Chaotic belongs to TCDigital.

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You wrote about half a chapter about the first time we actually met, then stopped. Why?

There's a better place for that story, don't you think?

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Change

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As Michael grew more adept at surviving the challenges and perils Perim laid before him, things started to change. The changes usually were subtle, with the most glaring exception being about a dozen lifetimes ago, when Michael discovered official maps of the world of Perim. The very next of his lifetimes here saw a complete reorganization of the geography of the world. Locations that had been a day of travel or so away from each other, such as Gothos Tower and UnderWorld City, were suddenly vast distances apart.

One obvious change I can see now, on my second day of travel, is a small village on the northern border of the territory belonging to Van Bloot. Beyond the village lies a tunnel system, and this lifetime it seems that some group of creatures saw fit to establish themselves in this natural chokepoint.

Another obvious change is that my vehicle fucking sucks.

"Move, damn you," I growl at my steed as I give the reins a crack.

My BattleGear, a collection of animated bones assembled in a crude mockery of life, simply huffs and maintains its casual walk along the road. You would think that a skeletal steed, essentially an undead horse-like automaton, would not be so willful, but here we are.

I dig my heels into the ribs of the machine. "Fucking move or I'll soak your bones in vinegar!"

The skeletal steed rears onto its hind legs, whinnies loudly, and throws me off. I land on my back hard, and I quickly roll over and cover my head and neck with my gauntlets. The machine tramples on my back for a few moments with its hooves, then loses interest and wanders a few feet away.

I roll over again and lie on my back. Well, lesson learned. I need to work on my patience and temper again. I turn my head to look at my disobedient steed, then the other way.

A Human, a young adult by my best guess, is on his hands and knees against the slope of a decently-size garbage pile. His clothing is dirty and torn up somewhat, and small scrapes and bruises are dotted about his skin. His wide eyes are rapidly flitting between me and the skeletal steed, and there's a hunk of old meat hanging from his mouth.

The Human shuffles a little until he's partially hidden by the refuse he had been digging through. He then takes the rancid-looking flesh from his mouth with a hand and speaks. "You okay?"

"Fine," I sigh. "Just winded." I glance over at my steed again. "I suggest giving the bastard space. He was a carnivore when he was alive and he thinks he still is one."

As if just to prove my statement, the bastard in question lifts its head from its searching of a small hole near the foundations of a building. A furry creature reminiscent of a mole dangles from the steed's mouth, teeth clenching around entrails protruding from a hole in the mole's stomach.

The machine gives its head a shake, and the critter goes flying, leaving its innards behind. The machine lifts its head back as if swallowing, and the meat slides past its teeth and falls through its jaw, landing with a plop on the ground. It leans down and starts checking at that same hunk of flesh again, unaware that it was the same chunk it had already attempted to swallow just moments before.

I turn my head back to the Human. He's already scrambled over to the mole's corpse and scooped it up. Now he's partially hidden himself behind the corner of another building, eyeing me cautiously, clutching the dead body of the animal to his chest as if afraid someone would try to take it from him. In fact, that might be exactly the case.

I push myself to a sitting position, facing away from the Human, and wave my hand beside my head a little in a dismissive gesture. "Nothing to fear, Human. I have no interest in your dinner."

I stand and turn to look around. The Human is already tearing into his morsel like a starving animal. My BattleGear is still attempting to fill its nonexistent stomach. Most of the nearby buildings have no distinguishing signs or marks, save for the building the Human is near. Above its entrance is a crude carving of a hunk of meat on a bone and a mug spilling its contents. A tavern. Possibly an inn as well.

The Human disappears into the alley as I approach the building. This place has clearly not been kind to him. Perhaps I'll be able to help him, but only if I can spare the time.

I push the tavern door open and am immediately assaulted by a horrid stench, like sweat and shit and piss and vomit. The room is filled with shoddily-built wooden tables and chairs, of which about half are occupied by creatures. An empty doorway on the far end leaks steam and smoke, and sounds of sloshing liquid and clanging metal come from the room beyond. Near that doorway is a set of wooden stairs and what looks like used to be a railing.

There's a red-skinned, spiked-arm boar-man in the corner, pants around his ankles, crouching over a wooden bucket, and a look of intense concentration on his face. At a table by himself is a violet-furred werewolf of sorts, feet on the table and arms behind his head, eyes closed and snoring. A trio of naked imps perches on another table, tossing dice and squabbling as silver coins change hands. Other creatures eat, drink, and go about their own business.

My quick glance tells me that none of the room's inhabitants pose any real threat to me, and I step inside. "Might I speak with the owner of this establishment?"

The imps are the only ones who seem to notice my entry and query. All three point at the doorway spewing steam and smoke, then promptly begin to argue over whose turn was next in their game. I nod in thanks and head for the back, careful not to disturb anyone in my path.

A squat woman lumbers out of what I can only assume is the kitchen. She has the look of a goblin about her, green skin, large ears, and sharp teeth holding a thick cigar. A pair of massive breasts each the size of her head droop across an even larger stomach, one large nipple pierced with what looks like a chain link, and the other being suckled at by an infant or toddler held in her arm. Her other hand holds a steaming, dripping wooden spoon.

"What ye want?" the woman growls as she chews at the cigar in her mouth.

...That is one hell of an accent. "I would like a room for the night, and perhaps some dinner." Hopefully, my skeletal steed will be in a more tolerable mood come morning.

The woman snorts. "Servin' breakfast this morn'."

"It is late in the evening for those of us with clocks," I retort.

She rolls her eyes. "Name an' business?"

"Atrapol." No sense giving a false name. Anyone following me would just need to describe my appearance. "My business is private."

The woman taps her chest with her wooden spoon. "Grakak. Now, the upstairs room is gonna run ya five copper knuckles a night, and meals will run you one knuckle per serving. If ye are lookin' for some company in yer bed," she adds with a slight rise to her eyebrows, "I em available fer fifty knuckles." She pauses, then uses her spoon to push aside the cloth between my legs. "Ah, no, with a bleedin' whopper of a log what ye got packing, make that a whole gods-damned golden chaor."

I shove Grakak's spoon away and adjust my scapular cloth to cover myself again, then take a gold coin embossed with Chaor's face on it from my pouch. "One night, and meals. Let me know if I go over. What is for dinner?"

"Fer breakfast," Grakak corrects with a swish of her spoon, "we have hot soup 'n beer."

"Anything else?" Soup will be difficult to take to the room.

Grakak chuckles. "Sure, we also got cold soup, lukewarm soup, soup wit' beer in it, and soup wit' whatever is in the bucket over there."

She gestures over to the bucket in the corner. The boar-man lets out a loud, wet fart, and a look of relief washes over his face. Grakak laughs even louder and slaps her thigh with the wooden spoon.

"Hot soup and a beer," I say as evenly as I can manage.

Grakak disappears back into the smokey kitchen and quickly reappears, minus a spoon and a toddler, plus a bowl and a mug. I nod and take the vessels from her.

"Ye sure ye not in 'a mood for a piece a' dis?" Grakak scoops her breasts up into her hands and squeezes them a couple times with a wink. "Ye been breathin' real heavy-like since ye seen me."

What? Oh, that would be Michael's breathing from the crystal in my helmet. It had been going nonstop in my ear the whole journey, and I guess I had tuned it out at some point. "No, thank you," I say before hurrying up the stairs.

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After choking dinner down and stripping my armor off for the night, I sit on the attic's pathetic excuse of a bed with a mirror in my hands. I can already guess what I will see, having barely noticed the changes in the bodies of my brothers, but I would like to see for myself. My body has changed somewhat with every new lifetime, just like everything else has had minor changes.

My tusks are larger, more prominent, and my lower jaw juts out further. A dozen lives ago I didn't have either tusks nor an underbite. My lower lip is also thicker, and faint scars mark it. My eyes are somewhat bloodshot, and I can now see tiny threads of muscle in my red irises, golden light peeking from the spaces between them. The tops of my ears now come to an obtuse angle rather than being round, a far cry from early lives where I had no visible ears to speak of.

"You're making my brothers and I look like orcs, Michael." I bare my teeth into the mirror and snarl, then laugh. "Fitting, I guess."

There's no answer from the crystal, just his breathing and heartbeat. Not that I expected any. I hope he wakes soon, though. The silence is bothering me.

I continue to examine my body for the next while, having nothing better to do. As drowsiness begins to set in, I set the mirror aside and lay on the bed, which creaks under my weight. I listen to Michael's breathing, the clatter of the kitchen, the squabbling of the gaming imps.

For not the first time this journey, I think of my brothers, of my Red Hand. What has Van Bloot told you, I wonder? What do you think of these Humans that have suddenly appeared in Perim?

What do you think of me, brothers?

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Chaotic belongs to TCDigital.