I awoke in a cage. Hugh was there too. Say 'hi' Hugh. 'Hi Hugh'. Sigh. I was definitely concussed. That I was even alive was practically a miracle. Even through my confusion I managed to take stock of the circumstances.

The cage was set on wide wooden runners, each almost as broad as a sled, to keep the whole ensemble from sinking into the mud. Ahead of us marched Grim, Grum, and of course, the ineffable Grom, pulling us along with chains back toward the keep. Based on our rate of progress I hadn't been out for long. A couple of other 'rebel leaders' were in with us, both rotund and licking their lips in anticipation. One of them was absently peeling a thick layer of skin off, revealing paler flesh beneath. They settled at the front of the cart, fixated on the festival we were approaching.

Hugh was watching me with some trepidation. To my surprise he was holding my hand. His hands were doing that thing they did in movies, the kind of 'anxiously clutching at their dying friend's hand as they delivered their last words' thing. I left it with him, he seemed to need it. Poor kid had been through a lot.

"Why did they capture you Hugh?" I wondered.

"I reminded them if you died they'd get demerits, and said I'd look after you," he whispered.

I grunted in surprise. Hugh had been coming and going from the planning session all evening, he must have picked that detail up and acted on his own initiative. Well done Hugh. I didn't say it of course, that would be going too far, but I definitely thought it at him.

Obviously I needed to escape. Easier said than done. Based on the earlier dialogue of the goon squad I wasn't optimistic about talking my way out of this situation. They were ineloquent, but I doubted they were entirely stupid. Even if I dropped my disguise I didn't anticipate them failing to put two and two together as to where the third 'rebel leader' had gone. They'd go on to tell Roderick I'm sure, revealing a disastrous number of my trump cards.

I needed new solutions to get out of the cage. Time to learn what an advancement point is. Status.

Baseline Human Male

Archetype:

Deprived

Equipped Perks Level

Cold-Blooded Murder-Guy

You have an intuitive understanding of the vulnerabilities of Tier 1 enemies. Some features are still hidden.

1 (+)

Unequipped Perks

NaN Active Skills Level

Doppelganger: With simple materials you can create credible disguises of others for yourself. Greater quality of materials improves the disguise.

1 (+)

Passive Skills

Level

ACTING!: While disguised you become more capable of embodying your disguised target.

1 (+)

Afflictions

NaN

Alright, so advancement points increased the level of the 'slots', presumably increasing the power of whatever skill or perk was equipped. I had three options then: improving Cold-Blooded Murder-Guy, ACTING!, or Doppleganger. Murder-Guy was out, I didn't even know how to use it yet, and it was woefully inappropriate for my current circumstances. Mentally 'hovering' over the options revealed what each improvement would provide.

Doppelganger: With simple materials you can create credible disguises for yourself or others. Greater quality of materials improves the disguise. Up to two disguises can be used simultaneously. Disguises may be used twice before becoming inert.

ACTING!: While disguised you become more capable of embodying your disguised target. You replicate some of their physical abilities.

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I didn't have to think long. As much as the strange physiology of the mudmen called to me, whispering of the allure of uncanny strength and resilience, I knew Doppelganger was my ticket to freedom.

I made my choice, and got to work.

Our captors were focused on navigating the cage-sled through the mud—between their split attention and the obscuring bulk of the pair of mudmen with us, I would manage.

"Hugh, what comes next--"

"No thoughts," he interrupted.

I smiled, he was growing up so fast. "Yes Hugh, no thoughts. Now strip." Hugh blanched, but began to undress nevertheless.

I pulled myself free of the rebel shirt and skin-padding, suddenly feeling the swamp of sweat I'd built up beneath it all. Hugh stood shivering in his smallclothes, with a neat pile of his garb beside him. I gestured to the pile of moist, clammy skin, "Get in," expecting to coerce him—but he hurried to it without a word, looking strangely eager even. I didn't want to think too deeply about what I might have awakened in Hugh, and so pulled his clothes on quickly.

I activated Doppelganger on myself and turned to Hugh.

The loose skin-leather oozed from under the shirt while he struggled to hold it in place, his scrawny hands looked absurdly tiny emerging from the bulging sleeves. I went to him, absently scooping some mud from beneath the moving cage and smeared it across his face.

"No thoughts," I said, and activated Doppelganger again.

Oh it looked so much worse than I imagined. The way the flesh squirmed into place. No wonder the mudmen had fallen over themselves to placate me, that was horrible. But Hugh looked... fanatical, his eyes never leaving me through the whole process. Something to worry about later.

The cage-sled proceeded on, and I got my first look at the festivities of the 'reenactment'.

It seemed like half of Stonetown had come out to celebrate, and then the other half followed to see what all the hub-hub was about.

Long banquet tables groaned under the weight of food, and concerned citizens did their level best to reduce the strain, one mouthful at a time.

Fools, jesters, clowns, jugglers, magicians, fortune-tellers, swindlers, and actors offered entertainment, argued with drunks, and threw candy in a counter-productive ploy to gain breathing room from the hordes of children that dogged them.

Dozens of musicians competed with the patter of the conversation, the clatter of cutlery, the squawking of animals, and most of all with each other to be heard.

Even mudmen were wandering about; snatching scraps that fell to the ground (and when I saw one handed a drumstick, purposefully dropping it before taking a bite); acting as targets in an axe throwing competition; refusing to get out of the dunk tank; and just generally being good sports about the whole thing.

Every smile had a face and nearly as many faces had smiles. It was, in short, a helluva good party.

The very important persons were on a raised stage beneath the gibbets. I could Roderick among them, clearly taking the opportunity to shmooze for a trial he thought he had locked in.

Elskia stood alone at the corner of the stage, gowned in white lace, she cut a tragic figure. An expression of lost innocence and haunted despair only enhanced her beauty, striking all who looked at her with memories of lost loves and the solemn pain of impermanence. She was being a real fucking downer really.

I supposed she'd gotten discouraged after her appeal to the basic moral principles of fair treatment and kinship with fellow man had gone largely ignored. A group of bored looking guards lounged below her section of the stage, throwing longing glances at the festivities around them. Roderick was going to make a fool of her, unless someone intervened.

Well, it was time for me to make my entrance.

"Umm," I began timidly.

The sled came to a halt as the trio turned to look.

"Grom?" (Grom?) said Grom.

"Nah, 'ees yakin ah me. Ee 'ent 'Grum'," (No, he's talking at me. He said 'Grumm') said Grum.

"Yer boths wron, 'ee 'ed 'umm', ee's 'temptin' ta draw oar 'tention ta someding," (You're both wrong. He said 'umm'. He's attempting to draw our attention to something.) said Grim.

"Grom," (Grom) said Grom.

"'De 'ird eeder iss lookin' lez peaked. 'Ud ey Grom. 'ight den, toss da dedwet," (The third leader is looking less peaked. Good eye Grom. Right then, toss the deadweight.)

And without much preamble I was extracted from the cage and planted solidly into the mud. Grom gave me a (for him) gentle pat upon the shoulder that entrenched me another four inches, and then they were off again.

I was slowed by Hugh's form, and only reached the stage several minutes after the goon squad. Roderick was soaking in the praise of the elites around him while the rebel leaders (and Hugh) were shoved into gibbots and raised above the crowd to cheers.

I marched right up to Elskia's section of the stage and gazed boldly up at her, demanding her attention even while the sluggish guards roused themselves to remove me. I caught her eye, drawing a heart-skipping smile from her. She gracefully knelt closer to me, a picture of the sublime, and opened her mouth to speak.

"Name’s Hugh, and that dress looks awful on you," I stated bluntly.

For what I'm sure were entirely unrelated reasons, one of the rebel leaders moaned in fear.