Interlude – Ridgedog I

The world was cruel. A realisation many in their adulthood came to understand. However, Ridgedog, realised it when he saw his father waste away – his muscles shrunken and his veins popping out exuding a deathly blue hue.

His father, the current Chieftain of the Ridger, was quick to place the heavy warbonnet upon his head. The yellow and green feathers tickled his forehead, the beaded ornaments dangling ominously across his ears.

It was a symbolic gesture designed to get the entire tribe to rally behind his son. There was no love, only ruthless pragmatism designed to place the Chieftain’s progeny into the tribe’s leadership.

Yet it was all futile. When his body wasn’t even cold, Ridgedog’s uncles seized power. Of course, traitors do what traitors do best – backstab each other. To avoid the bloodshed, the young boy fled to the copse of trees near where his mother, who died giving birth to him and his father.

When the dust settled and all but one of his uncles still standing, he rallied his father’s loyalists under his banner and struck when the traitor celebrated his ‘victory’.

The march to the Abyss Fortress, sat precariously upon the Great Basin, with his uncle’s rotting head, was the sweetest moment of his life.

But all was not great. In fact, it was terrible. The infighting severely depleted the Ridger’s manpower. Perhaps they were even weaker than the Blackfoots up north.

The Ridger tribe was never the most powerful. There's not much to gather but bland cacti. No vast forests to reap a bountiful horde of food. Sustaining too many people was simply impossible.

A few chieftains tried in the past by stealing women from other tribes and enforcing a mass breeding program of orgies and debauchery. Unwilling women were force-fed mushrooms which made them more pliable – a small mercy Ridgedog admitted. But it worked. The population shot up. Ambitions of retaking the forest from the dreaded Kaibabs were coming to fruition.

At first, they were successful. They started to colonise the forest but figured, a little too late, that it was as barren as the Abyss on a good day. Traces of berries, edible herbs and game were all stripped away. Many of the Ridgers died of starvation or were struck with curses as they ventured too deep into the forest.

It was only when the Kaibabs returned did they discover that they harvested the bounty of the forest and moved elsewhere. That was why they were the most powerful tribe of the Great Basin. They knew the rhythms and songs of the forest’s spirits – of which the Ridgers were ignorant of. Ridgedog’s ancestors were starved and all skin and bones. As a result, they were easily driven back to a stone keep, the Ridgers call the Abyss Fortress.

Ridgedog’s name was given to him by his father. An honour bestowed upon him along with a promise. A promise to the tribe that Ridgedog will be the one to lead the tribe to glory.

It was supposed to be an honour. It was anything but. He was rigorously trained by his father. He can still remember missing a shot and getting verbally and physically abused. Ridgedog trembled then clenched his scar on his right arm as he remembered that he was only five years old when it all happened.

Everyone looked on in dismay yet did nothing. He would never forget them. Perhaps forgive – it was essential after all; he now leads these people. These cowardly people who refused to stand up to his father.

It's now ten years after the scourging he got from his father and now, he sits upon the Edge throne, surrounded by clear planes of glass giving him a breathtaking view of the rolling fields of red. The beauty of the Great Basin was enough to deter treasonous thoughts of the cliff collapsing, dragging him and the Edge throne towards the loving but deadly embrace of the Great Basin.

He looked at the grand assembly with barely constrained glee. After fifteen years of suffering, he’s now reached his destiny.

Ridgedog’s lips curved upwards as his eyes sharpened like an eagle. It was tempting to burn everything down and spit on his father’s legacy. However, this was not his destiny.

Great ambitions lay in the young man's eyes. A dream of conquering the Great Basin and subjugating the seven tribes into one banner. Under his banner.

“My people! For so long, the other tribes regard us with pity! They see us as weak!” He waited till an uproar exploded amongst the crowd. “That’s right! They’re all wrong! We can be strong! We live in the harshest desert and survived! No other tribe can compare to us! And with time we’ll seize them all and make them work our earth!”

Ridgedog bathed on the roaring thunder of his people until he noticed a few sceptical glances from the Elders.

“But first we need food and lots of it! And people who know how to weave the spirits to give bountiful gatherings!”

“You’re not thinking of raiding the Kaibabs are you?! We’ve done that for eons and nothing good has come from it!”

He glared against the lady who questioned him in front of everyone. “That’s right! We’ve been doing it all wrong! I promise that I shall lead you to victory!”

The lady adjusted her red hood subtly showcasing the yellow stone which littered her headpiece. The clinking of the worthless stone stopped as she said, “Boy, you’re being ridiculous! The Kaibabs are the strongest tribe! They can go toe to toe against those cannibals! What hope do we have? We’ve lost many of our warriors because of the civil war.” Then she cackled, “Don’t tell me you plan to recruit the girls to your warband!”

That seemed to make the assembly laugh. Laughed at him. With a few steady breaths, Ridgedog managed to calm himself. “We’ll strike when they least expect it! They should be trekking up from the Basin into the Forest. They should be tired. We’ll attack them then! All their women and food will be ours!”

“Not bad, boy. But not good enough.” The witch pulled something out from her robe. He noticed it was a wooden cylinder with a few dashes imprinted by a dagger. “My scouts tell me there’s a new tribe of around five hundred coming from the south.”

Another tribe? Coming from the south of all places?! It was nothing but sand and curses from there. And a tribe that nearly outnumbers the Kaibabs? “Will they attack each other?" Of course they will. No tribe occupies the same space without conflict.

“That remains to be seen, boy. I know it’s too obvious but we can’t be too careful.”

"Well, continue to monitor them then." Ridgedog gave a rictus smile, struggling to hold it as the muscles in his jaw painfully locked up. This lady was useful. A little too insubordinate but very resourceful. Perhaps I can steal her scouts from under her nose. A few kowtowing and sacrificing a huge chunk of my pride will hurt a lot, but I need them.

It was later in the week that the red-robed lady reported something that he had to capitalise on. The two groups have finally clashed. Only one possibility remains, whoever is the strongest enslaves the other with punishing losses. “Gather the warband!” He left the Abyss fortress with a hundred warriors and marched east.

He promised his men, women and riches. And Ridgedog is a man of his word.

The Ridger tribe may be the weakest, even Ridgedog grudgingly admitted, however, the reason they weren't subjugated was due to the harsh environment they inhabit and their novel way of conducting war.

Many game, from the twin-tailed squirrels to the striped tail raccoons, often came out at night right into the hungry arms of Ridger hunters. It was a common ritual for boys to hunt a quarry during the dead of night to become men. Fortunately for Ridgedog, many of his warband were proficient night hunters – woe to the surviving tribe of the forest.

After being briefed by the lady’s effeminate scouts that the Kaibabs emerged victorious, Ridgedog wasn’t surprised. They were the top dogs of the Great Basin for a reason. Also, with their victory he could set about avenging his ancestors’ defeat.

It was another stroke of luck that the Kaibabs placed their recent slaves into an isolated part of their camp. Ridgedog grinned at the opportunity this gave him. He could attack the camp and free the slaves. They’ll be so grateful at being freed and may help him cause a massive ruckus against the Kaibabs.

And so, the Ridgers attacked in the dead of night. Making sure to sack their granaries clean and packing them atop their elk steeds. A few of their two-headed cows were taken as well. What couldn’t be stolen were burnt and killed.

They moved towards the centre of the camp, clubbing the knees of their warriors and moving to steal their women. Dozens were taken, and most were resigned to their fate – a few needed to be violently persuaded, of which his men relished to make a few examples. By how many struggled to stand and walk, perhaps his men could’ve been gentler.

It was perhaps a little too excessive and may damage the honours of combat. But the fact he still stands without being struck by the spirits is the testament proof that what they're doing is justified in the eyes of the gods. Good luck to the Kaibabs retaliating with very little food in their stomach!

Ridgedog ordered his most loyal warriors to rally to him as he led them to the slave quarters. And in the fateful moment was when he was smitten by a woman, dressed in a queer attire of a brown poncho and a leg piece so tight that it hugged her toned legs. In an instant, he was smitten with her allure and beauty.

He wanted her. “Surround and capture her. Not a single bruise or blemish in her body, do you understand?!” Ridgedog’s face reddened as his voice cracked, only to suddenly disappear when his men were quickly dispatched.

The woman kicked and trashed his men using moves he hadn't seen before. A giant brute of a man, one of his father's loyalists, managed to grapple the muscled beauty from behind. I thought that was over. No woman, however well-proportioned, was getting away from that chokehold.

He rubbed his hands, elated as he gave his Chieftainess a cursory glance. Her face was darker than normal, nose upright and lips redder and more full of life than usual. She was perfect.

It was a shame her pretty face was marred with a disgusting frown as she took the time to hurl gibberish at them. Spittles flew at the ogre and Ridgedog. With time, she’ll be more docile. Mayhap, mushrooms can dull her mind or physical exertion. From the way she looks, I wouldn’t be against training her body.

A thunderous crack grabbed him back to reality with a violent jolt of his head. Both he and the ogre crouched down which gave the woman the chance to briefly escape. The giant was upon her when Ridgedog saw her pull out a black stone, pointed it then a deafening sound came out of it, rendering the ogre immobile – most likely dead.

Ridgedog’s heart spiked as she pointed the stone at him. He was prepared to accept Masauwu’s lethal embrace. The endless cracks and wails of women were nothing but background noise as he shed a few tears that turned into a waterfall.

When the sound didn’t come, he was confused. He opened his eyes and noticed the beauty standing right in front of him. She smiled at him.

Feelings stirred within him and he wasn’t sure how to process it. In the end, his training born from his father’s brutality won out as Ridgedog clenched his club, positioned it to the blunt side, then swung at the woman’s head.

Guilt nearly overwhelmed him. He checked the woman’s head for any signs of bleeding and he sighed in relief when he found none. Checking for the woman’s pulse made him happier.

From the louder and louder apocalyptic clapping, he knew time was of the essence so he carefully hauled the woman over his shoulders and ran as fast as he could towards his tribe.

“You! And you! Help me carry her! I intend to make this one mine. So avert your gazes lest I gouge those eyes out myself!” That was enough for the two burly warriors to heed his instructions. They carried her and fled into darkness, likely towards their designated fall-back point in the forest.

Ridgedog clutched his heart and tried to slow it down. He wanted to come with them. To be with his future Chieftainess. However, his duty as a Chieftain meant he would be the last one out of the raid. A leader who leaves his warband will have himself answer to the same warband with a spear aimed at his throat. Because cowards deserve nothing but death.

The infernal cracking was beginning to intensify. He frowned as it sounded eerily similar to the black stone his Chieftainess to be, pulled out earlier. He went back to the spot where he found his beauty, stepping over his dead men and climbing atop the ogre, he found the black stone.

It was shiny and reflected the ugly scar on his right arm. Clicking his tongue, he further examined it and noticed a lever, similar to the ones in the Abyss Fortress that would summon the spirits of light.

He aimed the stone, mimicking the woman, and pulled on the lever.

Ridgedog wasn’t used to the sound that would come after as he yelped and dropped the thing. A repetitive ringing in both of his ears disorientated him enough that a few Kaibab warriors materialised out of nowhere, and outflanked him.

Grabbing the black stone from the floor, he aimed then pulled the lever. A crack burst out of the thing yet nothing happened to his assailants. The Kaibabs stared at him with eyes wide as pottery and fled without a fight. It was all underwhelming but anything to get out alive was welcome.

He caressed the stone and marvelled at the limitless power, although unsatisfying, it provided him just now. I’m curious about this thing. It would be one of the first few words I’ll be having with her, Ridgedog thought.

“Chieftain Ridgedog, most of the warband has retreated into the fortress. It wouldn’t be amiss to us all if you took this time to retreat.”

He grunted and trudged back towards the familiar warmth of darkness, away from the torches and light that uncomfortably resembled the ones in the fortress and the endless underground caves.

When he asked for a roll call, he was dismayed that they were down to sixty warriors! His heart sped up again as thousands of scenarios of him being betrayed by his warband echoed in his mind.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

Losing this much in a raid was... Unprecedented. Chieftains were deposed for much less. Much, much less.

Projecting weakness through silence was not ideal so he asked, "What happened out there? Why were you all defeated by those Kaibabs, at night no less?" He resorted to placing the blame for such a loss on his subordinates. He hoped they weren’t too offended. If so, Ridgedog was comforted by the fact that he has the thunder weapon.

“Chieftain - it wasn’t the Kaibabs! It was those slaves! The ones the Kaibabs subjugated!”

“That’s right, leader! They attacked us with fire! Those sticks of theirs were splurging out, what seemed to be intense campfires, and before we knew it, a few of our comrades fell to the ground - lifeless!”

A few more witnesses shouted about what they'd experienced.

It was slow but Ridgedog realised that it wasn’t the Kaibabs who subjugated the other group. It was the other way round!

And what a fearsome foe this new tribe was. They had claws and could roar like a mountain lion. Ridgedog smiled whilst gritting his teeth - and like a mountain lion, they can be hunted.

“I’ve heard enough!” Ridgedog shouted and waited for his warband to hush in silence. “It’s clear we need more information about this new tribe!”

The effeminate scouts timely revealed themselves, “Lady Chaz sends her regards, Great Chieftain. We are at your service."

“Excellent. Your first task would be to track where this tribe is going. I want every footstep reported to me. You understand?” They nodded and bowed. “Good. Now, men, this was a tiring night. So, enjoy your spoils, I’ll certainly enjoy mine.” The veil of doom seemed to have lifted as his warband cheered.

He went to his tent and saw his promised beauty tied to the fur on the ground, which was slack enough for her to pounce, but not enough for her ravenous claws to reach him. Despite this, he’ll stubbornly cling to a gentler approach to courting. The older boys, when they thought he wasn’t looking, criticised his naivety and ‘soft’ nature.

Ridgedog decided to ignore them because being gentle with his future significant other, felt right. And rigidly sticking to this belief wasn’t a sign of being soft, it was proof of his strength not to be dissuaded by nonsense prattle of people lesser than him.

When she calmed down, Ridgedog was perplexed why her onyx eyes were hidden by a weird looking frame, containing a see through material – was it glass? He couldn’t help himself caressing her sun-kissed cheeks and scooping the frames from her eyes.

Mesmerised, the Ridger Chieftain gestured to himself and said his name.

Patience was his main strength, and so he waited till his significant other placed her palm on her bulging chest and said, “Reeta.”

At last, we’re making progress. He waved his hands to her and then to him, hoping she understood that now she belonged to him, as customs of the people of the Great Basin.

She shook her head, swiftly losing the vibrant bronze colour, as she yelled, “Slay-ve!”

Ridgedog didn’t know what that meant but from the intense reaction coming from her, he could infer what it meant. And it wasn’t a good sign for a future relationship. There'll be resistance. And he was ready for it. Her wilfulness will be tempered with time as the position, Ridgedog’s honouring her with, will quench the flames inside her.

Just a little more time won’t hurt. Ridgedog placed his cot a few paces away where she managed to lunge and slept like a log.

The night ended fast and Ridgedog was glad he was still alive. As soon as he woke up, he noticed his sleeping lioness curled adorably in the middle of the tent. Again, he failed to resist the urge to stroke her cheeks and her forehead.

He quickly regretted it as the woman grabbed his hands and flipped him over. Dazzled by this move, the lioness wasted no time and pounced and wrapped her legs around Ridgedog’s neck and kept clutching at his left arm.

He wasn’t willing to give up and thrashed as best he could. One violent jerk later, Ridgedog managed to propel himself upright with a kick of his legs, ignoring the weight of the 'Reeta' dragging him down. Seeing as how she wasn't going to give up, he spun and aimed her body at the wooden mast in the middle of the tent.

The wooden pole stood no chance as it gave way to Reeta’s sickening collision.

Gasping in relief felt like someone was dripping hot wax straight to his neck. Breathing may as well have knocked him out instead, but he persevered. Gradually, the pain dissipated and he was relieved that the woman was soundly unconscious. As much as he hated it but the lessons that his father taught him, managed to save his life.

Checking if the rope looked sturdy enough on the lady, he walked out of the tent.

"Ah! Chieftain! Good timing. The new tribe has set off heading towards the west! They're heading towards our homes!" The damnable scout shrieked his information to the high heavens, gathering the attention of many of his warriors.

He clicked his tongue and thought of a few punishments this scout was going to undergo if they survived against this new tribe. Manipulating the Chieftain by rousing his own warband was not acceptable.

To not appear weak, he seized the narrative, "The scout gives us good information! This is the perfect time to attack them! To protect our women and kids from the threat of subjugation! Who’s with me!”

The roar and hive of activity after that led Ridgedog and his warband to position themselves in bushes, just on either side of the clear trail that led directly to the Abyss fortress.

He split his forces into six groups – ten warriors each and appointed the most experienced of the group. Loyalty to him be damned, since this may be the last opportunity to fight for their freedom.

Waiting and crouching for a few hours was enough to fray the temper of the most patient man; luckily he spotted someone wearing the same brown uniform as his Chieftainess. However, these were men wearing a strange warbonnet that seemed to be made of polished sandstone and strange frames that protruded out from their eyes.

Ridgedog knocked an arrow to his bow which was copied by the rest of his men. Then with succinct timeliness, they all loosed their arrow.

It should’ve knocked at least ten of their quarries down. Yet he spotted that his arrow, aimed at the head of an unfortunate man, bounced off from their warbonnet.

All of his warriors’ aim was true as he savagely grinned when a high shriek reverberated across the forest. He saw a woman? A woman holding her neck to stem the blood flow caused by an arrow piercing her neck. Was this tribe so strapped in manpower that they were forcing their women to fight? Perhaps I was wrong to feel so threatened by them, Ridgedog mused.

It would take a few long seconds for him to regret thinking that. The eight other warriors, despite having an arrow pierced straight through their chests, moved with professional ease. They adjusted their eyepiece and pointed. Oh no.

“Everyone - get down now!”

Thousands of ear-bursting cracks erupted from their stone weapons; Ridgedog watched in dismay as he saw half of his warriors, who were too slow to heed his orders, fall to the ground with nary a whimper.

“What should we do now, leader?”

“We retreat to our elks and regroup with the others and counterattack.”

“But they’ll kill us all if we did that!”

Ridgedog was well aware of the dreadful consequence of his plan. Yet there was nothing else they could do. “We cannot give ground now. This is the narrowest path they’ll have to go. Once we give this up, they’ll be free to scatter and overwhelm us with their superior numbers. We attack and drive them off now, lest we get destroyed later on.” He lied. The tribe will most likely survive, but he won’t. Surviving Chieftains often don’t get the best hospitality.

His warriors mollified; they climbed their steed – careful to not cut themselves on their razor-sharp purple antlers. They fiddled with the saddle, and they were galloping and skirting the edge of the enemies’ frontlines.

They managed to rally three groups who played it smart by blindly shooting their arrows under cover of nature, whilst saddled atop their steed. “I must commend to anyone who thought of this. It’s a waste of arrows, but effective against their returning attacks.”

One gangly but hale warrior, barely older than him, puffed up their chest, “It was me, leader! Once we’ve regrouped with the rest, we should continue to do this till we deplete our arrows.”

He needed to know his name for later. Such talent should be firmly under his control. “So, so,” Ridgedog said affirmingly.

The tactic lost its effectiveness as the enemy arranged their wheeled wooden tents into a square. It wasn’t all bad news as they regrouped with the surviving groups. It seems his group took the most casualties. A fact that shamed him deeply before crushing and burying it deep within him.

“We should attack now leader! We’ll charge and trample their tents.”

We absolutely shouldn’t, you idiot! Our souls will get thundered away! His warriors beat their chests and started to war cry. And now their giving all their position away. “We’ll soften them up with arrows first. And as that man just said, we’ll engage in mounted melee once we’ve used up all our arrows,” Ridgedog placatingly said.

“My name is Hokahey, at your service my leader.” The warrior who showed such tactical acumen said.

“Well done, Hokahey. At least one is smart enough.” Three dozen people stared at him as if to dig a hole right through him. “Stop your gawking and loose your arrows! The stakes are our homes and land. We must win!”

Their arrows whistled, turning their square formation into a cactus.

At last, their arrows were depleted. “Should we charge now?!”

"It'll be a challenge to charge through them with our arrows sticking out. There's a greater chance we impale ourselves and our elk into it than the brown robes killing us,” Hokahey wonderfully explained.

Well done Hokahey! Hopefully, that’ll dissuade those idiots.

“Wait! Those brownies are sallying out! They’re being led by a child!”

Ridgedog's teeth ground together as that statement hit way too close to home. His uncles conspired against him because they thought he was a child. Many were duped and committed treason against him, against the wish of his unloving dead father.

Nevertheless, this was a fortuitous chance to attack, and he'll not be a moron and not seize this chance. “Ready your steeds, men! And charge - “

He didn’t even get the chance to finish his order as the enemy’s stone weapon thundered and spat some projectiles against them that splintered the barks of trees into a thousand pieces. Elks and men, alike, went down – red fluid pooling in a few places in their bodies.

When the thunder stopped, he peered over a drying and mossy log and saw a child, just a few years younger than him pointing that absurd weapon and downing his men. His warriors.

Enraged, he knocked an arrow and loosed it. That child should have a yellow fletched arrow sticking to his eye by now. But no. Instead, the child dodged with inhuman speed and caught it as the arrow was barely behind him. Ridgedog wasn’t sure whether he should feel insulted as the boy took the time to inspect the arrow.

It seems he wasn't the only one offended when two dozen of his remaining warband charged and instructed their steed to point their spiky antlers downwards.

The boy just sighed and exhaled then did something to his forearm armour. And with a blur, the boy threw his arrow straight into one of his men's shoulder – knocking him out cold.

In an instant, he was now holding a long version of that cursed weapon that his Chieftainess used against him.

He then pointed it causing Ridgedog to panic. Not wanting his remaining warband to disintegrate, he took out the black stone weapon, aimed and pressed the lever. The bang which tickled his ears every single time, would take time to get used to.

Unfortunately, he missed whatever the thing threw out but it was enough for the boy to only take out half of his warband. The other dozen ploughed through, sometimes jumping high enough to avoid the antlers. He celebrated that none of them fell flat to the ground since those antlers were so brittle, that it often splintered into many pieces making the ground beneath unwalkable.

However, that much needed luck ran out when the other brown-robes joined in the cacophony of mutilating noises.

Whatever the fire spewed out, it left a spray of blood behind his warriors and their elk steeds.

How can you win against such monstrous weapons? Ridgedog despaired. We’ve lost. I’ve lost. Is that what you wanted father? For your son, who you put so much hope into, to lead his very first raid into a far superior enemy. It was humorous in a way. He would be laughing if it didn’t mean his life would be cut short. And he preferred to live.

Another scene shocked him as the boy jumped and landed into one of the surviving elks. The bull kicked and bucked to no avail. He would probably die which was a small consolation for Ridgedog. At least the boy wouldn’t be alive anymore to terrorise his people.

His expectations weren’t met as the raven-haired kid stayed on until the bull exhausted itself. He then fiddled with his forearm’s brown vambrace and as if the spirits themselves gave him the ability to tame, the bull instantly calmed down and responded to the boy’s orders.

The child didn’t waste time as he equipped the weird eye frames, similar to the enemies who gunned down half of his men earlier. Ridgedog flinched when he gazed directly at him.

It was shameful to panic against a child, but there were exceptions. This child was a demon.

He had to get away. The Chieftain of the Ridgers climbed his elk and prompted it to gallop away. From his speed there was no way, he would get caught.

For the second time of the day, he was proved wrong. Just as he turned the corner, the boy sitting atop of steed he stole from his warriors, smiled at him and pointed that ghastly weapon.

It was truly over. Spirits save me. Spirits save my people!

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now that was an exercise in both trust and perseverance. I figured out that my pipboy worked similar to my dreams. The more I put in work to achieve a specific goal, I get rewarded. For my dreams, I get knowledge long lost as far as I am concerned. And for my pipboy, I get ‘points’ that I can use to increase the seven attributes.

I’ve only used it twice and they were agony to live through at least once. I felt my muscles burn when increasing my strength. It was a massive mercy when in the spur of the moment I increased my perception to +2 without pain.

It was heartening to know.

And when I saw those magnificent beasts charging from the treeline, I knew I wanted them. It wasn’t a matter of if but when.

Dispatching the primitive savages had to come first. Oh, wait. They weren't even a problem. I had to force myself to not kill all of them lest my troopers would think they were useless. I didn't want to lead people whose pride has been frayed by someone who’s nearly eleven. A recipe for disaster, otherwise.

I regretted it almost immediately when I saw a dozen beasts die, blood pouring out from the bullet wounds. Tempting it may be to berate my soldiers, in the end, it was my fault for not communicating what I wanted. That didn’t stop me from internally calling them all buffoons for killing such gracious creatures.

Morbid curiosity made me stare and examine a few of the reindeers who crumpled and fell antlers first, which shattered like glass. One of the purple shards grazed his ear. The minor sting prompted me to cup my ears and noticed it was bleeding.

Very fascinating. What if we could make shrapnel grenades made of these? Can it pierce through steel? Questions ran through my mind making me impatient and frustrated at how I couldn’t answer most of it.

The scientists President Tandi promised along with specialised equipment, which managed to evade the Brotherhood of Steel’s eagle-like eyes, weren’t coming until I started to pump out raw materials. God knows how long that would take.

Thankfully, one of the deer-like creatures survived and zoned on me. If it weren’t for the world being slow, I would’ve panicked right about now. Bringing my pipboy up to my face I noticed I still had two more points left to spend. I gazed upon the violet antlered creature. I want that thing. I want that to be mine.

Knowing I wouldn’t just be able to jump on its back, I increased my agility and strength without any thought. You would think I would have learnt my lesson in increasing my attributes willy-nilly? Apparently not.

I felt, once again, my muscles reforming and in the process sending noxious stimuli to my brain which interpreted it as me dying even though I wasn’t! Come on brain! Be smart!

My stupid brain thought I was being boiled then immolated alive! It went for hours yet I knew it was only a fraction of a second in real life.

Perhaps I was too tunnel-visioned in making that animal be mine. Also, it may be due to complacency when increasing my perception attributes without excruciating consequences.

When I regained control of my transformed body, I jumped and somersaulted over the deer, avoiding its lethal antlers. I landed on the saddle and the poor thing whinnied and bucked with all its might. I held on for my dear life.

“You doin’ good, Leon! You should sign up for rodeo!” I heard Frank yell.

Once it tired itself down, I took my pipboy out again and swiped over to books that I’ve digitalised about taming wild brahmins and mustangs – hoping it would work for this animal.

I reached my hand over the reins attached to its bit and pulled firmly. Turning the deer’s head towards the right, making it relax immediately. I was lucky that the steed seemed trained in lateral flexion.

If the Ridger savages can tame creatures like this, maybe killing most of its male members – people most likely to become warriors and can train these effectively, would be a bad idea.

Satisfied, I patted the deer-like animal and teased its ear. Speaking of the animal, what should I name it? Bucephalus was quick to pop into my head. It felt right to call this worthy steed, Bucephalus.

I was distracted by a branch being snapped in twain. Another enemy it seems. No matter, time to finish this. I toggled the lenses of my heat-vision goggles and with my superior eyesight spotted the... Boy immediately.

It was a boy. Only a few years older than me. Was it a slave? I was about to call for him to show himself but he mounted another deer and ran off. “Wait! I can help you!”

I spurred my deer on and the sudden gallop nearly unhorsed me.

The control was non-existent since I barely controlled the rein, however, the creature felt my intent and drove me faster and faster until I cut off the young man. I know I had no right to call other people ‘young’ but when you get dreams like me where I’m an old man, reality seems to warp and distort itself.

The poor boy looked shell-shocked as he pulled a black pistol out. "Wait! I mean to help you!" I waved my hands over to my convoy, hoping it would convey my hospitality.

I only got a furious response in return with spittles flying close to me. Disgusting. Stop that at once. Julie is the only one I can tolerate doing that!

VATS activated, and the world turned to a crawl, I got my service rifle and shot the pistol away from his hand. “Sorry, lad. Just wanted to be careful. Now come along. And control that steed of yours.” I turned my back around and waved my arms to my compatriots. “We can help you.” And by the way, where’s Joshua? Surely, he can decipher what he’s saying.

Noticing I was eroding his apprehensiveness, I ‘signalled’ to Bucephalus to turn around. I turned around once again and celebrated when he was following me.

It’s a shame how much hesitance and fear he showed when I cut him off. I hope we can heal him from his trauma. I shook my head and focused on the fact that another slave was emancipated.

I’m doing God’s work and fulfilling my duty as a citizen of the New Californian Republic!