As the white walls disappeared from Samael’s vision, the harsh dark stone of the prison replaced them. His physical form was where he had seemingly left it, crouched up against one of the walls, with a leather string in his palm. Oddly there was a small pile of ash beneath his hand, with no sight of the wooden figure that had previously adorned the necklace.
Dropping the piece of leather, Samael painlessly stood up. His body was no longer the clunky awkward form it had been; instead it was what he had selected in the white room. The multiple injuries were gone and his clothes were even different. Instead of the bloody rags he had left his body in; he now wore a pair of plain trousers and a shirt, made of a course grey material.
There was something else as well, something at the back of his mind that wanted attention, his {Instinctual Interface} skill directing him towards it.
“Status!”
Status Name: Samael Race: Human Class: Necromancer Level: 0 Title - Stats: Strength 6 Intelligence 15 Agility 9 Wisdom 15 Endurance 8 Willpower 12 Constitution 6 Perception 9 Free Points 0 Karma 10 Skills {Instinctual Interface} Rank: #N/A {Common Tongue} Rank: #N/A {Karmic Meter} Rank: #N/A
There it was, his attributes summed up in a not too large box. There were a couple things noteworthy that he saw. The first was that his necromancer class was currently at level 0. Samael was not quite sure how this worked; normally he would have expected any kind of starting level would be at level 1? There also appeared to be no benefit in his status window from gaining his class, that he could see. Where were his health, mana and stamina meters?
Moving on, the other part of note was the figure next to the Karma: “10”. There was no additional information on this status page, however using the skill allowed Samael to see that although a result of 10 put him on the “Good” side, it was only just, with very little space for nefarious actions.
Looking towards the bottom, at his three skills, they all appeared to have an error instead of a rank. Something told Samael that skills could normally be evolved in some way. These three seemed locked out however, with no sort of scale enabling them to grow or get more powerful. ‘Maybe they don’t need to, or can't because of how I got them?’ he wondered.
With a thought Samael closed his status and continued looking around the prison. Being able to freely move around, rather than a huddled mess on the floor, allowed him to explore the nooks and crannies of the small room he was confined to. As to what he found, there was little of note.
Apart from the wall with the heavy wooden door, the other walls held nothing interesting. The high window on one side was out of reach, even when Samael jumped as high as he could. There were no benches or stools he could use to climb up, and the metal bars covering it suggested there was no way out, even if there was something to jump off.
He needed to get out of this room. Even with his new found intelligence and wisdom, Samael could not think of a reasonable excuse he could give the guards as to why he was in here. Especially as he felt they were not so dependent on reason, based on his previous experience with them.
After thoroughly scouring the room, Samael held in his hands the leather string from the necklace, several bits of chipped stone, likely from the walls, and several rib bones from some sort of small rodent. These were to be the tools of his escape. Samael resisted sinking down into despair and instead crept over to the door.
Pushing his ear against it he listened carefully, however he heard nothing from the other side. Lowering his eye to the keyhole centred to the left of the door; there was no handle above it; Samael peeped through. There was a stone wall about six feet opposite the cell he was in, illuminated by a small orange flickering, hinting that one of those flaming torches was nearby. Dropping to the floor, Samael tried to peek under the door, though he was unable to get his head low enough to see anything.
Rising again, he began to study the lock, looking at its width, the shape of the hole, the barest hints at some sort of internal mechanism hidden behind the metal. After his examination he made a firm conclusion. He had no idea what he was trying to achieve, it looked like a lock same as any other.
Unable to think of anything else, he placed the bones in front of the door and chose one that was about three inches in length, and slightly curved. It was most likely some sort of rib, however one end was broken causing it to end in a sharp point, almost like a pick.... ‘And what better thing to use when trying to unlock a door, than something that looks like a pick.’ Samael reasoned to himself.
Raising the bone to the lock, Samael began to use it to feel around, trying to gain some sort of insight into how the mechanism was put together. He was sure that was what they did in the movies, ‘there couldn’t be too much more to it, right?’
A couple of minutes passed by as Samael gently scraped and prodded the lock with his bone. He was totally unsure if he was getting anywhere, the lock made no movements or sounds, not even when he put all three inches into it. He was about to try something new when he began to feel something give when pushed. Excitedly, Samael began poking this area furiously. As he kept going, there seemed to be more and more movement, as he felt something begin to turn. ‘Yes... Yes.. Yes!” Samael thought as he enthusiastically twisted his bone and pushed against the hard wood. Of the door.
With a smile on his face, Samael felt the door began to swing open in front of him, pulled open by a very perplexed guard. Sam’s smile froze. He was not the master lock picker he thought, he probably just made enough noise scratching away it got someone’s attention.
“Who are you?! What are you doing in there?!” the guard demanded in English but not English, his face a mixture of confusion and surprise as his gaze swept over Samael. The guard was not the mean one from before, he seemed far younger and even looked like he had some baby fat in his cheeks.
“Help!” Samael blurted out, standing up as his wits struggled to catch up. “I don’t know how I got in here!”
“Step back!” the guard ordered, pushing against Samael’s chest to forcefully guide him back from the door as he himself stepped inside. The guard looked quickly around the room before spinning back to Samael.
“Where is he? The vagabond?” The guard demanded, his eyes wide, as if desperately needing an answer.
“I don’t know...” Samael repeated. “I just woke up here...”
“Oh gods...” The guard muttered in a panic, looking around the room again for some sort of answer. Turning back to Samael having made a decision, the guard ushered a taut “Wait here.” Before he hurried out of the cell and down one of the corridors, leaving an astounded Samael standing in front of a wide open door.
‘Wait here. Yea ok’ Samael sarcastically thought as he bolted past the open door. Once in the corridor beyond his cell, Samael saw many other heavy looking doors spaced at regular intervals against the walls. Just next to the door that contained his cell was a chair and table that the guard must have been sitting at, no doubt hearing Samael scratching away with the rib bone. On top of the table was a large set of black iron keys, which were promptly picked up.
Looking up and down the corridor, it appeared that the direction the guard had rushed off to was the only exit, the other side ending at a flat stone wall only three doors down. Psyching himself up, Sam was about to rush after the guard, intending to find some way to slip by, when a voice surprised him from the side. “Hey, over here.” it said in a rough gravelly tone.
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Samael turned to his right where he could see a man’s face pressed up against a metal grill, fixed around head height on one of the doors. The face had wild eyes which were set in deep dark hollows. What little hair the man had was long and wild, although it was offset by encroaching baldness. “Over here.” The man said again, making a ‘come hither’ gesture with a gnarled finger he had stuck through the bars.
Samael tentatively approached the man’s door and stopped in front of it. Never breaking eye contact, the man grinned at Samael, revealing black rotten teeth. “Escaping are we?” he asked, enveloping Samael in his foul breath.
“Err... yea...” Sam responded, not really wanting to engage. He awkwardly turned back to the corridor to leave, but before he could take a step the man spoke again.
“You won’t make it. Not alone.” Samael paused and the man continued. “I see’s you pick up them keys. You let me out and I can help. Much betta chance yea? Names Garren, what’s yours?”
Unsure of what he should do Samael stood still as he thought about it, glancing from down the corridor back to the strange man. Just looking at him Samael could tell this was no shining knight about to rescue him, the idea of ‘not judging on looks’ be damned. ‘Maybe that’s what I need at the moment though?’ Samael asked himself. He was about to break out of prison, jail, wherever he was. ‘Maybe I need a partner in crime? And he certainly looks like a criminal...’
The sound of voices echoed down the walls ahead of him, along with an encroaching light as whoever was coming brought more torches.
“Times up wet nose, whas it guna be?” The man called Garren asked next to him.
“Shit!” Samael swore to himself as he listened, hearing footsteps now, knowing there was no way he was getting out of this.
“Ok” Samael said, feeling that the decision was made for him and pulling the keys out of his pocket in a desperate panic. If he had been paying attention he might have felt his {Instinctual Interface} skill tell him of a tiny connection that formed between himself and the man. Samael stepped up to the door and started fumbling with the lock, trying to ignore the creepy grinning face not one foot from his own.
“Not that one, the big one!” Garren instructed, as Samael tried the biggest key in the set. Hearing a ‘clink’ Samael barely had time to step to the side before the door was pushed open and Garren jumped out into the corridor with him. Garren’s body was just as decrepit as his face.
“Guna need this!” the man said as he walked with an uncharacteristic grace over to the guards table. Leaning over he picked up a small sword that had been hidden on the other side of the chair.
“What are you going to do with that?!” Samael asked nervously, instantly regretting setting free a potential lunatic of a man for all he knew.
“Whatever I want...” Garren mysteriously said as he eyed Samael with a predatory gaze. Samael stepped back a couple of paces with his hands outstretched. ‘Yup definitely a bad idea!’ he thought, before spinning and jumping into Garren’s old cell and quickly slamming the door shut. He needn’t have rushed as Garren made no move to stop him, simply staring and laughing as Samael imprisoned himself. ‘Shit!’ Samael thought as he found out the keys didn’t work from the inside.
Still laughing, Garren ignored Samael as he slowly stalked his way up the corridor. Putting his eyes right up against the metal grill, he could just about see Garren take cover behind a small section of stone wall that jutted out into the corridor. Moments later, he could make out a light getting brighter and brighter as whoever was coming got closer.
“... condemned. You had one bloody job you little shit. Only had to wait until fucking evening!” an angry voice could be heard, echoing down the walls.
“It was closed the entire time!” another voice replied, sounding like the young guard who had left the door open. “There was only that other fella in there!”
“Probably the vagabond playing a trick on your stupid self!” The other voice replied angrily, Samael recognising it as the voice of the mean guard, who had kicked him in his cell.
“No way. This fella was Construct blessed!” the young guard replied, trying to sound confident but the uncertainty of inexperience bleeding through.
“Fucking useless!” The mean guard barked out. Samael’s heart was pounding in his chest as he listened. ‘What the hell is Garren going to do?’ he desperately wondered. ‘Oh god I am going to get caught!’ Samael could just about see them now as the two were walking down the corridor. He saw them step past the section of wall Garren was hiding behind, and then saw Garren thrust the sword into the mean guard’s side, just under the armour.
Samael’s mouth opened in horror. Time seemed to pause for a moment as he struggled to accept what he was seeing. The screams, shouts of pain and mad laughter washed over him, as he felt the bottom of his stomach drop out in shock.
The young guard was yelling. He had already walked past Garren when his fellow guard was stabbed through and could not retreat back up the corridor. A pool of crimson spread out from the body along the floor, then a splash of red was sent up a wall as the sword was brutally ripped free. The young guard backed away from an advancing Garren, then turned and rushed to his former seat at the table, reaching behind the chair for the same weapon Garren held in his hand. Not managing to recognise it when covered in his colleague’s blood.
Its absence from behind the chair confused the young guard for a moment, before he turned back to the threat his eyes should never have left. As he did, he was met with the sight of his own sword plunging downwards, and was unable to react in time before the sharp metal entered his torso from just behind his collar bone.
Samael could not turn away. He feebly tried but just couldn’t and kept staring open mouthed, watching with terrified eyes what was happening to the young guard, barely more than a kid. The sword, firmly still held in Garren’s grip, kept the guard from falling over. Blood poured from his mouth as his eyes held an expression more of shock than of pain.
Slowly and cruelly, Garren pulled. Inch by inch the blade was extracted before finally allowing the guard to collapse unmoving against a wall. Sensing danger, Samael looked up, where he caught the predatory gaze that was once more directed towards him. Letting out a yelp, Samael stumbled backwards, tripping over his own feet in his haste to back away from the door. He kept backing away until he hit the wall behind him and could go no further.
If his heart was pounding in his chest before, it was thundering now. Samael could hear nothing else save his pulse hammering away in his ears.
The door was pulled open. Garren stepped inside his old cell, the sword in his hand left droplets of blood along the floor as the man walked over to him, the grace of his movements contrasting with the brutality of his appearance.
“N...No! Please!” Samael begged as Garren bent down to his level.
“Thanks wet nose.” Garren said simply, his offensive breath once more assaulting Samael’s senses. “Consider our partnership at an end.” The tiny connection between them, which Samael had not noticed until now broke.
‘Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!’ Samael thought, as he shut his eyes tight and brought his arms up to protect his head. ‘That’s what you say before you kill someone! I’m dead, I’m dead, I’m so fucking dead! Oh Christ I hope it doesn’t hurt. Pretty pointless character creation, just to die fifteen minutes later!... Why am I not dead?’
Samael opened an eye in a squint, then fully opened both as he saw he was alone in the cell. Samael blinked several times in surprise as he looked around. A strange instinct prompted him to immediately stand up and quietly sneak over to the open door. Peering down the corridor, Samael could just make out a figure with Garren’s graceful gait disappear around a corner further down.
Taking a deep and shaky breath, Samael leaned against the door, as the panic which gripped his mind began to leave him. He still had a hole where the bottom of his stomach should have been, which only got larger as his gaze shifted between the two bodies of the guards that lay dead near him. He had never seen death before. The being yes, but not the act. Or he had? Did seeing his own dead body count?
Once he became more in control of himself, Samael noticed that there were several messages from the construct wanting his attention, of which he summoned in front of him immediately.
Congratulations!
Your party has killed [Guardsman Lvl 16]
Essence Absorbed
You have lost 20 Karma!
Congratulations!
Your party has killed [Guardsman Lvl 2]
Essence Absorbed
You have lost 100 Karma!
Congratulations!
You have gained enough essence to level up your class [Necromancer]
Level Class? Yes/No
“What?” Samael stammered aloud. ‘But I didn’t kill them!’ The construct did not seem to care, as the 'Essence' and also karmic penalty was there for him to see. When he looked at his status screen, the figure next to his 'Karma' field now showed at negative 110. When he looked inwards towards the skill, the foreboding scales were now tipped much more heavily in the wrong direction.
“Oh fuck!” Samael swore loudly. His immortal soul was now at risk. If he were to die now, he would face what the Construct had ominously called “The Abyss”. ‘Scales tip both ways!’ Sam reasoned furiously in his head, ‘I can tip them back!’ He mentally closed the option to level his class; saving it for later as he decided a prison break was not the best time to ponder on it. What he had to do now was get out of this jail.
Samael gathered himself and strode over to the body of the mean guard. Seeing a dead body in real life was completely different than seeing one in a game. There was no distance or separation between Samael and what was in front of him, which he could use to gloss over the fact that the thing lying on the ground used to be a living breathing person. It wasn’t hard to empathise with the guard as a human, even if the man had only showed himself to be a violent thug.
The pool of blood covered most of the corridor and Samael needed to tip toe round the edge to avoid stepping in it with his... ‘Sandals?’ Samael realised as he noticed he was wearing basic leather sandals for the first time. Just as he got to the other side, he looked around to give a silent farewell to the two men, when he noticed something around the waist of the body in front of him. It was a small pouch.
‘Should I? Noooo...’ Samael thought, as he kept staring at it. ‘Well, might as well look right?’ With little morals, Samael reached over and with one hand on the wall for balance, untied and grabbed the small pouch, then leaned back away from the blood. Feeling the pouch with his fingers, there were quite a few hard round objects inside and they made a nice ‘clink’ sound when shaken. Samael’s {Karma Meter} remained unchanged, so he assumed it was fine. He pocketed the money pouch into his trousers.
Adopting what he thought to be a stealthy pose, Samael began to walk down the corridor after Garren, whose trail of bloody footprints hopefully led to freedom.