There was no ceaseless recollection of his guilt, no disparaging remark of his own incompetence. For once, he experienced a night of pure unadulterated bliss. Whereby the nightmares that haunted him subsided as he felt his mind clear to give way for a dream, a false reality where he could indulge in a happy fantasy of what could have been.
But all that was taken away when his eyes wearily opened to reality. He sniffed the air to identify the musk of sweat, mixed with a pleasant aroma, probably a scent of some kind. He looked to the ceiling, of the plain and rugged wood, and felt the soft mattress his body laid upon. As well as something else.
"Hmm?", Silas awoke to feel a heavy burden pinning half his body down. But his ear drums were surprised by the loud snoring of the woman on top of him.
"Harder… Snoooooore… Choke me… Snooooore"
Silas examined her with a strange expression on his face while mumbling to himself.
"What did I get up to last night…"
He slowly started recollecting the various events that unraveled, but stopped as he felt a tingling of his hand, realizing he had completely messed it up last night.
'Fuck. I'm going to need to spend even more on a healing potion… Or maybe I should just seek a physician… Oh, I forgot to grab that yester- Hmm?'
But as he checked on his hand, he realized it was fine. Not bleeding, not contorted in any weird shape, and most of all no pain. Just a slight tingling feeling.
'Hows…', he was going to question it, but realized weirder things had happened.
If he could grow another body, there was nothing weird about healing a broken hand. Gifts were miracles that could change the way one experienced life after all. The stone man from yesterday was a prime example of that.
His thoughts were interrupted as the loud beast woman stretched out her arm reaching out and grabbing his head, pressing it towards her as she smothered his face in her pleasantly rounded breasts. She only mumbled something incoherent, making him note that she was still under.
While his body demanded to relax under their combined warmth, and stay there for a bit longer; A welcoming feeling he became foreign to over time. He had things to do, so he struggled to escape her grasp. Taking minutes to do so, still not awakening her despite his flailing around.
As he got up from bed, putting his disheveled peasant attire back on, and rewrapping the cloth around his tattooed hand. He looked back to see all the markings around her neck, remembering himself to be the cause from last night.
But his gaze didn't stop there, tilting his head slightly as he examined her exposed backside, to witness the few large scars, ones that could have only been made from weapons in battle. He recalled how he felt something odd as he trailed his fingers behind her last night, but he had assumed it to be his bloodied hand in the moment…
His curiosity content, he left the room. As he left down a staircase, and walked towards the exit, he was stalled by the receptionist, a different one from last night, who motioned for him to come over.
"You're not trying to nap an' dash are you?"
As he neared her, he noticed her unusual position, while she sat there in her power posture, her legs overlapping one another over the top of the desk, sitting on her chair leaned back.
When he walked in front of her, he saw the bill on the table next to her feet covered by her boots. She seemed to be chewing on something superciliously, while making direct eye contact with him.
"What's the matter? You want one?"
Silas only squinted in response.
"It's meat bits from Carrigorns, the chewy ones", she reached down underneath her bench and displayed to him a packet with a stench coming from it, holding her arm out as she offered one up.
But Silas declined, instead taking out his pouch and throwing his points one by one onto the desk.
"Hmph, be that way", she spoke as she grabbed at each coin that flung her way, some bouncing as she caught them in the air. She counted them one by one.
"Hey, you gave me mo-"
"I'll take the room for another night"
"Oh. Hmph, fine by me"
It cost him around 387 points, expensive considering food and lodging was fairly cheap here. The drink, though, was more expensive than he had thought.
'Guess that's where they get you', he thought. Realizing what kind of mercenary or adventurer wouldn't spend their money on alcohol after a day of hardship.
'Ony 459 left, this night can't happen again', he served to remind himself, glancing over the mostly empty room. His eyes caught the sightings of a dwarf snoring loudly next to a table somewhere, sleeping on the ground. His hand clenching an empty cup, his beard stained with beer. There were some others laying on tables from last night, though most had left, keeping their functions or having another more comfortable place to sleep for the night.
But Silas failed to spot either Thaite or Dromund, wondering if they had run off somewhere. Silas walked up and kicked the dwarf awake.
"Huh? Wha-"
"Be sure to keep an eye out, and gather everyone within the hour. I'll be back then"
"Ah… Ay, lad. Erm… Ay, Sir. Will do", he spoke drowsily with his heavy accent.
But as Silas walked away, his head seemed to collapse back on the floor. He merely sighed, and hoped he wouldn't have to go on a dog hunt for the others. The dwarf probably wouldn't move for the time, while he had inadvertently seemed to have tamed the beastie. It was only the other two that he had to worry about.
'Actually no, there's something else I'm missing…', he stopped suddenly by the door. Just as suddenly, his fist hit the wall by the door, alerting only the receptionist with a jolt, the rest still asleep. He grimaced, 'fuck. Those fuckers. If they don't come back with my gear…', but he sighed and calmed himself down. Had the human or elf ran away with his equipment, he had his means of finding them. Though it was a time consuming method with no guarantees involving the slave mark that they wore.
It was early morning, as Silas walked out the door and wandered about the streets. He had only this day left before his classes started again tomorrow. But it was fine, since he had only one thing left to do.
Or two things rather, as he was heading out now to fulfill one of these tasks. He needed to buy potions, no longer for his hand, but in preparation for the dangers of the outside, and also a curiosity. Low quality ones would do, since he apparently didn't need them, and while he had invested a lot in them, his comrades' lives were at the end of the day, quite disposable.
But as he browsed the shops he realized how expensive these potions sold on the main road were. They were still affordable, yes, but Silas knew he could get cheaper goods. So he pressed onwards once more down the merchant district, looking through the shops as he neared all the bars, unable to find low enough quality.
He was going to bite the bullet and buy a medium quality one, but all this and that about potions, made him remember that there was a place Leoghan used to go to get a potion. It was in the poor parts so it would probably have low quality goods as well.
Though the only problem was that he could only remember a little about the building's details… Or rather, there were a few disjointed memories of different building exteriors. Perhaps he got confused with various other situations, but one of them had to be the potion shop he was looking for.
Without a moment's hesitation, he headed deeper down the trail that eventually turned to dirt. Arriving in the poor areas once more. His pace died down as he slowly examined each and every building he passed, as well as some hiding down alleyways. It was hard to remember exactly where the place was, but soon enough his browsing garnered unwanted attention.
Silas rolled up one sleeve and stretched out that hand, preparing himself, while two men and a woman snickered as they neared him from down the path, two of them drawing their daggers. It was only them in view on the streets, the guards didn't bother to patrol this area, so no one would notice a fight break out. As they neared, the man in the middle of the group prepared to speak, but Silas already knew where this was going.
Despite dressed in peasant attire, with the word of a peasant carrying little weight. He was likely to be disposed of had he surrendered himself to them, as the city enforced strict policies against any crime that was evidenced, but a peasant going missing would not likely arouse suspicion.
His fist clenched, his gaze was stern, 'and I'm not bowing to anyone, not for the life of me. Never again'.
He kept his cool as his sharp eyes glanced over the ruffians, first at the man in the middle, an elf who was presumably the leader, his mouth lips opening then pressing close as he produced a sound. A letter that would eventuate into a word. He held a dagger in his left, the other hand free as it moved around to articulate the sentence he wished to convey.
To his left, a big brute of a human stood, his tanned hands perched in his pockets. Perhaps concealing a weapon? But he seemed like the brawler type, one who talked with their fists. He stood one step behind the middle man, acting as his protector. He was bald too, making Silas remember those guards at the slave shop.
'Could the fatso have put him up to this? Not unlikely, from the tales he recounted to me. But then why hire the 2 others?'
Perhaps there was a hidden strength to be garnered by rocking the saitama cut, or maybe it was due to a ramification of excessive bulk gain. Alas there was sure to be plenty of bald people in the poor district. And the more grounded reason was probably to keep the lice out. If that were so, then there was less danger of this being a targeted event.
But Silas noticed something in his observations, whereby a second glance caught onto the unnaturally purplish veins throbbing on his neck. Between that, the bags under his eyes and the damaged skin condition, he was probably a junkie. In fact all of them had it. They were probably under its influence too.
Finally the man in the middle sounded out a word. One Silas didn't care to listen to, as his attention drew to the woman on the right. She was frailer than the two, but taller than the middle man, while less than both himself and the bulky man to the right. Regardless she was no less threatening than the bulky dude as she held two daggers in each hand. Even licking the edge of her blade as she caught his gaze.
He narrowed his eyes, but seemingly to intimidate him further she drew a step nearer, in front of the middle man.
'A typical ploy to draw me in', he started to digest the information, 'closest is girl to right, seemingly hothead and eager to intimidate, possibly compensating from a lack of other means"
He gazed at the tip of her tongue.
'While her ploy may or may not net her experience in threats, the lack of cuts on her tongue signals otherwise'
His gaze moved onwards to the others. His eyes pierced into the middle man, such that he smirked in response, still trying to speak to him.
'Middle is left handed, and distracted in trying to articulate himself, yet left remains most intimidating. An unknown variable… Fuck it', he didn't have time to waste.
"Repreeve yerselve of yer-"
The middle man spoke, showing his missing teeth, a pungnet breath escaping his lips as he exuded a haughty air.
But Silas caught him off guard mid sentence, picking his target as he darted forward. The woman's hand reached out instinctively with one of her daggers extending it in a straight motion. The other to her tongue cutting it slightly as she propelled it downward, growling in response.
Silas caught her arm by the wrist as he stepped to the side, avoiding her attack. His other hand was kept close to his side in case of an emergency, but also with the intent of summoning his blade. Something that had yet to occur since he stretched out his arm earlier.
He was a little familiar with fistfights against weapons, although usually blunt, due to his unyielding first semester of bullying on Earth. He knew the best way to fist people was to get deep into their personal space, nice and close.
'Do I need to be more stressed, or angry? Why won't it appear…'
That was all he could afford to think, as he pushed her arm away, kicking her in the gut as he propelled himself backwards in an attempt to get out of the way of the blade she swung downwards. Alas he caught a shallow cut to his side.
"Fock, come on"
The middle man spoke fumbling as he took a step forward, swinging at Silas. But he had to arc his weapon across his body, as Silas was to his opposite side, giving him enough time to grab the woman's vulnerable arm, exposed from the vertical attack. He grabbed it, and twisted it as he jumped towards the middle man's side, swinging her into his attack.
Shing.
But she saved herself with her other dagger, the blade stopping it from colliding with her body. And then the threat to her body was completely gone, as the middle man along with his dagger was sent flying past her gaze. But her surprise ended there as she felt a sharp pain to her leg, Silas having kicked it from behind.
As she fell forward, Silace started applying force on the hand he had captured, trying to take her weapon upon realizing his own, refusing to manifest. This was how he was preoccupied, while the middle man landed.
"Ooof. Fock"
The middle man coughed as he plummeted onto the ground, having been thrown by his compatriot. The large bald headed man stepped forward after pushing his ally to the side, with a large stride and punching out, he hit the woman, another of his compatriots square in the stomach. No remorse was expressed on his face as her fall was countered, sending her flying back.
"Hullf", she puffed as she tumbled backwards on top of Silas who had realized too late, letting go of her arm in an attempt to escape his fate. Yet it proved too late, as she fell on top of him.
"Fuck Dave, wha'the fuck"
The bulky man Dave, grunted as he walked forward.
Cling, Clingle, Clang.
Silas face planted into the dirt, but his ears perked upon a distant, yet semi-familiar sound to him. Still he decided against being distracted, tilting his head from the ground, both arms planted to piston himself up, pushing the woman off of him. It wasn't difficult to do so, as she didn't weigh very much.
Silas tried to get up, but the foot of the big man fell atop the side of his face. A looming weight heavy enough that his skull threatened to cave in. Silas gritted his teeth, as he was yet again put into his place.
A resentment grew in him, as he did his best to feel something with his hand, to summon the blade, the manifestation of his anger. The single object capable of releasing his frustration. Yet it wouldn't form no matter how hard he tried.
Clang, Clang, Clingle.
"You done fock up, messing with us Tom-sons", the middle man recovered himself, the woman beside him dusting herself off as she also recovered her ground.
"Made shet alot easier had ya just stopped ta listen. Maybe kept ya life while at it too? Got some last words?"
Silas closed his eyes but didn't give in, still trying, still feeling. A rage enveloped him as the foot on his skull sunk his head deeper into the dirt, but the resentment directed back to himself as his thoughts turmoil in his compressing head.
'I should've worn my student clothes, I should have had a weapon. I shouldn't have let them take it, to have lost my judgment. That damned alcohol, stupid peaceful setting. Fucking slaves, and…'
"Fuck YOU", he screamed in anguish, his pent up frustrations being released in one go. But something else was released, as the foot on his head pressured him further in response. A pain ringed in his head, and he coughed out blood.
Clang, Clingle, Clang.
But he ignored the pain, and the irritating sound that persistently penetrated his ears, his eyes bloodshot as he continued to reflect on what led to his plight. Had he his student clothes, they never would have neared him, his authority too great, the danger of a students absence warranting a thorough search.
Had he a weapon, much like how he handled Leo's gang, he could have done something, could have saved himself. But that was all lost because he unintentionally eased himself in with the easygoing nature of the slaves he met only a day ago.
And his second chance? No. His third fucking chance at life? He knew of the fantasy troupe, of the overpowered power grind. He wanted that. To become strong, and never lose or be looked down upon. He was content with death before, though he was a different person then. Either way, he had new aspirations, a reason to live. But again, it seemed he was not worthy of that.
'I should have run away', weak thoughts clouded his judgment. He was stupid, prideful, arrogant. Made a fool's endeavor to stick to his goals. He had thought it the best thing to do, to fight back. Apparently he lost his reason for restraint.
'What?', but his eyes obscured by dirt gleamed in surprise.
He could feel in his hand, something manifesting.
'How? Why?', but his questions were irrelevant.
He willed for blood, he willed for something to happen as his blade manifested, but he felt a pressure on his arm instead.
"What's this?", a female voice asked, as she placed her foot on his arm. But her voice was shortly overlapped by a louder one.
"Fock me? Fock ME? Bwahaha, Fock you mate", he nodded along to the brute caving in his head, "off em".
And the brute complied.
"Thhhhhhompssssonsss"
Cling, Clingle, Clang.