Chapter 2, Roadway Robbery
Something feels. . . wrong, for lack of a better word.
My thoughts. . coming to me at a. . . sluggish pace. Molasses in place of blood flowed through my throbbing brain.
With a numbness as if I had taken a dozen cough drops, the sensation of being weighed down compounded by the blanket laid overtop of me. It was a drunk sort of bliss, the light chimes of birds chirping outside slipping into my room.
Still stuck in the dark haze, with the light from an open window slowly bringing me back into consciousness. After officially being awake long enough to take in a long breath and stretch my limbs, the pain suddenly spiked. My ribs aching as they pushed back against me, tightly bound in wrappings that I never remembered putting on.
"AH-! Gah hah, fuuuuuck-"
The pressure pulling on my chest kept my screams to a minimum, coming out in a half choked manner with being forced to suck in small breaths. As the cramp that had formed in my chest subsided, the blinding pain that come with it diminished as my heart beat returned to normal. With the fresh dose of pain jump starting my memory of yesterday's event, and eventful it was from what pieces of it that I could recall.
Over time my muscles relaxed, and the pain in my chest transformed into a brief agony, later only a lingering ache. The mattress was nothing compared to a tempurpedic but I wanted to sink further into the mattress all the same. Not like I was missing out on much, to be honest it felt better than the cheap mattress that I did own back home.
I need a NyQuil, or I guess a DayQuil in my case.
In an effort to pull the covers over myself with my left arm that remained intact, I briefly caught sight of the room around me. Examining my surroundings as I tried to keep my breathing steady and from panicking further, pointedly not confirming the condition my right arm was in.
There wasn't a bone in my body that was able, let alone willing to confront that issue yet.
My tired mind came to notice several strange details that seemed to litter the room that I had been left to rest in. The blankets I'd been pulling up appeared to be made from wool, lacking the regular sheets my bed would usually have. Hah, my half-brother definitely would've taken this thing for himself given the opportunity.
Beyond that I'd been simply staring up at the roof, the wooden ceiling above me. Reminded me of the cabin we had been debating to get instead of camping. Even in that place the listing had made no mention of lacking plaster or proper insulation. That with the wool blanket covering my half nude form explained how I was sweating while at the mercy of the winter's morning dew.
"Where the fuck am I?" I mumbled to myself, throat dry and absurdly hoarse from going so long without use. Hissing in pain as I attempted to sit upright, large stretches of skin across my chest burned as I bent forward and my arms ached from pushing against the bed. Biting my tongue as I sucked in a breath, I pushed myself upright with my left arm just as several new beads of sweat trailed down from my brow. My surroundings spun as my head swung back and forth to take a proper look at the room I'd found myself in.
What light could be seen entering the room came from a partially shuttered window, making it clear that my new room lacked any lights or a ceiling fan. From the chirping that I could hear from inside of my room, it became clear to me that it was open to the outside world too.
The strain pulsing at the back of my skull subsided while I was able to finally catch my breath, locking my elbow straight. An uncomfortable position that I took for a second as my legs were dragged back so I could use them to sit upright instead. Incredulous at how such a brief exertion could leave me so exhausted, "What the fuck. . ."
However reluctant I may have been toward getting out of bed before, the current situation kinda demanded that I not sleep in. I didn't want to get murdered while still in bed, a comfy death maybe, but the idiotic idealization of suicide had long overstayed it's welcome. Swinging my legs over the side as my back straightened out, a handful of pops rang out through the room as I yawned.
As funny as it might be sometimes, I was too sore to laugh at my own predicament yet. Dying outright might've been preferable to the state that I might've been left in.
While in the habit of being honest, I felt as bad as I knew that I looked. After getting a look at myself once I had gathered up the strength to stay upright, a shiver of relief washed over me knowing that no one else was here to witness this. Knees shaking with the unsteadiness of a newborn calf, almost failing before my left arm grasped one of the bedposts.
Half mummy, half mortal man. One of the newly raised if you will, or pre-prepared I suppose.
Clean bandages hugged my torso heading up to my shoulders, covering up wounds that I had taken but not noticed receiving the night before. A lone wrapping tied around my temple, prodding at it lightly stung with a sharp pang coming from my inner ear. My shoulder's themselves were bare of coverings, clenching both of my fists in preparation. The left one left a scratch in the wood that I was leaning again while I could feel my veins pulse the nails in my right hand gripping my palms too tightly.
It felt so real, the first instance of pain that I was welcoming since everything had gotten out of hand.
I could feel parts of my back rubbing against a few bandages of their own, with an itch forming inside of somewhere within the bandages that we're covering my right hand. My shoulder had been bringing me the most pain, erupting into a burst of agony when I put pressure on my right arm.
Looking down, I saw the truth for what it was.
The whole of my right forearm was tightly bound in cloth, thinner than it ever ought to be. It wasn't right, the sight held a certain wrongness to it all when the only feedback that I could get back was a weak twitch. My fingers responded half a second later after I tried to stretch them from inside of my cast, great jolts of pain shooting back through my mangled limb into my chest.
My breathing was erratically rising, forcing me to do my best to try and not bite off my own tongue as I silently screamed. Scant few tears trailed down my face from the bolt of pure agony that had shot through my bones. Unaware of everything going beyond my immediate pain, a long scratch had been carved into the bedpost from my white knuckled grip on the piece of furniture.
The blurry memories of a burning town flickered across my mind, and my body tensed up uncomfortably while my heart skipped a beat at the thought.
The entire upper portion of my body throbbed from the mistake, the tortuous pangs dissipated in waves and left a lingering ache in their place after a few minutes had passed. My arm was still intact, everything would be fine. Physical therapy had been a bitch but ultimately manageable the last time. It would be fine, a walk in the park this go around.
It had to be.
Ugh, the bandages are going to be a bitch to remove aren't they?
"Hahahhahaha, hahaha hah. . ."
Oh god, it hurts too much to laugh, but it really shouldn't be this funny. I'm losing it, this is just downright absurd. My insistent giggling wasn't helping morale, the stress popping the lid on my lucidity even as I tried to reign it in. The idea of someone seeing me break down like this was an amusing thought that brought on even more deranged laughter. Finally settling down when my sore lungs ran out of air with my laughter being split up between shaky breaths.
Everything was so blurry. Leveraging the wooden bedpost to reassert a sense of my sense of direction and control to make up for my wobbly legs.
The spider-web of injuries that had come to litter my body continued to dictate my actions, slower than I might like but certainly safer. There was no adrenaline to numb my pain ache on this occasion, every pang set the pace, making far more cautious movements this go around. Rather preferring to have my ribs to cramp with every other step over taking the risk of banging my right arm against anything if I let my laziness take over.
I'd call it having a healthy amount of hesitation born from that rather fresh dose of pain. My own weight being a few degrees, and a wobbly step away from toppling to the floor.
While I'd like to claim that my stumbling around the room was done in an entirely dignified manner. That would be nothing sort of a lie, yelping as stumbling forward my hip banged against a desk on the other side of the room. Leaning against it with the rest of my body as I stopped to take in a breath, trembling while several beads of sweat trailed down my face.
Fumbling around for the chair, I pulled it back to drop onto it as the wood briefly squeaked in response. Swiping a hand across my forehead to cleanse it of accumulated sweat.
Actively tracing a finger across my tender ribs nearly brought a hiss to my lips, checking the current state of my wounds whilst being half afraid of going through the pain again. For the most part the bandages were dry, it seemed that I hadn't opened any wounds or anything in my sleep. Let alone have anything open up after the mistake that was fiddling with the bandages covering my right arm.
I did eventually find my stuff on a desk, and with my rucksack set strung about with a nondescript brown bag beside it. Off to the side was an alternate change of clothes with several pieces of clothing stacked on top of each other.
Taking a deep breath I moved two sets of stacked clothing closer to myself, including my old clothing from the night before.
I expected huge cuts to still be in my shirt, and sweater, but in their place were pieces of cloth stitched in putting it back together. Not quite the right color, but the end result wasn't that bad considering the circumstances. An idle fear hiding at the back of my skull was cast aside at finding my old clothing to be intact, damaged of course but in one piece at least. Let it be known that while my fashion sense is in fact a mess, and forever will be. The shining example being my cargo pants and torn hoodies, helping me stay one step above the homeless.
A hole that was would miss now that it had been fixed, and the torn seam at the armpit repaired with worsted yarn. Patches that had been replaced were all a tad rougher than the more modern fabric that surrounded it. An entire sleeve for my jacket had to be replaced, the same side that had taken an axe head the other day.
It reminded me of my grandmother's work, wonder how she's doing. . .
Pushing my things off to the side my eyes lingered on the neatly folded stack of linen and wool articles of clothing, all of it being reminiscent of an older time. Stuff from ye olde days of tunics and cloaks. Speaking of tunics, there was one amongst the pile with a pair of breeches beneath them. Caulk full of light greens and tans that spoke to a distinct lack of dyes added to the cloth. Nothing close to a jacket though, tis' a shame but I'd rather not sweat up a storm with thick wooly clothing in the tropics. It being winter doesn't make much of a difference, the humidity is literally going to be the death of me.
Getting dressed was my next course of action, picking through to grab my repaired clothing. Maybe a minor change to ditch the warmer garments to lessen the hassle it would bring me, but that wouldn't fix my biggest issue with that train of thought. There was a palpable hesitation in the air while I contemplated putting on my odd clothes after getting into quite the scrap, my eyes lingering on the bandages layered over my mangled arm. Such a large target being painted on my back resulted in a painful squeeze to pass through my chest at the idea, and I didn't want to get stabbed again, once was enough.
My best guess was that I happened to end up somewhere in Europe, mostly assuming that Tristen and Jacob or some other asshats had decided to prank me. Maybe the people here we're just larping, because every other fleeting conclusion that crossed my mind was simply far more delusional. God, I hope my hand was still in one piece under the cast, but something told me that it wouldn't be the case.
Ugh. . .
The more my mind lingered on How exactly someone acquired my measurements, the more uncomfortable I became. My traitorous brain periodically returned the thought to the forefront of my mind while I was putting on the clothing in question. I pointedly shook out of my head as I'd rather not remain unnaturally hyper aware of the material for the foreseeable future.
Actually wiggling myself into the articles of clothing was a whole ordeal in of itself, but still leagues easier than my old clothing fitted with zippers. Whoever was here left a pair of woolen socks too, no shoes though but I still had my boots that I could use. Let it be known that pulling on boots with only being able to rely on a single hand is an absolute pain in the ass. I fully intended to get local equivalents to replace them as soon as humanly possible.
God I need a drink, at least before the stress finally gets the better of me. Catching sight of the rucksack that I had been lugging around for the purpose of this trek, she damn thing sure has seen better days with the light reddish stains left in the material. Though the same could be said in place of me as well.
I spared a moment to piece together what remained of my belongings, only really caring to check that my expensive electronics had been left unmolested. Stuffing my left hand further into the bag, dragging forth a bottle wrapped up in a brown bag that I had hidden away.
Pop!
Tearing off the cork with my teeth so I could take long gulps from the hard liquor. My tongue and throat were set aflame as the alcohol traveled down my gullet. A fire grew at the pit of my stomach, the fresh liquid courage doing fantastically to take the edge off of the pain emanating from my arm.
A relieved sigh left my lips once that threshold had been passed, slamming the cork back on while I held my last chug. Swallowing the honeysuckle as my body shook from the familiar sensation as the weight of agony was lessened across the board.
Even parts of me that had been hurting, the wound on my chest and the one along my leg had their pain redirected.
It was probably the morning chill that had seeped into my bones, never been all that good when it came to temperature before fully waking up. But as I finally came too, being no longer mostly driven by habits that I had forged in uni and pure utter instinct. My eyes caught sight of the rustic tan bag that lay next to my rucksack, "This isn't mine. . ."
ClinkClinkClinkClinkClinkClinkClinkClinkClinkClinkClinkClinkClinkClinkClinkClinkClinkClink!~
Curated Small Raider Cache Acquired! (3 Lesser Loot Rolls, 1 guaranteed treasury roll)
1 Vulnerary, 10 Health regeneration or debuff cleanse per use. One use remains.
1 Sacred Galewind Shoes - Permanently increases movement by 2. Sacred shoes that have been kissed by the wind. (Once)
1205 One Brand and 205 Marks - 1 Small Bullion and 205 Gold Coins.
"Uh-"
Grabbing the bag, a litany of coins clinked onto the counter while a couple of them spilled over onto the floor. A whole pile of shiny coins almost spilled out, and a single metallic brick flashed a brilliant shade of yellow after being exposed to the morning's light.
UHHHHHHHHHHHHHH?
Why am I struck by the sudden urge to buy a Dodge Charger?
A pair of strange glass shoes fell atop of the pile that had accumulated, the material glossy and almost seemed to vibrate in my grip when I picked one up. The sandal seemingly brushed against my hand without explanation with the sensation of cool air emanating from its surface.
"What," I was simply stunned into silence, the continuous and unending bullshit was starting to have an effect on my psyche. My tolerance for pain had been tested, and had allowed the possibility of this stressful situation that I had been put in to be more confusing than I had originally believed to slip my notice. Upon seeing that there was still an additional lump within the bag my composure broke, "Hehheheh, ehehheh, ahhaha. . . What the ffffFUCK?"
God what I have gotten myself into?
My unhinged giggling eventually settled down as I regained a grip on my surroundings, jostling my injured arm brought back plenty of enough pain needed to sober me up. It just seemed too perfect, all too convenient considering my current predicament, and just the best form of irony for life to give me such a hand. Was this pity?
Bang!
"FUCK," A voice that I later realized was my own reverbated through the room, the chirping of birds outside briefly falling silent as I fumed. My uninjured arm slammed into the wooden desk, the piece of furniture shaking at the blow while my vision sharpened. Lady Luck was certainly as much of a huge bitch for doing me like this, "Fine, it's fine. . . I can work with this."
Groaning to myself, I stuffed the coins and weird pair of Cinderella esk shoes deep inside of my rucksack. Checking the third item, finding it to be a bottle full of some sort of liquid. Recalling having drunk something similarly strange last night before passing out later, the bottle's light sloshing at least seemed to match it. Being filled up at most half way, on second thought it was closer to a third once I took a peek within the ceramic bottle.
The liquid flowed more hesitantly than I expected even after heavily tilting the bottle, clearly thicker than water would normally be. Sticking to the walls of the container rather than spill forth uncontrollably. I recoiled shortly after putting my nose up to the liquid, a sour scent burning my nostrils once I took a deep sniff.
Alcohol, or at least it resembled a whisky sour on the surface level. More so an inverted version with deep purple as a base with a light dash of white. It was like gazing into a fragment of the night's sky.
The bottle was promptly stowed with the rest of my new belongings, the weird shoes might make for good souvenirs if nothing else. I tightened the rucksacks strap over my good shoulder, holding my bad arm up so that moving around wouldn't come in contact too often.
Leaving this place was my top priority, pulling the door open slowly so that I could peek out into the hallway. Small torches were bound in metal cages hooked onto the wall, sporadically placed along every other door that presumably led into other rooms. There was a turn in the hallway, with a staircase that seemed to lead downstairs to the first floor of the building.
The sound of the door closing behind me almost seemed to bang tremendously, and the wounds covering my body throbbed badly as the bang reverbated down the hall.
"Motherfucker," I swore at myself for allowing the door to swing back to forcefully, and for assuming that it would close softly. The shoddy craftsmanship was going to be the death of me by this rate. While the resulting noise from closing that door was probably quieter in reality, I hadn't been comforted much by the thought of potentially attracting unwanted attention. Releasing a resigned breath I continued to trudge down the hall while keeping an eye on the other closed doors on this floor, "Pffffuuhh. . ."
Finding myself downstairs my eyes had to adjust as lamplight quickly transitioned over to sunlight with my descent into the main lobby. Having one of those cool swinging doors from a western, but like a full version instead of having the bottom or top cut out to let the light in. The shutters had all been locked shut, broken in some places while others had been boarded up with chairs thrown up against them. The lobby was a damn mess that leaned more on controlled chaos as some tables had been upturned completely while the bar still sported more than a dozen unharmed glasses on display.
While it was an odd set of details to hyperhixate on, but with a distinct lack of caffeine my mind had decided to wander and I wasn't committed enough to reign myself back in. The less said about my sinking realization that I probably wasn't going to get any caffeine anytime soon the better, ignorance truly was preferable.
The distant sounds of someone working in back with pots, pans and a knife cutting vegetables against a cutting board. It reminded me of when I would get assigned the opening shift 3 days in a row, god only knows how much I loathe that job.
This was a hotel, well it looked more like a motel with the set of keys kept inside of a glass cabinet behind the counter. More reminiscent of some sort of attempt to hybridize the middle ages with a contemporary style of a motel. The. . . tavern? Was only really missing a cash register and about a dozen other smaller modern amenities.
The artistic rendition of a beer mug was ruined by a lone arrow lodged into the panel, looking behind me and finding one of the shutters split in half by a clean break. I had been left stunned a second time today, but now something so out of place because of its modernity in a medieval setting. This had to be a joke, right?
An actual entire ass menu carved into several interconnected planks of wood starting with the building, '[Sweetblood] Inn - [The Hearth's Home]' was inscribed above everything else. I couldn't quite decipher the words that adorned the plaque, or what it truly meant, but I guessed that it represented the name of the establishment. I had seen the first two words before, on the outside of a building that I had fought in front of yesterday.
Regardless I just stood there in the middle of the room looking up at the indecipherable menu that lay above the bar. Simply incredulous at the situation that I had found myself in.
creeEAAA-
A shiver fell down my spine at the sound of a door opening, light squeaking coming from the rusted hinges.
CRASH!
Metal landed on the floor violently, something coming loose as the container hit the ground. There were a pair of eyes fixed on the back of my head, unmoving from the position that they had taken upon entering the building. I turned over to face them while hoping that it was nothing serious.
It was an older woman, tanned skin like mine with eyes that shone darkly as her silhouette was highlighted by the morning sun. Posture tense like a predator that had found something worth its attention. My throat had caught a lump that prevented me from taking a new breath least she- "[You]."
[Enemy Phase]
Shit, I jinxed myself.
"[You useless fucking coward!]"
The foreign words reverberated inside of my skull, an unnatural pressure held me down from making any sudden movements. Not that I even wanted to, but my building blood pressure would've greatly appreciated it.
"[Where were you," She was much louder now, having taken a dozen steps to close the distance. A myriad of bright white tattoos shone across her face giving her the appearance of a tiger from where I was standing. Lunging forward she grasped my injured arm before I was able to back away and twisted it, "[Why didn't you save him, WHY DID YOU LET HIM DIE YOU FUSTILUG DASTARD]?!"
-3 HP (20/26)
Nothing came out of my mouth, nothing but a strangled gasp as I lacked the air to release a true scream. Her fingers squeezed down on my forearm, the bones in my wounded limb grinded together far more than should've even been physically possible. Waves of pain rolled off the connection that forced me to back down even as the older woman yanked me forward when I tried to back away, "I [TOLD YOU] TO [EXPLAIN YOURSELF]!"
"Markéta!"
A veritable mountain of a man broke us apart before the heat building in the midst of my breast boiled over. Man so fucking tall, and built like a brick shit house that he could've given Paul Bunyun a run for his money. Once the fire running through my veins died as the crazed woman's grip on my arm was removed, the dark glint of pure iron shone in her other hand. I collapsed, the muscle in my legs turned to jello as the pain eclipsed my ability to handle the strain.
My breathing going out of control at seeing his white apron stained with blood, gaze flickering between the two individuals.
"[Let] me go [Alexej," Firm arms caught me on my way down, dragging me away from the feuding pair as the woman kicked and screamed. Another woman's voice rang in my ear yet was simply overshadowed by the yelling between the two in front of us. Soon muffled once the double doors shut behind them, "He [has] to [pay, SOMEONE HAS T]-"
clang!
Pulling the distraught woman outside by the arm, she dropped the machete that she had so suddenly unsheathed before the two of them left the building. The woman by my side dragged me over to the edge of the bar in the lobby's corner with a view that included the front door.
The other woman caught where my gaze was focused at the shut double door, clutching my face as she brought my head over to her. Gesturing at me with her own hand over her chest for me to breathe in and out slowly. Once my breathing had come back under control she squeezed my shoulder with an apologetic smile on her face before speaking, "[There you] go, [just relax, you're safe here. You have nothing] to [fear, she won't harm you]. I [won't let her]."
Patting my head she rushed over to the door to grab the iron blade that had fallen to the floor, stuffing it away to prevent the crazed woman from re-acquiring the weapon.
She was even older than the first woman, with her graying hair that bordered on white she looked to be entering her sixties at the very least. Her grandmotherly visage visibly sagged upon looking back at the door when the shouting briefly became particularly loud, "[How about] I [fix you] up [something nice, and let] my [daughter cool down]. My [son has her handled]."
Returning the nod she gave me, she entered the backroom with the door swinging open long enough to see a pot boiling before it closed. Daring not to even move any of the fingers in my injured hand as I waited, lest the spider web of pain reignite and replace the searing ache that had taken its place.
The pain filling every one of my cells weighed on me, the relief that came from the panic fading away as it was numbed by the brief bout of adrenaline. My knuckles had a white hot grip over my switchblade, flipping it back into its more compact form as I dreaded how close that I had been to retaliating. How close I'd come to death, of how close that I'd gotten to digging a deeper hole for myself.
My vision focused on the only entrance I perceived to the building, the heart beating in my chest burned in more ways than one.
CLACK!
Zoning back in, my eyes caught sight of the plateful of food that was dropped onto the counter in front of my face. There was popping coming from the dish as if it was still cooking, or just recently been on the grill before reaching me. The smell from the food caused me to salivate slightly, a low growl coming to my stomach after coming to realize that I hadn't eaten in over 24 hours.
I wasn't sure how long that I had been out of it for, but I knew that it had been long enough that my adrenaline had worn off. My arm aching when I jumped from the grandmother reappearing on the other end of the counter, glancing up at me as she poured me a drink from a bottle that had been taken off the locked shelf.
"[Don't worry about this one, it's going] on my [tab. You look like you needed] a [decent meal," The grandmother spoke up as I looked between her and the food that had been placed in front of me. Gesturing at me to dig in while turning her back as she took the bottle back to the shelf, "[I'm deeply sorry about all that] by [the way, Markéta has not been] in a [good way since the attack two days ago]."
The salt was present in a more than healthy amount that I expected, but the drink I'd been handed certainly took the edge off. I could feel the heat from the meat, the sounds of tearing and cutting into it so distinct to my ears. The utensils I'd been using were dropped, and the last bit of cooked flesh I'd cut was painfully swallowed before I pushed the rest to the other side of the plate. Whichever the drink is. rum or beer, it was certainly bitter enough to count as alcohol. Just anything to wash out the previous taste in my mouth, and if it took 4 gulps then it was well worth it.
"[Hope you enjoy] it my [little warlock]."
God, I haven't had a salad in years. Never having craved a baked potato more so than I have now, my table manners being in an absolutely horrible state. A literal goblin based off of the sounds that I could hear myself making.
thump!
The sudden thump banging against the table startled me back into the here and now, my previously distracted mind sobered up. A wrapped bundle had fallen onto the table in front of me, while the older woman laughed at my flailing as she took my plate away with her.
I still felt like shit, but by god this was a very much appreciated improvement.
My cheeks reddened from the embarrassment as the grinning older woman waved me off when I tried to assist her with the food that I had finished. The older woman just lightly chuckled at my brief panic, sending her black bangs flying as she acted as if she knew something I didn't. I don't like not being in on the joke.
It's times like these I wish that I didn't get lost inside of my own skull so much, that bad habit flaring up at the worst of mine. Just stewing in the fact that I had nothing of worth to contribute like usual.
Fiddling with my bag, the light clinkling of metal rang in my ear as I pulled out the pouch of gold that I had found in my room, leaving fifteen stacks of ten gold coins on the counter. I had aimed to simply leave behind a clean 15 stacks of ten, but I might've missed the mark by a bit more or less in the process of counting. To be fair I have no fucking clue how prices work here, more or less guessing that each coin is equivalent to a dollar. Should cover the cost of a room, and the warm meal that I hadn't even asked for. Oh and the beer too, kinda watery but it did the trick well enough.
Fuck, I hope all the cash in my card hasn't been converted into gold, while convenient now it would be an annoying wait for a replacement. Where did I leave my wallet anyway?
Really I'd rather just say my thanks in person, but I wagered that the longer I insisted on staying the more harm would be done. Seemed to me that my presence had become a point of contention, though I only had an inkling as to why.
At the moment I swung the doors open a hint of hesitation slipped into my stride, and I took the opportunity to peer out into the world whilst in the doorway of the inn that I'd been residing within. Practically right in my face as soon as the door opened up was a pile of dead bodies, decarded corpses of those men who had attacked them. The sight caused my stomach to turn, but soon settled as my gaze turned toward everything else.
Looking back at the tavern, it stands out amongst the rest of the neighborhood with a sheet of polished metal hanging from a post. Repaired from the night before when it had been swinging from a single hinge as the wind now made it lightly swing back and forth silently. I still couldn't quite decipher what was said that adorned the plaque, but it hardly mattered at this point even if the breeze settled down enough for me to make out the words. One of the shutters of the inn flipped open, enough that I could make out the older woman's worried face as she waved at me.
I returned the gesture, but I turned down her offer as he gestured for me to come back inside. Wandering through the village to see the settlement that previously only witnessed burning to the ground the day before.
I found myself in the central plaza, with most of the buildings here being spread so far apart that the fire damage had been minimal. Mostly contained to having the walls coated in a thin layer of ash. The center was reminiscent of my parent's home town as what little that I could recall of those days briefly came to mind. An alien feeling to compare what I was seeing currently, bloodied streets with boarded up windows to the bustling market streets in my memory.
Even in the present moment there was something that cut a stark difference between the scene of the buildings that had managed to survive being torched, and what lay a little beyond this oasis from the fire. A gray field surrounding ruins with blackened that had become useless charcoal overnight. It must've been some sort of manor house before the attack, something they would've gone for at the beginning of their raid. Maybe even their main reason for coming here in the first place.
People, or at least the ones out and about today we're too busy to pay me much mind, more focussed on carrying materials and tools around. The less said about the human shaped bags laying in carts being towed by donkeys and horses the better the pit forming in my stomach would be. Others sat against the wall curled up onto themselves into a ball, I wasn't close enough to hear anything but I knew they wouldn't want to be bothered. Amongst the people who I also probably shouldn't bother was the distraught woman who had been disarmed, the burly bartender still talking with her across the street while her face was obscured as she seemed to stare at the floor. Siblings or just cousins, they seemed to be closer than total strangers would ordinarily be in this situation.
I didn't need God to spell things out for me even more than they already had, not wanting to test my luck even if the bartender had taken the woman's machete. Staying here was not an option.
Pulling the cloak the kind woman had given to me tighter around myself, I slipped away from the main street into a back alley. Only finding blackened burned out husks of people's homes as I traveled further, avoiding the voices and footsteps of the locals. Even as I deeply desired to break through the village limits as soon as humanly possible by taking one of the more traversable main roads.
The town was a small place, you couldn't go fifty feet without practically bumping into someone.
An older man with graying hair bordering on stark white was dragging several body bags loaded onto a sled, which seemed like it normally would've been used for hauling timber. Through an open window there's a woman changing the bandages across a girl's face, my pace speeds up so as to not linger on the scene. Don't know if I'd be able to deal with my hometown basically getting firebombed, at least not as well as they seem to be. There's a part of me in the back of my brain that's screaming how everyone is looking at me, and I just know looking out of place in the clothing I have isn't helping. The town wasn't quite empty, but it still managed to give off a vacant eerie feeling.
Nervously, I fidgeted with my old knife having made its way back into my hand.
Passing burned out husks of homes as I went, the smell of burnt pork would hit me at points where I'd wandered too close to certain buildings. There were charred remains of people on the other side of some houses with collapsed roofs, I even spotted a litany of corpses with weapons on the street where cleaning up hadn't been prioritized. It made me wonder how high the final casualty count had been yesterday, and what it ended up being once the fighting was over.
The few buildings that had managed to stay intact this far away from the town center mostly appeared to be relegated to homes that had doubled as stores. Built from sturdy foundation and stone that stood out against the rubble of what must have been well loved homes that had gone up in flames.
Some clues of their original make and model remained, large pieces of charred lumber stuck where clearly visible amidst the debris. No tiles, or bricks like buildings in the center featured which meant the roofs had to be something else. Thatch or straw might fit better with the climate, my idle theory supported by the abandoned stall with woven baskets strewn across the street. By pure chance I came across it on my way to leave.
I was on the outskirts of town really, probably amongst one of the first places hit before any alarm bells could be raised. A cart had been overturned onto its side, a load of thatch tightly bound in sting laying on the ground from where it had fallen out. They had left the load behind, that along with the stall's fruit and mislances baubles, but the drawer where someone would've kept money was torn out and emptied. Neither the space on the ground near the cart nor the cast held anything of value, nothing but-
1 Set of Weighing Scales
An engraved steel set of scales with a strangle sigil over the center and a single shoe, both of which I took with me. They reminded me of the ones that lady liberty would usually be depicted with. Doing so was slightly unsettling, finding no blood or dead bodies strewn anywhere near the scene considering how desolate the rest of the village seemed to be.
Now that I had time to think about it, I hadn't seen the bodies of anyone apart from those who had presumably burned alive in their own homes. My brief search had failed to reveal a body nor a blood stain on the floor, or any sort of clue as to what had happened to these poor people. It painted a grim conclusion that I loathed to even consider.
An almost picturesque scene captured the town in its grip as I looked in from the outside, with a clear summer's day shining upon the place, and with fluffy clouds littering the sky. Ruined by two facts, the truth behind what had brought destruction to this place only to leave behind blackened ruins and the part I had played in it.
Such traitorous thoughts sent a chill down my spine as I left town, taking the main road toward wherever it would happen to lead me. I just wanted to go back home.
.
. .
. . .
. .
.
CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK, CLICK!
"Pfffuuuuu," My throat burned, the familiar sensation of heat traveled down my throat as the nicotine made it down into my lungs. The pain was comforting in a strange sort of way, sharing the load with my bad arm after it had started to ache again. Holding the smoke in as I drank it in, releasing it all at once in some strange yet pointlessly masochistic gesture.
Half full just as much as I was half empty, just playing with my lighter's sparker as I let the cigarette burn. There was something deeply wrong with me, more than usual anyway.
My last pack was going to run out soon, and something told me that it would be awhile till I'd be able to get any more. The thought ate at me, not too dissimilar to about a dozen other issues that had popped into my periphery. Biggest one of all being the stain of red that had soaked through the bandages along my arm, the possibility of infection weighed on me.
A distinct lack of provisions lay near the top as well, I should've taken more with me than alcohol and a pack of smokes. The bear necessities as everyone knows them to be.
While it doesn't make up for the straight up agony that spiked whenever I took a step, the combination of my headphones with that helped to distract me. Left me with a desire that I had downloaded more music than a dozen generic rock songs. Hiking through the forest was a boring endeavor to begin with, let alone when you ditch the challenge and have to simply follow a path. There was enough room that you could fit a semi truck with all of it's cargo containers
The climate was going to be the death of me, or the humidity if the sun had anything to say about it. Made me paranoid and further convinced that this was some sick practical joke even as the novelty wore off over time. Road even had tread marks like some bum fuck rural town.
clop clop clop clop clop clop
I half scrambled to take off my headphones, quickly stuffing them into my rucksack as someone came up the road behind me. My hand automatically went to the switchblade in my pants, taking a hold of the handle ready to bring the blade to bare. A not so unlikely possibility now that I had ended up in this frankly dreary wonderland.
CLOP CLOP CLOP CLOP CLOP
My ears picked up the increasingly loud rhythmic clacking of hooves behind me. A horse drawn cart, or that is what it appeared to be when I peered far enough to see. Moving from the middle to the side of the road to avoid the risk of vehicular manslaughter.
There was a single man with the reins to the horse making such sounds, sitting behind the animal on a cart along with a dozen nondescript bags. He waved at me from a distance, and seemed to at least be amiable from where I was standing. It was leagues better than my previous expectations, thinking that 'that' woman had somehow managed to catch up to me.
Getting stabbed (again) wasn't exactly high on my bucket list.
Familiar anxiety settled into my bones as I raised my intact hand to wave back to the old man as his wagon approached. The older man groaned as pulled back on the reins to the horse dragging the cart to match the slower pace that I had kept.
"H- hi," My voice hit a bad stutter the moment that I thought the older man was close enough to hear me clearly. Spitting out what remained of my cigarette as I stomped on the remains that lay on the ground before trying again, "Hi!"
Something was off with my voice, I had spoken english even while I had intended to. The word had to be spat out, forced to pass through my teeth as it seemed to cling to my tongue. A sensation that I simply chalked up to smoking beforehand. Allowing the widely different accent that the merchant had used with me to go unnoticed, more focused on not looking out of place.
"[Saluuutations! It's simply] a [delight] to [know that I'm not the only one trying] to [outrun the storm] at [this hour," He was an older jovial man clad in expensive looking silks with a feathered cap atop of his head. Several shades paler than me or any of the locals that I had passed in town, a foreign merchant I assumed. His face took a pitying shade upon seeing the bandages running across my arm, "Ah. . . [The war has not been kind] to [you, has] it?"
That had definitely been a question by the tone alone, sitting above me with his visage casting a slight shadow. I shook my head, thinking it was better to deny than to agree to something that I was unaware of the implications of.
"[You've taken] on [quite the risk young man, though the empire might] be [better options for you than what] is [left here. Phah," The merchant's expression became dark, the seeming sudden change had me on edge even if his frustration wasn't aimed at me. Only catching one word per dozen that the older man spat out, "[Truly, what has Adrestia come] to? [Ionius should've kept] a [tighter leash] on [the covenant, the lack] of [oversight had brought nothing but death] to [both sides]."
". . ."
The silence was palpable.
"Uh," Anger bled out of the grandfatherly old man, glancing at me before looking away as he released a breath that could be heard from here. The light in his eyes was dimmed when he looked back at me. Exhaustion was heavily laden in his face and an out of place desperation seeped his voice at the end, "I [apologize for that tirade, come] on [aboard]. I [know] of a [bridge where] we [won't have] to [pay some ridiculous toll]."
I only grasped pieces of what had been said, but I think the meaning behind '[Come] on' was universal. Especially when paired with a gesture to come aboard when he patted the wooden plank beside him.
"I [would] be [remiss] to [not offer] a [helping hand, lest the goddess curse] me [with worse fortune. Her divine wrath] is [truly] a [sight] to [behold]."
Managing to catch a ride was a godsend for my aching feet, turns out you don't even need to pull the whole thumbs up trick or anything. As the hours passed it really did seem that we seemed to be the only people on the road, we must have looked like quite the pair. Being the only people on such a wide main road and all.
Though I've begun to tire of these repeated games of charades that I've had to play in order to pass the time with my new merchant friend. It infuriated me in the most base and visceral sense, who could've predicted that being forced to play telephone every time you wanted to speak would drive a man insane. Not me, and definitely not yet.
Part of me wanted to blow my already nearly non-existent cover so I could listen to my music freely. Instead I just bit my tongue so that I could keep myself from incessantly tapping my knee.
The older man seemed to be elated to simply have a companion to accompany him, chatting away while I nodded along. Far from torture really, it was more annoying that I missing out on the tales that he was regalling me with more than anything. He reminded me of my uncle, or of my own grandfather before his condition had greatly deteriorated.
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. My new acquaintance let off what sounded like a swear at the scene.
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.
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 was bound to be important for any government body.
Clad in a mix of gambeson, and platemail but none of them stood out as much as the main flag bearer did. The image of a eagle clutching wheat and arrows in each claw.
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 us in the cart shaking as they passed. The old man tried desperately to keep control, and prevent the equine from pulling the cart off the road as it panicked.
I pinned the guilty party with a glare before turning back to the horse that necessitated the majority of my attention. The set of guards ahead of us by the toll were just watching, dumping my belongings into the cart before I jumped from my seat to assist. 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. Perhaps that was too much to hope for.
While the panicking animal started to kick, it managed to land several strikes against the wagon's wooden frame. One landing a tad too close to where the older man was sitting. Even as the strike failed to connect, the elder man still jumped, losing his hat and his grip loosened enough for his steed to free itself. The wagon creaked as the wheels slid side from side as his horse's hooves fell to the ground ready to bolt. The metal hook holding the horse in place to center the steed with the wagon snapped taut as the only thing left holding the equine from bolting.
Grabbing part of the harness swinging close to me, I yanked the horse's head down back over to me. Looping the leather around my good arm so I could leverage my strength better than solely holding the reins with my only usable hand. Pulling its bucking head closer, tilting its head to lay right beside my face even as it struggled to escape. I doubted my shins could handle a kick from one of this thing's front legs, with or without magic, but it would have to be a risk worth taking.
Tentatively, I pulled on the harness back to where the horse was supposed to be. Hoping all the while that I wouldn't have my shin broken by a startled farm animal.
"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 panicking steed. Forcing the equine to redirect all of its attention onto me, nose to nose with nothing else to distract it. Yanking on the reins despite the pain that came with the horse jostling my own injured form, "Gah- fuck. Just keep looking at me, come on, keep those big beautiful eyes on me and me alone."
My handle on the harness increased as the animal's eyes became less dilated, petting the side of the animal's head to focus on my touch. The bucking dialed down yet it still remained nervous as my companion regained a hold over the reins to lead us towards the now vacant bridge crossing. Guards bearing the same eagle insignia along their armor stopped before we could leave.
The tension lingering in my chest made me painfully aware of the predicament that we had found ourselves in, my idle hands reassuring the flighty horse even as my heart raced. A guard circled wagon, the one with a tarp covering crates and was temporarily lifted to reveal the contents within.
My merchant friend made his way over to who appeared to be the commanding officer waving around a packet of what I suspected to be paperwork. A bulging bag of coins like mine in his off hand, likely enough gold to pay the toll.
Part of me wanted to help, to throw in my own two cents while my friend was stuck arguing with one of the soldiers that walked up beside the wagon. While another rummaged through the wagon's cargo. Flipping around I managed to catch sight of one of these disgraceful excuses for soldiers to pull a random bag from my companions wagon. Tossing out a nearly identical set of weighing scales to the one that I had found at the outskirts of the raided town.
When my acquaintance suddenly started to make frantic motions, it seemed to be enough that the officer complied. Commanding his men to stop molesting the merchants merchandise, and one of them split off from the group. Ordered by their captain to apprehend me as he pointed in my direction.
"[God damn Leicesters," He barked out a few words at me, ones that I returned with a glare of my own as I finished tying a knot for the horse to remain hooked to the wagon. Insistently petting the horse's ears up to the moment that he grabbed my injured arm to drag me before his commanding officer, "[Dastards are too damn weak hearted with their wretched slaves, letting their savages roam around] on [their own]."
-1 HP (19/26)
Why does everyone go for my fucking arm?!
Pain rang in rhythmic thumps inside of my skull while I released some unholy snarling noise. My tongue had simply devolved into a wet bruise from my teeth biting the flesh that made so much. I didn't even notice anything happening around me, failing to process that I had been pushed to the ground into a kneeling position.
Click!
An issue had come up, and whatever paperwork our merchant friend had presented ultimately turned out to be insufficient in my case. Becoming immensely apparent as I was shoved to the floor as cool steel settled in around my ankles with a chain linking them together. The collar that went with it sitting just loose enough for me to breathe.
-2 Movement
There was a sensation of immense cold running off of the metal, sticking to my neck the winter's first frost. Offering a different sort of pain that my mind could escape to. Agony from having my arm grabbed so harshly just served to debilitate me further, but it seemed to just annoy the soldiers around me more.
Before long one of them grabbed me by my shoulders, lifting me from the floor only to be thrown into the back of the wagon. A sharp pang erupted from the base of my skull, coming into contact with something metallic. Still I managed to have a view of the exchange happening between the merchant and border captain stationed here.
They came to some sort of agreement, a consolation of sorts if the old man's face was anything to go by. He seemed upset, while the guard captain already seemed done with the world if his customer service attitude suggested anything.
My friend got startled after one of the soldiers became fed up, unsheathing his blade and pointing in his direction. Prompting the merchant to climb back onto the wagon with me, and start leaving while leaving the captain with a rather large bag of what I assumed to be full of gold.
I gave one final look at the regiment of soldiers becoming smaller behind us, 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.
While it was different, they certainly didn't act all too far from the corrupt officers that I had once had the misfortune of crossing paths with. I just wished that it had been far less common like it had been back home.
I could've fought, a part of me wanted to argue even while the last vestiges of adrenaline faded. Allowing the pain crisscrossing my body to be highlighted whenever the wagon went over a particularly rough bump in the unpaved road. Regardless I would've probably died trying if I resisted, but that was assuming I had the energy necessary for such a task. This was different, far too many close together for a clean fight to take place. Blowing someone's head off wouldn't have been worth it in the end.
Note:
The wheel I spun spat out: Sacred Galewind Shoes, from this list of loot that I allowed.
Vulnerary, Accuracy Ring, Critical Ring, Evasion Ring, Speed Ring, March Ring, Goddess Ring, Prayer Ring, Master Key, Beginner Seal, Experience Gem, Knowledge Gem, Golden Apple, Rocky Burdock, Faerie Dust, Magic Bean, Wind God's Favor, Rare Clover, Rabbit's Foot, White Verona, Hypnotic Mushroom, Ambrosia, Sacred Moonstone, Sacred Galewind Shoes, Unholy Seed, Divine Dragon Fruit, Energy Drop, Tincture.
The old recognizable items don't all provide the same benefits that they did in fe3h, with many of them being single use per person. When I find a thematically fitting name, I'll add more consumables that make sense for the benefits they provide. Technically there was only 2 bits of real loot anyway, that being the money and permanent consumable. Double checking my math only 2 uses of the vulnerary had been spent at the end of chapter 1.
If an item comes up that obviously doesn't belong in fe3h, I'll list the effects in italics or something as I usually do. Those reading my story on QQ can just go to the item/consumables tab or whatever I'll end up calling it if you want to get into the nitty gritty and avoid waiting for it to come up naturally.
So onto the topic of enemy combatants, uh, yeah the forums and whatever that I looked for didn't list baselines so I had to come up with my own. I'll probably make a custom tab for enemies and their stat/% values at some point in the future.
Vote:
This part is entirely optional. Where and when do you think consumables should be prioritized?
Yourself
Or
Others
Or
Some other more principled set of conditions.
I already basically have the next two chapters written out, and they won't split off that much but your input will affect the tone future chapters will take. Helps me gauge how other people apart from the OC would act in this world. Additionally, I want to hear how you in the audience might react to having potions and stuff within arms reach, in real life and when stuck in some strange alternate world. The topic is of interest to me.