Evening now, and nothing has changed. Well, I'm thirstier. The mountains are no closer, and the dusty expanse is still endlessly extended in all directions. Thankfully, the temperature has finally begun to go down, though I know that I will no longer be grateful for that in a few hours. I slowly trudge on, repeating the endless march to my untimely demise. [Left, right, left right,] is all that can seemingly occupy my mind now. Several times I see water, hear a bubbling stream, but when I approach the sights and sounds fade away like dreams, leaving nothing but a dread in my heart. For this reason, I don't even bother to turn when I imagine that I hear the pitter patter of hooves in the distance. [Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice… well however the saying goes. This thought is too complex. One two, one two…] and so I continue onward in my shambling march.
The pitter patter grows in volume, and I imagine that I hear voices in the distance. [Bah! I'm still not falling for it!] I snidely tell my hallucinating senses. I at least want the honor of dying before I succumb to my madness. Even when I hear the word "Halt!" shouted from seemingly a few yards away, I ignore it. Well actually, I reply "Away, spector!" but no one needs to know that. Only madmen talk to themselves, and I am no madman. Next thing I know, a hard blow strikes the back of my head, sending me tumbling over! Now I didn't know that hallucination-created spectors could inflict physical damage, I think with my ears ringing. Must be a high power placebo effect! I push myself up into a sitting position, then try to stand up before quickly tumbling over.
"Look at what you did, filthy spector!" I say to the man standing over me. Well, in all technicality it's the horse standing over me, with the ugly man sitting [atop] the horse. And I certainly do not call the spector filthy out of anger; he really is filthy, covered in dust and grime from head to toe. He's wearing rather thick armor covering all of his body, with the exception of his head. I imagine that the heat must be unbearable during the day; or at least it would be if it were an actual man in front of me as opposed to a spector. In his hand is a spear, with the butt extended towards me; there seems to be blood on the end, but I refuse to believe that a spector, no matter how real appearing, can draw blood. After all, that would be a bit far even for a hallucination. To the man's side there are three other men, each atop a horse of their own. Man 2 has a bow in his hands and an overflowing quiver of arrows strapped to his back. His beady eyes stare at me from a leather cap, from under which dirty hair made up in braids overflows. He wears much lighter armor than Man 1 (the man over me), clearly designed to emphasize flexibility. Man 3 is heavily armored from head to toe. Not even his eyes are visible as they were concealed deep within his thick helm. Forget [me] being hot; if [this] man was real, he would be a walking oven in this dust bowl. He tightly holds the reins of his massive charger with gauntleted fists, a massive dual bladed ax strapped to his back. I know enough about weapons to know that that weapon would be impractical, but apparently my spectors aren't as smart as I am. Man 4 looked much the same as Man 1, with a spear in one hand and a massive, unwieldy, cleaver-like sword slung over his broad back.
My attention is drawn back to Ma… ahem, [Spector] 1 when he spits in my face. "Are you calling [me] filthy, [boy]?! Look who's talking! Now, you're going to come with us or…"
I drown out his grating voice, much more focused on the fact that the spector had summoned water and been willing to [share] it with me. The glob of spit quickly disappears down my own throat, and with it comes a slight lifting of the fog that had settled over my mind. [These guys are pretty lively for hallucinations… and all of those other hallucinations earlier disappeared when I got close enough to them… hmm…]
I sit up again and, speaking over Man 1, who's still blabbing to me about who-knows-what, say "Ah, my deepest apologies for calling you filthy, good sir. You see, I would normally never say such things, no matter how true they may be, to a real person. I mistook you for a hallucination-spawned spector, and so I did not control myself from speaking the truth."
I'm not sure why, but my high quality apology seems to do nothing but make him angrier. He jumps off of his horse, landing with a hefty [thud] and a jangling of armor, and leans in so close to me that every word he forms is accompanied by a healthy amount of saliva. Healthy for me anyway; I'll take any water I can get.
"Lesson one: obedient slaves listen when spoken to!" He shouts out. He then throws a gauntlet-powered punch at my face, sending a cascade of sparks to dance across my vision. It also does nothing to help my dehydration-fueled headache. I obviously tumble back to the ground from my sitting position that I had worked so hard to obtain.
"You seem to be a bit mistaken there; I am no one's slave." I tell the man the best I can against my swelling cheek.
"Lesson two: obedient slaves don't talk back to their master!" This 'lesson' is accompanied by a fist to the gut. I'm certain that if I had anything in there I would have thrown up; as it is, I just feel unbearably queasy.
I throw a punch of my own at his face, but it bounces off as if I had just punched a rock; short of breaking [his] nose, it felt as if I had broken [my] fist.
For the first time since meeting him, a smile spreads across his face. He stands up so fast that he forms only a blur. He looks down at me, at where I still lay on my back. "Lesson three: obedient slaves don't attack their master!" With that he begins relentlessly kicking me in the side. I cry out in pain as his metal-toed boots slam into the side of my rib cage. I can feel my left side collapse where he kicks me. The pain is excruciating, but not as bad as I'd expect. Before I can really do anything, his powerful kick lands in my still-sore stomach. I curl into a ball while he continues to kick me, trying to preserve my already damaged internal organs. No place is safe from his relentless attack. My head, my torso, my limbs; everywhere is treated equally by the justice of his boot. While I'd like to imagine that I was persisting against the strongest force that he could master, it was evident by comparing the power of some kicks to others that he was holding back. If he had kicked my head as hard as he kicked my leg, I surely would have died. I try to hold back the sounds that the pain attempts to evict from me, but every once in a while a small gasp, scream, or moan escapes from my lips. This only seems to encourage him, as every sound I make only causes him to increase the rate of his assault, all the while announcing more of his moronic 'lessons.'
When I think that I can surely take no more, Man 3 speaks from within his helmet, his voice echoing like a robot's. "That's enough. Any more and you may detract from the product's value."
I expect Man 1 to continue anyway, but he stops. [Huh. Maybe I misread who the leader is in this situation.]
Man 1 speaks down to me from his standing position. "That's all the lessons that we have time for today, you impudent whelp. I'm sure that there will be [many] to come. Furthermore, my lessons come at a rather strict cost, a cost that will be paid through your sale."
Now, I'm sure that Man 1, aka Mr. Anger Issues, simply hadn't been listening when I had told him the first time, so I repeated myself. "Let me make this nice and easy for you to remember, [sir.] I. Am. Not. A. Slave. Do you need me to repeat it again, or has my message wormed its way through your thick skull?"
Apparently his skull is so thick that the bone extends to the middle from all sides, because he still didn't seem to get the message.
If he was angry before, it is no comparison to now. Fire literally erupts from his eyes, such that I again question if I am hallucinating. [I did get hit on the head pretty hard…] The flames move from his eyes to his fist, and I again begin to fear that I will soon reconcile with the horrible Darkness. He drew back his fist as if to smite me with a single blow of his wrathful flames, but before he could swing Man 3 grabbed hold of his fist from behind.
"I said STOP!" he shouts. "I'll make you a deal: we assess his value here and now, and if he's worth less than 5 copper then you can do what you want."
"Five copper?! For the offense he's caused me, it should be at least ten!"
"Five." Mr. Armor states with finality. Man 1 grumbles unintelligibly before defusing his flames. Mr. Armor turns to me. "First we'll assess your combat power. Then we will check your skills." He throws me a little container holding some liquid. "It's a lesser healing potion. I would be unable to properly assess your combat potential in your current condition. Drink it."
I want to reply with 'My mother always told me not to take potions from strangers,' but I figure that it won't go over well. So instead I uncork the flask and quickly gulp down the mouthful of liquid contained within.
I can feel the change immediately. My strength returns, my injuries feel as if they were a week old and, most importantly, my thirst has been sated more than any normal liquid ever could.
"You look like you've never had a healing potion before." Armor says jokingly, as if he hadn't just been arguing for my life based on my value as a slave.
"I haven't." I say matter-of-factly.
"Huh… not often that you find someone that's never had a healing potion before. Well, are you ready to go?"
I stand up and nod, never one to turn down a challenge, even if it is to determine my value as a slave.
I expect to be going up against him unarmed, but he hands me a fully sharpened sword. I look at him with confusion. "You're really giving me a sword?"
He laughs and says "It's not like you could beat all four of us. Although you're free to try, assuming that you defeat me first. Furthermore, we have potions to prevent any tragedies. Now get accustomed to that weapon."
As soon as I was holding a sword, I feel whole again. I had lived an admittedly strange life on Earth, having once been considered the foremost practitioner of modern western sword fighting. Though it wasn't a very large number of people that I had to be better than… The sword fits my hand perfectly, and as soon as I hold it my skills listing recognizes my sword proficiency. Moderate Swordsmanship Lvl. 7. Oh! Another set of skills was added: Lesser Melee Magic Conduction Lvl. 1, and with it Magic Sensory Lvl. 1, and Lesser Magic Manipulation Lvl. 1. I'm not sure how to use these new skills, but I'm sure that they will come in handy. I make a few practice swings and turn to Armor. "I'm ready."
He shrugs and just says "Fight as if your life depends on it. Because it does." With that, Man 1 glares at me, to which I respond as an adult man must: by sticking my tongue out at him. Then, with Armor making a lunge at me, our legendary duel begins.
I leap as far to the left as I can, rolling back into a standing position after landing. Even then, his six foot ax swings by so close that I can feel the wind against my skin. [Even putting as much effort into escaping as I can, his blow still came so close? I guess dodging all of his attacks isn't an option. But I don't really trust my sword to hold up against his massive ax… well, I guess I'll just have to hope.]
He had clearly put too much force into his lunge and subsequent swing, as his back was briefly turned toward me. I quickly thrust my sword toward the small segment of mail on the back of his neck; while still armored, if I could hit that location hard enough then I could theoretically put him out of commission. However, he swings back around much faster than I expect, and with his body swinging back comes his ax doing the same.
It is all that I can do to pull up my sword fast enough to block his forceful attack. Even so, the force transferred to me through the sword was enough to send me cartwheeling through the air at dangerous speeds.
As soon as I hit the ground, I force my aching body to get up. I wasn't going to have that Mr. Anger Issues have the last laugh on this one, oh no! By the time that I get back on my feet, Armor is already bearing down on me. I bring up my sword to block again, and this time I instinctually infuse [something] into the blade. The blade takes on a faint green color, with wisps of vibrant green coming off of it. I can hear a gasp from one of the men standing behind me, but I don't turn towards him. Besides, I'm just as confused as he is. However, I throw aside my confusion and brace myself for impact. Mr. Armor tries to stop his blow from landing, but it's too late for him. With an explosive roar his battle axe crashes into my sword. A green flash flies out, and on that wave of energy Mr. Armor goes flying. [This time it's his turn] , I think a bit smugly.
Mr. Armor flies a good 20 yards away before crashing into the ground like a meteor, a cloud of dust flying up from where he impacts the ground. Before I can make any move to capitalize on his brief incapacitation, he again leaps to his feet.
"Oho!" He exclaims in what I could only describe as a 'happy voice.' "I didn't realize that you could manipulate mana! I guess Gorbson's going to be disappointed, but I can't let a prospective spellsword be killed just to settle a petty dispute. Prepare yourself; I won't be going easy on you any longer!"
I assumed that Gorbson must be the name of Man 1, a.k.a Mr. Anger Issues. Putting that aside, I prepared myself to face Mr. Armor's 'hard' mode. If what I had faced so far was simply him going easy on me, then I was in trouble. Although I guess he could be the type that always has more 'final' forms that have no real increase to power… but he doesn't seem to be that type. Considering that all I had on my side is a cheap sword and a new power that I don't really know how to use, I'm sure to be in trouble.
Mr. Armor clads the whole of his already armored body in a thick layer of hardened earth. He then creates a cloud of sharp stone shards around him and charges at me, the earth propelling his feet forward like a spring. He covers the 60 feet between us in an instant, swinging his axe so that it is timed to hit me with the maximum possible force.This time I swing as well, hoping to knock his axe away long enough to get in a proper blow. However, far from knocking his axe away, his swing knocks my sword away. Not that surprising considering that he had much more force behind his attack, but still…
He swings at me again, and again I manage to block his attack. However, instead of sending either of us flying the attack vibrates through the whole of my body, causing excruciating pain. [Is it just me, or did my bones literally just creak under the pressure?] The vibrations briefly stun me. Not long enough for him to get another swing in, mind you, but enough for all of the stone shards to begin bombarding me. Each shard was a good 3 inches long, and razor sharp, so it didn't take long before I was lying on the ground screaming in agony. [And I thought that being beaten by that 'Gorbson' fellow was painful. Well, at least this doesn't compare with the agony of my rebirth.]
After torturing me for a few moments, the earthen spikes fall back to the ground from which they came. Mr. Armor gives me another healing potion, and this time I accept it without a thought. I drink it and it heals me… and also puts me to sleep. [I guess that I should have listened to my theoretical mother's advice about accepting potions from strangers.]