Checkpoint
"Gah!"
My right hand had been the only thing to prevent me from fully screaming out into the world around me, biting down on it as the pain spread to consume my vision. When the spike of pain passed and I could finally remove it from my mouth long enough to breathe, my blurry eyes caught sight of the semicircle of teeth marks that I left the appendage with. The moment didn't last, in taking in so much air made the back sections of my ribs rub painfully up against a rigid lump.
The knife that had been slicing into the flesh of my left shoulder, the same blade responsible for my earlier torture returned.
Light squelching could be heard, I would've noticed it if not for the torturous agony from having a sharp blade carve away my muscle and sinew. I could feel the relatively cooler air brush against the open wound, an audibly cutting sound rang in my ears. The motion that the blade was making whilst in my body was more deeply felt than the sound, even as the wound itself deepened as I was cut into.
All the cleaving ceased abruptly, the person behind the blade finishing once it had cut upon a significant amount of the skin covering my back. Their hands digging under each side of my loosened tendons, and pulling them apart to leverage more space to reach the muscle underneath.
The finger writhed in the midst of my flesh, pooling sections of my exposed muscle into knots. Squeezing down on the throbbing veins caught in the pulsing mass of tangled clump of meat surrounding the firm protrusion at the center. All of this pushing against the back of my ribs, and rubbing up uncomfortably so much as to only allow shallow breaths to be taken.
Fingernails of the surgeon dug into my flesh, the pressure causing me to gasp before they returned to the task at hand. The blade slid back into place, severing the foreign mass and cutting it free from my blood and sinew. A searing sensation bloomed with additional smaller chunks torn away to make the process easier, all to add onto the gaping wound I could feel. In the wake of the veritable crater that replaced the muscle of my shoulder, the disturbing feeling only exacerbated by the lost strength to wiggle the arm associated with my mangled shoulder.
I never noticed when the pain stopped, merely aware of periods of time when the metal returned to cut into my flesh.
My senses blacked out at various points where the pain reached their peak throughout the process. All of my impertinent faculties like smell, or taste were blocked out as the pain built. Every sound and sight blurred whenever the surgeon's blade lingered, leaning against and scraping against my bones. Even touch had left me at some point, no cold or heat, but agony alone as blood poured out of my wound.
. . .
PLAP!
A messy chunk of meat was plopped down next to a metal plate off to the side, in plain view on me though obscured with my clenched gaze from the intense pain. Part of my fatigued mind snapped back awake, enough to bear witness to the finished product from the whole ordeal at least.
The literal pound of flesh torn out of my body was left to rest on a metal tray with other pieces of skin and other viscera entangled together. Oozing blood from exposed veins cut free the foreign mass. Sections were planted white with patches of yellow mixed in on that side, the fat had been a safer bet to remove; Very little blood stained the flesh that had been taken from the uppermost area of my shoulder. The rest? What remained of the lump took the form of red lines, excess muscle that had to be excised with the fragment stuck inside.
Exposed to the air now, the edge of a gory arrowhead shined against the candle light.
Mocking me, and the pain I'd gone through.
Left half dazed, my heartbeat steadied as the one responsible for severing my sinew moved onto pushing a cloth against the bleeding mess that embodied my surgery.
Light groans filled the air around me, something I started to notice as my sense of hearing returned to me. My system was still flush with adrenaline, but now? The pain had subsided somewhat, with the distinct feeling of my own blood oozing out of me in tandem with my own breathing.
I blinked the tears out of my eyes as I finally let my jaw relax from the near constant clenching I'd been maintaining.
My face ached, and to be completely fair? Most of my body did too. I pushed off the table that we'd taken for this occasion, my stronger side taking the majority of the workload with this task. Keeping a hand on the piece of furniture as I moved. Shakely, my legs came back to gain a grip on the ground, and an arm slide around my waist when my frame wobbled after initially taking a stand.
Someone handed me a ceramic cup as I turned, filled with a familiar charcoal colored syrup swirling inside. Dots of silver spotted the cloudy drink.
"Thanfks," My speech . . . was slurred coming out, a hint of fatigue joined with the plainly obvious excruciating level of pain in my unstable frame. The grip I kept on my drink wobbling in time with my breaths, too focused on the lingering pain to bend down to elevate it. Bob's face became more and more concerned, guiding me to sit at a nearby stool. His voice entered a rapid conversation with his wife.
From where I sat, she put away various bloodied utensils before addressing him; Primarily an odd assortment of knives, a pair of scissors and tongs. Her apron, lightly stained red along with her hands as she wiped them down with a cloth.
Even with my lack of comprehension of the language, I could tell a reprimand and argument brewing from a mile away, and appropriately zoned out.
My eyes refocused on the mug of life saving liquid in my hands, after wandering a bit. Swallowing a breath had hurt, a LOT, so it wasn't at the top of my list to drink anything at the moment. Not until my body relaxes a bit more, and even so, with small sips to take in the oily substance.
Soreness in my throat lessened, the realization that I may have screamed myself hoarse came at a later point. Each miniscule taste sent a cold shiver through my spent frame, and the irritation curled up in my chest uncoiled itself over time.
It became easier to detect the trail of blood trickling down my back, beads of sweat still cooler than my internal body temperature even with the potion doing its work. A stark difference, with my hair slick and stuck clinging to my head while my blood silently burned against my skin. Mostly flickering in and out of focusing on the sensations, or zoning back in to listen in on an argument that I am incapable of understanding. Doubt that I've managed to keep up with it anyway, they're going back and forth pretty fast now. . .
A trickle of liquid slid down my arm, the weaker side where severing work had taken place. I glanced at the path it made, a reddish shade but certainly more shiny and clear than blood purely alone should be. There was a moment that it hung onto my elbow for a second before it fell, wobbling with the signature sheen of a water droplet, but swirling crimson contained within.
I wasn't entirely sure if it was made up more of blood or sweat, or what I should call it.
Someone waved, I noticed them do so once I'd zoned back in again. Huddled about the doorway from the looks of it. One of the twins, the girl I think? I shook my drink in their direction, it'd be best to assuage their worries. Helped only by all the progress that my drink had likely accomplished by this time to improve my physical health, my movements didn't feel like they were lagging behind my thoughts at least.
She smiled and scurried off, dragging her brother along with her.
. . . Hm, hope they have fun.
Leaving the potion to do its knitting work was all I could afford to do, my back was certainly still raw but- I sucked in a sharp breath. Not quite like the earlier cracks when my bones had been magically healed from their fractures mid battle, but this felt similar. Closer to a snap, a yank, regardless of the severity of the veins in the affected area that had been cut into suddenly pulsed. The sensation ebbed for a moment then disappeared, almost as if it had never been there in the first place. I probably would've freaked the fuck out had this occurred under any other set of pretenses, but my opinion on the results likely remain the same regardless.
Healing pots are a genuine godsend.
I gave a small prayer before finishing the liquid off, there are simply no words I have for how much I'm leaning on these things as a crutch. Child me would've appreciated a potion or too, I was a very clumsy kid, and I have the scars to prove my claims. This wasn't like the months that my body would put into healing wounds naturally when I'd been young, the itch that came with the process was firmly in mind.
Gradually, in the same sense that natural healing took to mend something like a broken bone, but it would be at that point the similarities end. There's a measure of prioritization to healing, or the potion that I'd picked out was focused on a specific approach when it came to healing. Whatever the case may be, my body found the arrangement agreable.
The veins, or my heart would weaken to prevent blood from gushing out. A coagulant property. Worked to keep things from getting worse, or at least for long enough so that the enhanced healing factor could take care of the rest.
I don't know how it was dealing with the chunk of me that was missing.
Breathing felt easier, but not having an intruding arrow fragment constantly pressing against your chest helps with that. Who would've thought?
The cup holding my healing soup of a drink swapped hands, tentatively so, a part of me wanted to judge how far I'd improved. Not by leaps and bounds, the section of my back that had been missing was still tight without the skin having fully come back. Flexing that area came with some difficulty, but it could be done with a not insignificant amount of elbow grease involved.
For the most part, I'd forgotten about the first arrow to lodge itself in my back, and let the wound heal over with the occasion that I drank one of these healing pots. Allowing it to remain embedded within my shoulder was an oversight, one that Rob's wife had greatly taught me to regret.
A surprisingly good surgeon despite her own scars.
Another still pain drunk part of my brain reasoned that that detail might explain why this all came about. The wound hung around, and she reconsidered this, taking matters into her own hands to rectify the issue.
Bob and his wife's quiet arguing had shifted at some point, I think she pointed something out about me before basically stomping out the room. They weren't being very subtle. Admittedly, calling their not so hush conversation 'quiet' may have been too generous. Her departure had featured a slamming of the door, and he had huffed at the action as he grabbed an additional glass to place at my table. I waved Bob's concern off, rather than keep him and end up responsible for a broken marriage on top of everything else.
I waved him off, trying to elevate his concern as he handed me a fresh shirt. There was a conflicted look on his face, to which I just rolled my eyes at the older man, and shook my head in the direction of the sole exit to the room we'd chosen for my surgery. They had handled the talking, the surprise waiting for me once I had woken up and the pain started to build along my spine.
He bore a guilty look before leaving, and I took a large gulp to reassure him. A so~so~ gesture of my current state, seemed to mesh well with that. It must've helped in some respect, since he left soon after I did so.
Glancing at the door both members of the couple had left through, it brought other thoughts to mind. Aside from the incredibly familiar parental bickering that is. Multiple things really, and truth be told?
It made me miss my parents.
Aside from also missing not getting the absolute shit beat out of me on a regular basis, I could do without that feeling if only a tad less than the former.
The latter brought out a sentiment that I was far much more comfortable feeling, shaking my head to avoid lingering on depressive thoughts. Of returning home in particular, the actual feasible possibility of such a thing diminishing just a bit more every day that I'm stuck here. A small part of me, the one that held that creeping idea that I wouldn't actually be able to return had steadily grown over time.
I could do with an ice pack or two.
Potions can apparently fix swelling, but not remove the heat associated with it. The potions continued to do their work throughout the mangled section of my shoulder, -.
The rest of the day wasn't as notable.
Don't get me wrong, I did spend most of it on my ass waiting for my flesh to eventually replace itself, but aside from that? Not much else, I was stuck looking out at the busy little town from my seat on the outside dining table of a tavern in the town's center. The town we had come to stay at appeared to be more of a pit stop in the grand scale of things, and it seemed Bob's family took the opportunity to sell their goods whilst they could. Gray bags lay unmolested toward the front, storing their more personal belongings I suspected. What they did sell appeared to be primarily sacks of grain or flour as other men helped Bob unload the cart, and he had taken a sack directly out of his wife's arms to which she seemed pretty miffed about.
Most of my own time had been occupied with polishing out blood from the spear I'd requisitioned off the bandits earlier. It was a goofy looking thing, a different sort of steel compared to my knife, and quite a bit denser than my switchblade. My switchblade could use a bit of a resharpening now that I was examining it closely, comparing it against my looted blade.
I don't think its cutting edge took too kindly after all the wood, tinder, and meat that I'd been plunging it into.
Considering that I had taken with it me into this hallucinogenic fantasy land, and how well it had served me during this absurd week I've been having . . . Oh my god, I'm not sure what's worse. That all of this has taken place over the course of a week, or that I am not entirely sure whether I've remained conscious enough, to know for certain that this has all taken place over the course of a week.
Some mixture of a scowl and grimace made its way onto my face. A visage I tried to quickly wipe off when Bob's wife approached me once their business appeared to be done.
"oD ouy anwt ot ratelv itwh su?" I noticed her advance as she was about ten feet from me, clearing her throat before she spoke. If the confused look on my face was any clue, then Bob himself sharing a look with his wife seemed to do the trick. Moving to speak once again, she gestured this time to the table beside where I had chosen to sit as she did so. My map that I had unloaded from my pack in particular was the new center of her attention.
Mostly trying to keep track of when I'd been headed, marking off sections of forest or landmarks that I'd distantly noticed. Lining myself up with the compass displayed by using the sun traveling above me, matching it to judge where north lied in relation. Doing so has some effect on curbing my jittery nerves.
'ouY're eahindg ni ot het orberd rocsisng het amse sa su, orcecrt?" My comprehension was as bad, if not worse than it was the first time around. Probably making some point about my journey across the country side, or their own travels now that I considered the possibility. Regardless of the specifics, I just nodded and tried to play along.
Tapping the spot with a name, an area I'd guessed that stood for the settlement we we're currently in. She traced along the same path that I had been eying, one that trailed about a long line dividing two areas. "e'dW eb ilwinlg ot elhp ouy etg het esrt fo het ayw hetre, fi ouy'd eb miaabcle ot het deia."
Offering her hand out to me, I tentatively accepted the outreached hand. I hoped that I wasn't skipping over the terms and conditions to this deal, however given how Bob's children waved at me after I did so. So that brushed away a portion of my uncertainty. "ooGd."
Bob's wife grabbed a strap of my pack, taking it over to the now much lighter cart.
Oh?
I guess I'm getting a free ride, that works I suppose. Leaning my new oversized pike against my shoulder, I took a seat beside where Bob had sat as I did before. Whilst he had been readjusting the harness on his horse, and allowed it take an apple before he took to the reins.
Once we began, Bob started by turning the caravan out toward the northwestern exit of the town. The kids passed both of us some candy apple looking confectionery, scurrying back to continue bothering their mother as she tried to wrangle the pair of them. From the look of things they had settled down for the most part, I simply wolfed down what they had given me and took over the reins so Bob could do the same. A short moment in which his wife wasn't aware of him being the one controlling the horse, taking back the reins once he was done.
I just.
The crackling bumps on the road slowly shifted towards milder crunches, as the path changed from paved gravel to packed dirt. Light chirps from songbirds, paired with a warm mist made my once clear view of the world far much more cloudy. A soft sort of warmth could be felt from the sun, its blazing heat tempered by an April shower. The fog wasn't at that level yet, thick gray clouds painted the leaf barren trees around me a darker shade then they should be.
Let myself drift. .
Away. . .
We traveled for a while like that, one of us three adults taking the reins whilst the other's rested. In shifts, passing through small villages on our way northward, and while it wasn't a straight path toward where I had planned to go.
But, part of me preferred it.
That human itch for companionship got scratched, even if the language barrier gave me a dose of homesickness. An awful feeling like that would pass, in just the same way that the days seem to slip by.
. . .
We came across a break in the tree line, the forest starting to thin into smaller patches of wooded thickets. Running water woke me up, the churning and splashing stirred me from my earlier nap. Dawn daylight greeted me, light streaking out from cracks where the sky could be against the wild wood that was becoming scarcer. Cracking an arm and bringing it to block out the sun allowed me to see the river ahead of us, the path we'd been following turned to run parallel to it. Not quite akin to rushing rapids, but the water flowed freely enough that audible crashes against the river bank could be heard on occasion.
The corpses of a few dead trees had been caught on offshoots of the main stream of water.
Charging course to keep up with the river's own path, doing so revealed a line of others in carts like us or old west wagons. Those were fewer, less than I could count on one hand. One such wagon crossed the structure that everyone seemed to be waiting to use, a greatly weathered brick and mortar bridge featuring five arches supporting the road above it.
Whilst the water rushed angrily underneath, the wagon passed over top with no issue. My curiosity flickered over to what kept this whole line so backed up, coming closer revealed people and merchants worriedly checking their wares respectively.
Hooting and hollering. A rush of chopping hooves raced into the area, violently shaking a wagon traveling along an alternate path from the north to reach this bridge to go further west. Multiple armed horsemen came to a stop at a point beyond my current sight, leaving the old man that was manning the assaulted wagon from before to desperately try to keep control. Some looked on with a measure of concern on their faces, while Bob muttered something I couldn't decipher under his breath. "amDn het obnesl, nda amdn het nsirructeonistis speciellay."
A quick scan revealed that even the guard we're just watching, almost holding their breath at the scene. I had expected them to act and to maintain order, not to just stand around and CHAT while things fell apart in front of them.
I dropped from my seat next to Bob, leaving my spear behind to rush into the fray. Weaving in between the carts, ignoring people's surprised shouts as I passed them to make my way toward the disaster waiting to worsen.
Before I could reach the scene; The panicking horse suddenly kicked, landing a blow against the wagon's wooden frame. The affected plank shattered with a loud crack, a metal hook holding the horse in place to center the steed snapping apart. Barely missing the man himself sitting so close to where that attack landed, but causing him to jump and lose his hat. The carriage released the rest, as his horse's hooves fell to the ground ready to bolt.
Grabbing part of the harness swinging close to me, I yanked the horse's head down back over to me. Looping the severed leather strap around the animal's neck for a firmer grip, pulling its bucking head closer. Trying to head it's eyes, and more importantly it's attention on me with nothing else to distract it.
"Calm," The pressure that had built up in my chest shook when I spoke, a deep vibrating hum washed over me as I gained control over the panicky steed. It bucked against my grip, my handle on the reins increased, nose to nose. Bob had rushed up behind me, helping the shaken older gentlemen whilst I continued to placate the stallion from trying to bolt from under me. "Just keep looking at me big boy, keep those big beautiful eyes on me and me alone."
I doubted my shins could handle a kick from one of this thing's front legs, with or without magic.
Tentatively, I pulled on the harness back to where the horse was supposed to be. The locking mechanism was bent well out of shape, but not broken, the elaborate latch for the reins to clip onto hanging on by a single screw. The less said about the shattered bench board, the better. Magical fire pooling within my finger tips to make repairing twisted metal easier.
Licking my chapped lips, I lent part of the reins back to the victim after working with Bob to secure the steed as firmly as we could back to the wagon. On appearance alone he seemed well off, maybe not outrageously so, but quite similar to how many medieval paintings depicted merchants to be. There was a clear sign of age in his hair, what once must've been a rich black had whitened and reached a gray tinge bordering on white.
There was some giggling behind me, and my head snapped to the disorderly squadron of cavalry that had dismounted off to the side of the road. I pinned the guilty party with a glare before turning back.
I'd seen enough.
This was a fucking toll road, it is on this day that I have thee pleasure or witnessing the medieval fantasy equivalent of a border crossing. No booth or station, but in their place practically stood a platoon around the entrance to the bridge. My eyes hadn't had much of an opportunity to get a good view, the tension that had built up in my bones ached from being unable to act on any of it. Makes sense that they set up on a bridge like this, placing such a contingent of officers over a river this wide would be important for any government body.
I tried to sell some things a while back.
Wasn't much that I had on hand to do away with, but there was one thing that I'd acquired in a decent quality. There wasn't much point in holding onto ten copies of the same medallion, that was the thought that had crossed my mind. Attempting to sell them in one of the last villages we had passed through was met with looks of dread and anxiety. I didn't know enough back then to recognize why Bob had ended our stay there so quickly, speaking with me in a hushed tone as we left. Nodding along was my only recourse at the time, but even without understanding the words, the strangeness surrounding the event had stuck with me.
There was something wrong, but I hadn't quite known what,
Flipping around, catching sight of these disgraceful excuses for soldiers to whoever they'd pledged allegiance to. Others were stationed here before they had arrived, some in robes, gambeson, or plate, but none standing out nearly as much as one near the back had. Not a captain with a plume, or even in clear view, but what they were and the purpose they served painted a clear picture.
A flag bearer.
Earlier they hadn't been facing my way, it wasn't my priority to memorize what everyone had looked like. But, I had remembered what the medallions looked like, and the banner being displayed matched up perfectly. The same out stretched eagle.
These are dog tags, I've been carrying around dog tags.
The tension lingering in my chest made me painfully aware of their weight within my front pocket. Seething at the choice it wanted me to make. The writing scrawled across the back of each pendent, their significance clicking into place. It's almost funny, with how little of a difference there had been between both groups.
Not appearing to be unkempt bandits nearly as much, but still revolting.
I redoubled my efforts, focused solely on fixing the wagon best we could as the line progressed. Our merchant friend made it to the front before we did, handing over a small pack of papers, and a bulging pouch to go with it. What I suspected was enough gold to pay the toll. A guard circled wagon, the one with a tarp covering crates and was temporarily lifted to reveal the contents within. He barked out a few words at me, ones that I returned with a glare as I tightened the back band and breeching strap against the carriage's frame. It was closer to a habit for destressing, avoiding strangling someone with instead trying to strangle the old man's steed.
Patting the spotted stallion's hide a final time, I joined the others to see things through.
An issue had come up, and whatever paperwork our merchant friend had presented turned out to be insufficient, prompting the guard handling it to wave him off to the side. Bob grabbed the nervous wreck that the older man was turning into by the arm and led him away, later gathering the three of us around my map.
Bob's own family was being processed in the meantime, leaving his wife in charge.
They came to some sort of agreement, a consolation of sorts if the old man's face was anything to go by. Fast muttering, mixed in with varied gestures at different points on the landscape, between me and the crown lying at the center of the geography that was my end destination. A look of disbelief or awe covered his features as he had some sort of epiphany whilst glancing at the two of us, and embracing me in a tight hug. Bob soon tagged out leaving me with the tearful gentleman, heading towards his family's cart and coming back to us with my travel pack, spear in hand too. To say that he had left me in an odd predicament was an understatement, I lightly patted the man's back in return despite my confusion.
His grip was weak, but with my stuff on my person now my resistance toward joining the older fellow was lower than it had been.
Bob had from what it seems done me a favor, while his family would be continuing on past the border and beyond the river. I'd been drafted to help the elderly man, a confusing game of pictionary played to explain how both us would be heading in the same direction. Like I'd been with Bob's family. So I climbed aboard and took a seat beside him, much as I had before. My senior excitedly gestured at allowing me to take the reins to his wagon.
We waved, watching for a time as Bob's family crossed the bridge into who knows where. Considering all the trouble, I hoped it was worth the trip for them.
I gave one final look at the regiment of soldiers becoming smaller behind me, a portion taking part in processing those that wished to cross arriving after us. The familiar squad of horse mounted knights preparing for another patrol it seemed like. Most of my attention lingered on those that weren't, on a small table where a couple could be seen playing cards. Piles of coins, golden bars and an opened chest overflowing with more money at the center of the table.
The tension in my stomach curled at the sight
I could've fought, a part of me wanted to argue. Probably die trying, but I still could've tried. This was different, far too many close together for a clean fight to take place. That blowing someone's head off would've gotten more people hurt then I could afford to allow to be hurt. Little points of bargaining that the back of my brain tried to use to explain it all away for my guilty conscience.
Predictably, I wasn't entirely convinced.
.
. .
. . .
. .
.
I dumped all but one of the ten medallions at the soonest opportunity that presented itself to me, something that I should've probably thought through more. The rest I'd dumped at the base of a waterfall, and with so much ending up there in the first place, the tags wouldn't be considered out of the realm of possibility. Or that was the intention at least, only time would tell if it worked.
I wasn't stupid, even if my brother would claim otherwise. There's a point to keeping one. Ya just never quite know how far you can go by buffing, even further with confidence and vague looking proof. Clearing myself up was my alibi, it had been a while since I'd last washed, and wonderland doesn't have the best showers to begin with.
Anything I put in terms of clothing had felt thicker, the feeling coinciding with the badge I'd bought. So I removed it when things came to scrubbing clean the clothes I'd gotten to fit in here.
I turned to scraping out the chunks from beneath my fingernails with my old knife, took me nearly an hour to get all the dried flakes out. Leaving me at a point that I was satisfied with how much I'd managed to remove from my nails, or at least try as I might to make myself as clean as could be.
Even so, the dirty feeling never left.
Killing had been so easy.
That sounds weird in my head, thank god no one is in here with me or I'd be getting weird looks by now.
Killing had been too easy.
Is more so what I meant, didn't mean to come off as some edgy 13 year old. Just that . . . I really expected to die so much sooner, my various new scars would probably support that assumption. Yet. . .
Here I am.
A few more bruises and such before I went in, but still in one piece. At least mentally. Can't say the same for some of the people I've fought. Really expected people to handle more than just 1~2 magical tasers before biting the dust, maybe the magic part helps with that. I'm no stranger to death myself, but I thought it would just take more. I assumed the gap between wrangling one of my grandfather's chickens for slaughter would be larger than this, well I suppose it still is by comparison.
They don't really have swords and arrows to fight back with.
Even so. . .
It's so easy for a person to die, and here, with magic at hand it feels like a strong breeze might be enough to put someone six feet underground. The realization hasn't really hit me yet, that I've been killing people. Or maybe it has, and I've just not noticed how little of a shit I gave about the meaningless moral dilemma. Not like the people I killed didn't deserve it after all, through some mixture of bandits or straight up deserters to the local government. I haven't snapped yet, so I have to be doing something right.
Right?
. . .
It doesn't matter.
Traveling changed from simply riding along to holding the reins from that point onward, both of us headed for the capital it seems, but I was in better shape to actually make sure we got there. On occasion the older man would doze off at the wheel as it were, I elected to take that burden off his weary shoulders. He was heading for a city close by to the capital, where we could part ways at about half of the distance. Not sure what the issue with his passport was, or whatever paperwork that the guards had taken issue with specifically. We had a shared destination, for a reason that I felt was far more unfair in his case considering what had gone through. He reminded me of my grandfather in some respects, before his dementia took what remained of his mind at least.
So, I humored him.
There wasn't much work to be done, just keep an eye out between that and checking our location on the map. We camped some days, stayed at an inn others. A black bear wandered too close to our campsite one night, and I had resolved the issue by blasting the ground in front of with a tendril of lighting. That had gotten the elderly man worked up somewhat, excitedly speaking with me and waving his arms around.
He gifted me a book the same day we arrived at his city, a tone of some sort with a snowflake adorning its cover. I tried to refuse him before we parted ways, but he insisted. I wasn't sure I'd be able to refuse even if I had a better grasp on the language.
I don't deserve this.
Note:
I will admit, it's a bit on the shorter side for a chapter of mine, but I needed some filler to let the story breathe. There is a method to the madness, I swear. Or don't.
Pray you never have to go through surgery without anesthesia, shit fucking blows, I can speak from experience. Tried to write that in as much of a visceral manner as possible. (Wasn't nearly as dramatic as being shot with an arrow and having it heal over, but eh~)
Do not make any plap plap plap jokes, I had to choose from plap or thunk. Translation sounds directly into text is hard ok!
There wa 20 fight scene I was planning, but I decided against it. (Thought it was a bit OOC for the tale I'm telling) Also, I didn't want to do so many fight related chapters back to back, after all I'm still a filthy civie at this point. Just don't have the stamina for it, even if I could theoretically stomach it. Hope things feel like their flowing naturally, or at least believably for the setting for which things are taking place.
We're almost out the boring introductory period where it feels like nothing is happening, plot should start kicking up soon enough. Writing to exposit without using communication is painful with a primarily text based format for storytelling. Writing Bernie is gonna be . . . interesting to say the least considering my former plans. Not to say that I can't handle it, I haven't gone this far just to be burnt out on ideas, but I will have to restructure some things.
I"M almost done with writing the first actual chapter of my RWBY story! I fukin hate writer's block I swear to god. (weeps in shear dumbassery)
Uuuuuuuh, Go check out my thread on QQ by the same name/author name if you want to get these chapters with a couple of added benefit I included for storytelling purposes. You also get to read my chapters sooner since I post there before I do here.
