morning.

The cages up there have a lot more people in them. I'm sure there were a few that must have seen him do this. How long did they watch him as he bled to death, too scared to call for help?

These slavers have to die. They need to be killed and I will take pleasure in doing it.

This brings me to the last and most important thing I've realized since being locked up here: I'm on my own. The Shepherds know I was washed down the river, and the river leads right through this camp. If the Shepherds found this camp they'd destroy it. It's not even a question. Which means the fact that this camp is still standing after two weeks can only mean the Shepherds aren't looking for me.

By swimming in the river I covered a lot of ground, but not more than they could follow. I may be much stronger than I was when I first arrived here, but there's no way I gained a two week lead on them just swimming. It wouldn't have taken them more than a week to find me.

Most likely scenario? They saw me get washed away, maybe spent a few hours searching the river banks for me, and came to the conclusion that finding me would take too long. That my life can't hold up to the needs of the whole Halidom of Ylisse. They then probably proceeded to weep bitter tears and continue north to do their duty by wiping out the bandits. It's a reasonable course of action, since they have such a narrow deadline to work with.

I spent some time trying to think of how the scenario would have been resolved when my other self dealt with it, but it occurred to me before long that since that timeline didn't have Risen Future Ben never got into that mess. Hell, he might not have even pissed Flavia off. The butterfly effect gets up to some crazy shit sometimes.

The next thought that came to my mind was the video games, but that was even more depressing, since it would involve waiting about three years for the Shepherds to show up when they're supposed to. No chance I haven't been sold by then.

So I've basically lost the biggest advantages that've been keeping me alive since I first showed up here. I have no backup, no weapons, no knowledge of the future, and I'm not being underestimated.

Two weeks have passed and what I have learned is that I don't stand a fucking chance. My best hope for getting out of this mess in one piece is hoping that my captors try to ransom me back to Ylisse, and somehow Emmeryn hears about it. Nobody else in that country is going to give a shit about me, since my friends are running around the Feroxi countryside chasing criminals.

They could just as easily sell me to somebody else though. Hell, they could sell me to Plegia. Not worth the risk. I need to be proactive. My chance of escape may be so slim as to appear nonexistent, but I'm aiming for that chance all the same. I'm damned if I do nothing, and almost certainly damned if I try something. The choice is clear.

I need some proper fucking resources. Once I have something, anything to tilt the odds more in my favor, I'm gonna get out, or die trying.


I believe a couple of people were guessing Noire would be the one to save Ben from the river. Well, your guess wasn't too far off! Same chapter, just the wrong team. And unlike the games, this Ezra isn't a fucking moron who leaves his prisoners unguarded in a room with a weapon... and an open door. Seriously, what kind of slaver does that? Clearly the kind in need of major improvements!

Improvements in this case meaning horrible living conditions and a murderous guard that drives people to kill themselves out of fear. It's a relative term.

Next time: Ben breaks out of Paralogue hell.