When the ever-creeping ice drifts further to the south, the inhabitants of the North have come to dread the arrival of what they call the 'Time of Trials'. It is a period marked by an unforgiving cold that drives the fearsome tribes to become more aggressive in their bid to keep their hold on power and resources.

The barbarians, with their unrelenting will and superior battle skills, embark on raids against neighboring tribes. When successful, they take their defeated enemies as slaves and sell them into bondage. But when defeat befalls them, they resort to a brutal custom: they sell their own excess children into slavery to make up for their losses.

This is a time of hardship and struggle for these people, as they are forced to adapt to the harsh conditions of their environment and the ruthless demands of their own society. But amidst the chaos and violence, there is also a fierce spirit of resilience and determination that has kept them alive for generations.

- The Fanciful Travels by Beron de Laney 376 AC.

A shockingly cold splash hit my bruised and battered body, jolting me from my exhausted slumber. My eyes were heavy, and they refused to open until a sharp slap stung my left cheek. I saw that a large iron collar had been fitted around my neck, and through my partially open eyes, I noticed Degei, the Overseer, looking down his nose at me with disdain. Two tall guards, carrying cudgels, flanked him, adding to his air of authority. With a sigh, the weedy man began to explain my new situation.

“You are the most troublesome bilge-rat of an outlander. That Nord you killed was a good worker, and it will reflect poorly on our quotas. Good slaves are hard to replace!” Degei exclaimed, punctuating his statement by lightly slapping me, as if disciplining a dog. “Though he was a bit of a troublemaker himself… but I digress. As a survivor of the Winnowing, I knew you would give me a net full of troubles, but right on your first day!” he cried, clearly exasperated.

The Slave Overseer took my silence as acknowledgment and continued in his educated voice, "This is a witchbound slave collar. If you cause trouble, you will feel pain. If you become lazy, you will feel greater pain. If you try to escape, you will feel agony until our Waveriders collect you. If you cause violence to a free man, you will die."

With this, he tilted my head back and forced a red liquid down my throat from a thin glass vial. The taste was somewhere between old socks and rotten cheese, with a surprisingly sweet undertone of cherry. I half-gagged down the foul concoction. My health, which had been hovering around fourteen, rose by twenty points as I felt a different, yet somehow familiar, warmth diffuse through my body. I realized I was being force-fed a healing potion. If this world was a game, it really was the work of a sick creator.

Degei raised the rest of the vial to my lips, but I unconsciously moved my face away from it.

He slapped me again before explaining, slowly and in a voice as cold and uncaring as a winter day, “These potions are valuable. Spill a single drop, and I will have you beaten within an inch of your life.” He pronounced each syllable with the finality of a prophet's last words. My eyes grew wide in fear, and I forced myself to nod in understanding.

The taste was, of course, horrible, and I almost coughed and gagged. However, this time, I welcomed the warmth that straightened my limbs and healed my broken muscles and bones. But it did nothing for my splintered soul.

“Good little bilge-rat,” he remarked, patting me across the cheek in some form of twisted affection.

A smile almost unconsciously formed across my face, such was my reaction to any show of positive emotion in this new world, however distorted. Something was definitely wrong with me, and I fought down the burgeoning feeling of gratitude. The rebellious part of myself, that part which had always hated the skewed system, refused to give in to the seeds of a pernicious, newly forming Stockholm Syndrome. While looking down to avoid meeting his eyes, wishing to hide the glimmer of rebellion they held, I quickly looked over my Status and character sheet.

STATUS

Calling: Gilgamesh Level 6 Acolyte of Avaria

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Strength: 18

Dexterity: 13

Constitution: 26

Intelligence: 16

Wisdom: 12

Charisma: 8

Luck: 13

SKILLS & PROFICIENCIES

Pain Nullification (lvl.1)

Power Strike (lvl.2)

Endure (lvl.2)

Stealth (lvl.1)

Rest (lvl.1)

Backstab (lvl.2)

Dodge (lvl.2)

Polearms (lvl.2)

Dual Wield (lvl.1)

Critical Hit Mastery (lvl.2)

Mining (lvl.1)

Unarmed Combat (lvl.3)

SPELLS & MAGIC

Heal (lvl.5)

Rust (lvl.1)

Identify (lvl.2)

Silent Casting (lvl.1)

GIFTS

Curse of Entropy: -20% all starting attributes.

Experience to next level: 810/991

Health: 54/105

Stamina: 12/41

Mana: 6/11

The healing potions had raised my Health to just over half, though my Stamina was still perilously low, and I could feel tiredness weighing down my limbs. I had the Mana for a healing spell, but something in my gut told me that it would not be wise to cast a healing spell in front of Degei, Silent Casting skill or not. The Overseer checked over my naked form, nodding at the requisite level of violence my torturers had used. His guards flanked him, solid and silent like two stone sentinels.

Patting my head like a good broken dog, he turned around and indicated for me to follow as his guards left the cell, both of them giving me looks that promised violence on a whim.

I lifted a manacled hand to shield myself from the light of two almost smokeless torches. Degei gave me a satisfied smile, like an owner that had trained a pet to do a new trick, and he pointed off down the way to a group of slaves huddled on the packed earth eating their evening repast.

“Go, outlander. Eat your meal. Tomorrow you will be working a double shift, no, triple shift!” His eyes lit up with glee before continuing. “Enjoy your new home and be a good boy!”