Durgen’s eyes shot wide open as he suddenly jerked himself awake and kick at the air; although he immediately regretted this action because he began convulsing on the ground. He rolled to his side as nausea washed over him while feeling a phantom pain in his arm and chest, as well as the rest of his body. His only comfort was the cool earth on his skin as he rested there until the nausea became bearable. After taking several deep breaths, he slowly propped himself with his elbows, his head swaying as he took in his shifting surroundings.
He had to guess that it was late into the night now surrounded by a dense mist that seemed to emanate from the ground but could easily see the decorative wood posts lined up in several rows marking the graves of loved ones. Looking behind him, he realized he was lying in front of an unmarked grave, his blood ran cold. "Did… did I really die?" He thought to himself as he recalled recent events. He patted his chest, finding that there were two new holes from where he had been gored. He panicked, and slowly brought himself to his feet, using the grave post to support himself. Now that he could see over the posts, he instantly spotted the dimly lit windows of a log cabin, telling him exactly where he was.
The village’s only shaman, Dae’mon, lived in seclusion on top of the southern plateau that oversees the entire village and had been around longer than anyone can remember. He is the village’s only healer, in charge of watching over the dead and is even rumored that he can predict the weather. Everyone knew who he was but no one, not even the chief, could see his level, but many theorized that he was somewhere in the triple digits. Most of the people of the village have a higher Constitution so they don’t get sick or hurt easily but the few that do are dragged all the way up here. Durgen himself has been here a number of times but has never woken up in the graveyard before and would rather not do it again.
Dragging his feet he slowly approached the cabin, leaning on the posts for support as his stomach protested. Sadly, his spear was no where in sight. He heaved and gagged every other step, but nothing would come out as his head spun. Finally, he stumbled up the step one the front porch and unceremoniously plopped himself against the wall beside the door, leaning heavily on it as he rapped on the door, although he was certain that Dae’mon heard him on the way up with his constent groaning.
“Oi! Who’s makin’ all dat ruckus!” Said a deep gravelly voice. Durgen only groaned in reply. A moment later he heard the door swing open, a shadowy figure leaned forward, eyes literally glowing with a yellow energy. They looked side to side until they noticed Durgen still leaning on the wall. Those glowing eyes narrowed at him for a moment before the owner determined that he wasn’t much of a threat and gradually faded away. “Oh, don’t you look loike a sorry grot. Come on lad, let’s see if we can’t fix ya up.” Said the familiar voice as the figure reached out, grabbed Durgen under the shoulders, dragging him inside like a sack of potatoes, and nudging the door shut with his foot.
Unable to resist, Durgen was dragged across the living room and unceremoniously thrown on top of a well-used cot. His tired and bleary eyes were only half open, but he heard the crackling of the fireplace and could barely make out the overly melted candles that illuminated the rest of the room. The figure loomed over him, a long silver beard came into view, mear inches from the ground. Following the length of the beard, Durgen saw the aged face of Dae’mon looking down at him with his eyes closed and his face scrunched, seemingly adding more wrinkles to his aged face. An old battle scar cut diagonally across his left eye, something that not even his magic could heal.
“Alright boi, let’s take a good look at ya.” Dae’mon said as his eyes shot open with crackling yellow energy before he inspected his patient, his eyes revealing only the truth. Durgen knew he was looking over his status page, as he’s been through this process a few times now. “Ah! Durgen! Let’s see… seventeen already? ‘Ow long has it been? Two years since we saw you last? That’s a new record for you, boi! Spirits! Why’re your stats so low!? Haven’t seen an effect like dat since… Debuff: Resurrection Sickness? No…” That was all he heard as an axe split his head open, resting in front of his ears, a familiar message appearing in his vision.
YOU HAVE DIED.
After what felt like moments, Durgen groaned with a splitting headache across the top of his skull and a gross sensation of nausea, and his nose itchy, but when he went to scratch it, his wrists felt tight. He blinked his eyes open, raised his head, and looked himself down. All four of his limbs and waist were bound to the cot with thick leather straps, his chest exposed, his shirt cut open straight down the middle at some point. He heard the clinking of a mortar and pestle and slowly turned his head toward the sound, spotting a metal work table by his head, only able to make out a few tools and ingredients, as some were close to the edge. Blue potions and a pot of something steaming were all he could make out. Dae’mon was grinding something that smelled awful, or it could be whatever he was smoking in his long wooden pipe. Durgen coughed, not to get his attention, but because it was hard to breathe and was getting pretty light headed. Dae’mon still took notice to Durgen’s awakening.
“Ah boi! You’re up! You feel be’er after that lil’ nap? Just in time too, I’m just finishin’ up.” He said as he set his pipe down on its special perch on the worktable. Durgen wanted to say something but his mouth was full. “Ah yeah, I bet you have some questions for me. Just wait an’ listen while I mix this. Oh, and I am sorry about earlier. I needed to know for sure.” He said after stirring whatever he was grinding in the pot. He heard a click followed by the woosh of flame suddenly being extinguished. Dae’mon brought up a stool by his bedside, hand on table as he leaned in, his face stern. “You’re a Dreama’. Just loike me. Do ya know what that means?” He asked, but Durgen only gently shook his head.
“I split your head open with my axe an’ three hours la’er you’re groaning on the ground in the graveyard! You can’t die!” To his horror, Dae'mon laughed as if that was the funniest joke ever then coughed violently and covered his mouth, his throat unable to handle his excitement. Blue congealed blood appeared in his hand and he sighed. “Only in time can ya truly expire. And my time wanes.” He said solemnly. “You followin’ so far, boi?” Durgen nodded, his head still reeling. Dae’mon continued, except something was off like there was more than one voice talking overlapping each other.
“Good, there’s no way you can tell you’re a Dreamer unless you die before your time comes, so many live on without ever knowing. Many of whom become quite successful, although mainly as adventurer types. You can probably guess that not being able to die is a damn good boon. I doubt you ever heard of a Dreamer before because it’s so damn rare. However, there are many who seek to take advantage of us, people who use us as tools to further their own cause, so keep your mouth shut, got it, boi?” Durgen grunted, barley following along as his head throbbed; almost too nauseous to care about being tied up. Dae’mon’s speech seemed so weird and formal, as if it’s not actually him speaking; like he’s just a catalist for someone else to speak through.
“Now, you’z prolly wonderin’ why you’z all tied up.” Dae’mon said as if detecting his thoughts and started speaking normally again. After a moment, he let out another deep sigh before speaking. “I'm not gettin' any younger, Durgen, as ya age ya start gettin' debuffs. Half me strength be gone; I keep forgetting things and I can't even regenerate me mana anymore. I 'ave ter keep drinkin' potions and it’s destroyin' me insides. Me piss glows blue! AND IT BURNS!” He exclaimed, slamming his fist on the metal work table, leaving an indent. It took him a few moments to calm himself. “Ya got your whole life ahead of ya, Durgen, but it’s not ‘ere. You got yourself a gift, and we’re gonna ‘elp ya make somethin’ out of it.”
“Hmm?” Durgen let out in confusion as the old man stood up and watched as he downed two large mana potions, paused to consider something, and downed another. Then, he reloaded his pipe with a combination of different freshly grown herbs, the majority of which, was from what he was grinding. with a snap of his fingers, a small flame manifested and used it to light the bowl as he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, its contents sizzling before he exhaled a thick plume of blue smoke from his nostrils. His muscles convulsed and glowing veins appeared as though they were about to burst.
Then, he watched in horror as Dae’mon collapsed backwards on the wood floor boards like a ragdoll. His limbs spasming as the smoke from his pipe began swirling around toward his body. He laid there like that for several long moments until his eyes shot open, crackling with purple energy. Dae’mon held his arms up in the air, his hands limp, then as if pulled by invisible strings, he unnaturally rose off the ground. A surge of panic crossed Durgen’s mind as he tried to scream but no one could hear his muffled cries. He was powerless as the shaman’s arm limply reached for something on the table and produced a flat paint brush, with his free hand, he grabbed the pot. Dae’mon wobbled over to him and placed the pot under his arm, dipped the brush in, letting the red liquid drip back in as so not to waste a drop. He leaned over Durgen’s bound form, his left arm on the other side for support as he began painting something on his exposed chest.
The liquid, to Durgen’s surprise, wasn’t steaming hot like he thought it was, but it still had a burning sensation. Initially, he thought it was blood given the color, but it didn’t smell like it, instead it smelled like paint? No, ink? Still bewildered, he tried to raise his head to look at what was being drawn on his flesh, but his head was slammed back down on the table with enough force that he saw spots for a second.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
“Hold still, lad. You can’t rush art.” Said an unfamiliar voice. Dae’mon’s smiling face came into view, eyes still crackling, a purple light glowed from the back of his throat. “It’s gonna look so cool when we’re finished! You’ll definitely get attention from the ladies, especially with your pretty face! Haha!” Dae’mon laughed as he spoke with a voice that did not belong to him. The voice sounded like an older male with a cheerful bubbliness to it. Head still throbbing, this time Durgen obeyed, finally giving up on resisting and let the hours drift by, getting used to the burning sensation. Occasionally he’ll switch to a different sized brush or change location, covering his chest, legs and arms, until finally Dae’mon, or whatever was possessing him sat the pot back on the table, the brush in a cup of water.
“And now the fun part!” Exclaimed the voice after lighting up another bowl, he grabbed a stick in his right hand and another tool he didn’t recognize on the left. It was a small hollow bamboo stick with a long pointy thorn at the end forming an “L” shape. Before Durgen could react, Dae’mon aggressively started hammering the thorn into his chest with the stick.
CLICK-CLACK. CLICK-CLACK. CLICK-CLACK.
The thorn stung each time it struck his chest, but it paled in comparison to the burning of the ink being injected into his skin. Durgen howled in agony as his chest felt like it was being struck with a hot iron rod. He can see his health bar in the corner of his vision slowly dropping with each strike. He tried to thrash and break free but found he couldn’t as his body refused to respond so he continued to howl in pain, hoping someone would come for him. He wanted his mama as tears streamed from his face. Dae’mon’s face was smiling happily as he was smoking whatever was in his pipe. He started striking the thorn rhythmically, clearly having fun with it, as he began to sing.
Come all you young sailor men, listen to me!
I’ll sing you a song of the fish and the sea!
And it’d windy weather, boys, stormy weather, boys
When the wind blows, we’re all together, boys
Blow ye winds westerly, blow ye winds, blow
Jolly sou’wester, boys, steady she goes!
Unable to bear the pain, Durgen finally lost consciousness and succumbed to the void. Dae’mon, or whatever was in control of him, sighed in relief, all that muffled screaming was really starting to do a number on his ears and he hadn’t had actual ears for some time now. He just finished up the chest piece and started working on his arms. The other limbs weren’t actually necessary for this process, but he was passionate about his work and didn’t get a chance like this often. If he was gonna do this, he was gonna do it right. “I’m gonna go all out for ya, Durgen. But I expect great things from you. Give me something to be excited for again.” He said to the unconscious orc before humming to himself and clacking the night away.
*****
Durgen awoke once again, his entire body was throbbing but was thankful he wasn’t nauseous anymore. In fact, apart from his chest and limbs, he felt rather good, if a little itchy. He moved his jaw up and down and found he wasn’t gagged anymore. He lifted his head and propped himself up with his elbows and noticed that he was no longer bound and was covered in bandages on his chest, arms and legs. Swinging his legs over the edge of the cot, his feet landed on his clothes, neatly folded on the floor waiting for him. He looked around while he dressed himself.
The light shining through the window indicated that it was late in the afternoon, almost sundown. The room was clean and neat with no worktable, or Dae’mon for that matter, in sight. He finished donning his now dark blue ‘vest’ and tied his hair back, wondering if he should stay and wait. His mama was probably worried sick about him. He imagined her pacing around between the huts wanting to give him an earful. "Maybe I can wait after all." He thought to himself. Torture was one thing; his mother’s wrath was another. Thankfully, he did not have to wait very long as he heard footsteps on the front porch. Barely a moment later, Durgen saw Dae’mon step through the door with, of all people, his mother in tow. She gasped at the sight of him and ran to embrace him, squeezing out all the air in his lungs and popping his back.
“My boi! Where ‘ave you been!? I looked all over and nearly flipped the whole village upside down looking for ya!” she exclaimed.
“Err, perhaps it’s a good idea to let him rest and have a seat, Angle? The boi has been through a lot lately.” Dae’mon said while pulling up a chair. “Durgen, ‘ow are ya feeling?” Durgen’s mother eventually released her embrace and took the offered seat, allowing Durgen to catch his breath and gather his thoughts. Now that he thought about it, the parts of his body that were wrapped in bandages were getting itchy. REALLY itchy. He sat back on the cot as he spoke.
“I think these bandages are startin’ to get pretty itchy, but apart from dat I feel fine.” He smiled at his mother reassuringly. Glad to know that his mother wasn’t upset with him.
“So, what happened to my boi? Did someone rough you up again? All Dae’mon said was you were all busted up when he dragged you ‘ere.” Durgen had to choose his words carefully, remembering what Dae’mon said about being a Firesoul and keeping it secret. Did that include me mum? He thought to himself.
“I eh, was doing me dailies, loike normal, afta’ I finished choppin’ wood, I went out to finish my other two. Kill some rats and get some boar meat.” He started recalling the events of what he assumed was yesterday.
Both his mother and Dae’mon nodded along as Dae’mon hasn’t actually heard his story, not that he gave him a chance to begin with. Durgen went on to tell the events that led up to being attacked by the wild boars, watching his mother gasp and Dae’mon’s eyes roll, clearly seeing through his exaggerations as he fibbed about fending off ten at once while a swarms of rats chased after him, and how he limped his way to Dae’mon’s hut. After he finished his tall tales, his mother snarled.
“Dose nasty hunters! I don’t know why dey think we need more meat; our storage is already packed for winta’. Theys probs just usin’ ya to get more for themselves. I’ll ‘ave a word or two when we’z done ‘ere.” She proclaimed while popping her knuckles. That’s when Dae’mon spoke up.
“As you can see, Angel, you’re boi ‘ere is doing fine, but there’s another reason I brought you up ‘ere.” Angel, Durgen’s mother, raised an eyebrow. He strode to Durgen and rested his hand on his shoulder. “I sense great potential in Durgen ‘ere and da spirits strongly agree. I would like to train him myself and maybe help him find a class that suits him, with your permission of course.”
She was taken aback. No one had even bothered to learn her son’s name, let alone offered to train him. And here they were, the village’s most powerful person offering to teach him out of the four hundred other orcs and gobs. She looked over to her son who shared her expression. “I… I mean dat’s up to my boi, what do you think?” She asked. Durgen had to think for a moment.
“What are you training me for? I’z not the best figh’er, I don’ know any magics and I ain’t the most stealfy.” Durgen asked, doubt filling his voice. It just seemed too good to be true.
“Though that is true, I’z willing to teach ya what I can, things that only experience has taught me, so long as you’z willing to learn. Loike learning your interface for example. Have you looked at your stat sheet lately? Read dem allowed.” Durgen furrowed his brow. Why would he ask about me stats? They don’t change very often. Regardless, he did as he was told.
Name: Durgen
Age: 17
Race: Orc
Class: N/A
Level: 6 progress to next level: 74%
Statistics:
Health:160
Stamina:120
Attributes:
Strength: 20
Dexterity: 12
Constitution: 16
Intelligence: 13
Wisdom: 12
Charisma: 20
{Skills}
“Oi wait, my XP dropped some!” Durgen exclaimed. Could it be because he died? TWICE? His mother furrowed his brow.
“Wha? That can’t be righ-“
“Oh ah Durgen here was beaten pretty bad. So, I had to use one of me stronger healing techniques that used some of his XP to fix some more serious injuries or else they’d be permanent.” Dae’mon interrupted. Which seemed to put her at ease, though Durgen wasn’t convinced. Durgen noticed a blinking icon on the bottom right of his vision but chose to ignore it for now. “I wanted you to bring ‘em up because they’re quite low and I can help fix dat. You wanna know what my highest stat was? Two hundred. That’s the cap, the highest you can go.”
“You can bring my stats up to two hundred?” Durgen asked hopefully.
“Hmm? Oh gods no! It took me years to get there. But by the time I’z done with ya they’ll all be at least fifty.” Durgen was taken aback. Did he really have that much faith in him?
“Tell ya what, boi. Why don’t you go home, rest up, and think about it. Then come back in the morning, we’ll get those bandages off, and then you can give me an answer.” Durgen nodded and stood up. His Tummy rumbled.
“Thanks for everything, Dae’mon. I’ll see you tomorrow. Come on ma, What’s for dinner?”
“Iz dat really whats on your mind now, boi? Afta everything? We’ll grab something on the way back I’m not cooking anything tonight.” She sighed, heading out the door. “Thank you for taking car of me boi, Dae’mon. I’ll send him up afta breakfast.”
“I look forward to it, g‘night to ya both.” He waved as they closed the door behind them. Angel and Durgen were going down the dirt pathway that lead to the southern end of the village.
“I’z thinkin grabbing a few meat sticks from Krush at his stand, what you think?” Angle asked but heard no response. She turned around and saw Durgen looking down over the edge of the steep cliff facing the setting sun, basking in the twilight glow. She walked over to him, looking over the entire village. The sun sat in between two mountain ranges forming a "U" shape with Dae’mon’s plateau in the middle basking in its glow. The Village was surrounded in a rectangular palisade as an extra layer of protection with two gates on the North and South side. Angle could see their huts near the center just a few paces east. They both could see pillars of smoke as night drew closer, the village never truly rests. Angle looked to Durgen, who was clearly lost in thought. “What you thinkin’ about, boi?” She asked, he let out a deep sigh before replying.
“I… still don’t know what class I should pick. I don’t even think I have all me options.”
“You’ll find one, sometimes they might even find you.”