A Record of Ash & Ruin: The Grieving Lands

Chapter 18: The Grind

Spies from the alliance and divine scrying showed that the mage-king was actually no king at all. In fact, he was seen to be more of a Steward and Servant of the people and was in fact chosen by the majority of them which was a concept that was so alien and foreign to the members of the alliance. The system of government was seen as preposterous for who would ever in their right mind allow the common man to dictate the rules of power above their station?

- On the Cataclysm by an unknown Quassian Scholar circa 103 AC

Dark things had plagued my dreams, stalking me throughout my imagination. Dark sharp things that pierced, stabbed, or bludgeoned as they laughed cruelly. Dark tentacled things whispered raspy sweet promises as they caressed my cheek, before wrapping around my neck and wringing the life out of me as they plunged down my throat. Several times I had awoken during the night, limbs flailing against invisible assailants before finally slipping into a deeper slumber.

A worker inadvertently banging against my wooden pallet raised me from the last vestiges of my unsettled sleep. The slaves moved in silence, like well-trained soldiers about to embark on a dawn raid. Looking out at the open wooden entrance, still dark before the first light of rosy dawn, I saw that they had begun to arrange themselves into passably neat columns and rows under the watchful eyes of our overseers. I hurriedly followed suit, not wishing to draw the ire of our masters, or the promised pain of my new collar. As I got up, I noticed a few of the insect-like creatures with double thoraxes and large mandibles that I had seen before scuttle into safety from the stampede of humanity into various holes and corners. There was at least one positive; as I started to make my way outside I noticed that despite my disturbed sleep, I had fully regenerated all of my Status points.

Health105/105 Stamina41/41 Mana11/11

Falling into line, our slave drivers exhorted the benefits of hard work and the promise of pain to the lazy among us. However, they lacked the oratory skill and finesse of Hassan. The corpulent fat man truly had a charismatic voice. Even though we had been quite literally part of his captive audience, I had found my attention drawn to him when he spoke. Listening to them with only half an ear, I decided to cast Identify on my new collar.

Iron Slave Collar of Obedience

Durability 400/400

Something about the name of my slave collar niggled against my subconscious as we marched down into the mine shafts to repeat the drudgery. During the day, while others along my line were rotated out and allowed a reprieve, I was forced to keep on working. I met Durhit again during my last shift, but I was so exhausted that I could barely manage a simple grunt in greeting.

Such was my determination to resist the promised pain from the collar, I veritably assaulted the white rock. Throughout the day I had carved great chunks from it with my growing Strength. I had made progress, gaining a single point in both Constitution and Strength. Fear had pushed me so hard, and so good was my conditioning, that I had lost a few points of Health as I had bottomed out my Stamina several times through my labors from dawn till dusk. Though I did not make gains in Mining, which I didn’t care much for anyway, I still earned a nominal amount of experience for my level.

Taking my evening meal, Adita made sure to stack my bowl full. I sat quietly in a secluded corner. No one looked at me, and I took the time to review my character sheet.

STATUS

SKILLS & PROFICIENCIES

Power Strike (lvl.2) Endure (lvl.2) Stealth (lvl.1) Rest (lvl.1) Backstab (lvl.2) Dodge (lvl.2)

Polearms (lvl.2)

Dual Wield (lvl.1)

Critical Hit Mastery (lvl.2)

Mining (lvl.1)

Unarmed Combat (lvl.3)

SPELLS & MAGIC

Rust (lvl.1) Identify (lvl.2) Silent Casting (lvl.1)

GIFTS

Good, I thought to myself. The increases in Health and Stamina were always welcome. Now that I was finally allowed a moment’s respite, my limbs felt like they weighed of solid lead. As I watched the slaves go about their evening meal and chat among themselves, I heard a language that sounded similar to the one Navigator Olai first used when she was interviewing me. It was much more musical and lilting, like a sing-song version of a Latin language. I sat back and projected a few Identify spells at the words, increasing my knowledge with every cast. I stopped after the ninth spell, unwilling to push myself to undergo what I had begun to term as ‘Mana Sickness.’ Through my spells I gained a very crude understanding of the language, attaining some very basic knowledge of its grammar structure.

In my musings, I briefly touched my Iron Slave Collar of Obedience with a distracted finger, before I was met with a sharp stab of pain that ran along my spine and through my limbs like wild unbridled lightning. I almost wretched up my evening meal, but my instinct to survive forced me to keep it down through eyes filled with tears. I could see that my Health had fallen by two points, which I felt was completely disproportionate to the agony I had been inflicted with. The message was clear; I was not to touch the Iron Slave Collar of Obedience. Iron Slave Collar…the name of the heavy yoke around my neck stirred something in the depths of my mind. However, like a falling leaf that escapes your grasp the harder you try to catch it, the connection still eluded me.

Shaking my head in resignation, I washed my bowl and spoon in the running water. As I took a drink, I spied a familiar sight. The fierce-looking wildman with a collar like my own, looking like some sort of half-tamed animal was sitting down a ways from me. The man from our slave indoctrination. The man who had dared to resist.

Blonde dreadlocks hung down across his neck like a lion’s mane. His eyes were like smoldering blue coals filled with icy fire. They locked for a moment with mine before pointing at the heavy iron collar around his neck. I moved across, feeling somehow that we were kindred spirits.

The wildman rose and slapped me on the back as I came closer, a mischievous smile on his face. He guffawed as he greeted me, “You are a troublemaker! The yoke does not sit so lightly about your neck, no? I am Kidu the Raider of the Three Bears clan.” Pointing at his left breast, “Like you here, I am not a slave,” he stated in a loud voice, almost as a challenge to the other gathered slaves.

Someone in the back jeered, “You have a slave brand just like the rest of us your highness, just with a bit of extra heavy jewelry!”

Kidu scoffed, “Come let us ignore these sheep. Let us talk like men. How did you come to be in this thrice-cursed hell hole?” he inquired, his inflection growling a little towards the end.

I told him my name and my meeting with Avaria, detailing my encounters with the dark things beyond the void. The need to spill the emotions that had bottled up inside me simply overwhelmed any and all of my inhibitions. In some part of my logical mind, I knew it was the wrong choice, but logic is merely emotion’s vassal. For some reason, I chose not to disclose that I was from another world completely, instead stating that I had completely lost my memories before the shrine. He listened, nodding as if affirming some pre-held supposition.

“You are one of the god-touched. Some in my tribe go into the god madness, limbs shake and they drool like mad dogs, though different to the Berserk. They are honored among our people. Your gift must have been too great, your tribe offered you to Vari, chooser of the slain, in some form of appeasement.” He spoke these words in thoughtful seriousness, incongruous to his wild appearance.

He must have mistaken the look of confusion that crossed my face as sadness for he tried to brighten my mood.

“You missed your chance to fight the endless battle in the heavens my friend! But, I am fortunate to make your acquaintance Gilgamesh of Uruk. Perhaps with a little divine guidance, we may yet make our way out of our predicament, yes?” he said more as a statement than a question as he slapped me on the back in encouragement.

“Yes, let’s get out of this thrice-cursed hell hole. One way or another,” I replied, nodding in agreement. A few slaves nearby shook their heads in pity and sympathy. No doubt we were not the first to make such a vow.

“Do you know anything about levels?” I asked him as nonchalantly as possible.

“Levels?” his eyebrows furrowing in thought, “like how high something is?”

“No no, to determine one’s strength. Experience points and such? How do you get more skillful or stronger?” I quizzed him, determined to get some answers.

“Friend, truly you must be god-touched. I know no such thing of levels, but there are ranks in the armies of men and so forth. Points of experience, I guess as one practices at some things you will get better at it,” he replied earnestly, not truly understanding the line of my questioning.

I continued to quiz him about his past in the stolen moments before we were herded off to sleep. The locals did not know the ‘system’ that was responsible for my growth, though I did glean that they were perhaps affected by it. He told me that some warriors of his clan appeared to grow physically stronger as they continued to prove themselves on the battlefield or in successful hunts. According to my new friend, older beasts and creatures grew stronger too. Kidu spoke of monstrous ice drakes of the frozen north that became fiercer and more malevolent with each passing year, preying on their herds before a team of determined hunters or plucky adventurers culled them.

I took note that perhaps the NPCs of this world had more organic growth in their strength and development, since our conversation highlighted they had no idea about the ‘system’ of the game. I, on the other hand, could to a degree guide my own progress as I leveled up. This would be of great advantage as I hopefully grew in power.

Going through the doors to the slave stables, we chose pallets next to each other, some form of security against the other true slaves. Exhausted, I slept. I awoke sometime in the night plagued once again by dreams of dark things that stalked. Thinking of Kidu and his fantastical homeland, the frozen north, I was half tempted to see if he was also awake, only to be interrupted by the sound of two creatures trying to find what solace they could in the night. Finally, their rut finished and I was once again lulled into the land of dark dreams.

The next day found us much as the previous day. The wildman and I, obvious troublemakers, were separated into different teams. Like the previous day after a rest, I had regained all of my Status points. Also, I was given a new notification that concentrated efforts at trying to sleep had given me an increase in Rest, raising it to level two.

Falling into line, I toiled in the light blue gloom of the mines. In my second shift Durhit also worked next to me. While I was hacking away at the white stone with my crude mining pickaxe with the single-mindedness of a machine, Durhit paused in his labors for a moment and talked to me while our whip-carrying minders looked the other way.

“I’ve never seen a fellow dwarf, let alone a human like you, hack away at the stone like that. Have you made an enemy of Mother Earth?” he said behind his bushy beard, straining between each breath.

Curious at his use of the word dwarf and with Mana to spare, I decided to cast an Identify spell his way, wishing to sate my idle curiosity.

Durhit Coal - Sapper (Dwarf lvl.14) Health 273/280 Stamina 38/50

Mana 11/11

Striking the alabaster rock, I grunted before answering, raising the tool above my head, “This is ‘grinding’ sir dwarf, I need to build up my Strength if I am to ever escape.”

Durhit had a prodigious amount of Health, truly formidable, probably due to his dwarven Constitution. Dwarves always were famously hardy in modern fantasy depictions, and it was little surprise to me that this paradigm applied to this world too. I half-heartedly concluded that the Sapper class alongside his name explained his economical strikes against the rock. I had already burned through more than half of my own Stamina as I pounded furiously at the stone.

Durhit pretended to understand my response, no doubt thinking I was perhaps a little touched in the head. Come to think of it, an infection caused by the myriad of wounds I had suffered and my questionable diet may well have caused a riot within my body and addled my mind. I mentally shrugged to myself, as I rolled my shoulders. Perhaps this was all just a fever dream?

This line of thinking would produce no real answers, so I focused back on my work, striking out against my enemy the alabaster stone. Mimicking the dwarf, I raised my pickaxe slower and used more of the tool’s weight than my own muscle when striking. Subconsciously, an unspoken bond was formed between us as we toiled under a blue glow. Just as Durhit was relieved of his shift, I was rewarded with a notification.

You have learned Hammers

You have learned Mining (lvl.2)

You have gained 1 Strength

Humming a catchy tune from my own world between strokes to break up the monotony, I continued my assault on the rock. Some of the slaves around me took up the tune before they were silenced by the crack of whips on pliant flesh.

The dwarf noticed my smile, however, and just shook his head at my antics as he slung his pickaxe over his shoulder and left. I continued to hum the tune, albeit under my breath, in discreet defiance. Like Kidu, I was not a slave in my heart.