Still shackled at the hands and hobbled, I slowly made my way to the group of slaves huddled on the packed earth eating their evening meal, my escort following me halfway. With my eyes downcast, the slaves would occasionally steal hesitant glances in my direction before continuing with their meals. However, a small youth held my gaze for longer than the others, his features conflicted with warring emotions before snorting and returning to his meal.
Approaching a small trestle table stacked half full of crude chipped earthenware bowls and rough wooden spoons, I saw a cauldron filled with a thick, gruel-like paste being overseen by a world-weary old crone of a woman. The scene before me gave the impression of a witch boiling up a new concoction, but my stomach rumbled, and I found the smell of cooking food inviting. I shuffled forward, grabbed a bowl and spoon, and greeted the old woman.
“Good day to you, madam,” I said in a neutral, polite voice. However, I was met with a cackle that only solidified my original impression of her.
“Not a madam, just little old Adita,” she managed to utter between cackles. “You're the lad they speak of who survived the Winnowing and did that giant Harun in for looking at you funny, they say. Here, give me your bowl if you want some food. Give you a little extra too, for cutting the thread of one of the little masters.”
I handed her my bowl, a little hesitant, timidly asking, “Why am I even still alive?”
She grunted, “They can’t kill you, boy. Least, not directly anyways by their own hands. You sure ain’t made any friends though, that young pup was probably someone’s get. Still, you survived the trial on the sands. In their reckoning, you are now a blooded warrior and member of their tribe,” she cackled before continuing, “A lifetime in the mine will break you. Seen it too many times before. The masters be a practical lot, you’ll be paying the blood price one way or another,” she punctuated her explanation by dolloping two ladles of slop into my bowl, before spitting a huge wad of phlegm into the fire.
“Thank you for the food,” I humbly replied, the words sticking a little in my throat at the simple display of common human kindness.
I went to sit alone in a quiet corner. Sitting cross-legged, I made sure to eat slowly. I had already experienced extreme hunger once before, so I knew the importance of allowing my digestion to adjust to the new food. My mind wandered as I ate, considering the potential bacteria and other biological dangers that just existing in this new world posed. But between my magic, the recent potion, and my relatively high Constitution, I had yet to feel any of the ill effects from this world's smaller denizens.
Before I knew it, and despite trying to eat slowly, I had finished my crude yet filling meal. About a dozen meters away, a thin streamlet flowed across a crack in the rock before running down into a grate, similar to what I had seen when I entered the compound. I bent down to wash my earthenware bowl and wooden spoon with my hands before noticing a slightly familiar face, dark eyes looking intently at me.
“Did you really kill Harun?” the young boy asked in a voice with quiet childish determination.
Blinking a few times at the sudden question, I looked up at him quizzically, surprise etched into the lines of my face.
“Harun the Iron? They say you killed him because you're a murderer. They put the slave mark on you for killing one of your own, a kinslayer. They say you killed him because you think that even here in pens, you're still a master,” the boy continued, speaking like a judge reading out a sentence and already convinced of his own justice.
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So surprised was I by how irresponsibly rumors had twisted the truth, I could offer no solid defense to his accusations. The boy noticed the dawning understanding in my eye and mistook it for acceptance of his words, causing his chin to quiver slightly with repressed emotion as he continued relentlessly.
"My name is Gunne, son of Gudlaug, and I will have my vengeance," he said, looking me in the eyes with his fists clenched in anger.
An apology that was rising as an automatic reflex reaction was suddenly stymied by his pronouncement of revenge. This whole world had offered enough suffering and pain for three lifetimes, and the only kindness I had received so far was from some sort of cooking witch who hated our masters more than she hated me. What should have been guilt was replaced by anger and scorn.
“He died like a sow in heat being plowed by horse,” I spat out, making sure to thread disdain through my words. Although somewhat random, the collection of insults felt fitting and inventive in this context. "I am Gilgamesh, and you'll die as he did, sniveling and crying for the comfort of your mother. You are nothing but an N-P-C."
I emphasized each syllable of the last word deliberately and slowly, laced with whatever icy threat I could muster, though I doubted he understood the meaning.
Slowly rising, I was glad to notice that his eyes had widened a little in fear. Standing, I looked at him, seeing now nothing but a scared boy who had dared to challenge a killer. He almost fell back then as he turned to run, and some of the other slaves casting a few glances in our direction, whispered among themselves. A seed of darkness had been planted within me then and it felt satisfying to have sown fear rather than to have been subjected to it. It was empowering even to hold power over someone weaker than myself. For a moment, it had washed away the memories of the torment that I had suffered.
Looking around at the other slaves, I made sure to hold their eyes just long enough to show strength, but not long enough to provoke a challenge. I returned to finish my chore. Once done, I moved slowly back towards Adita and handed her my now clean utensils, to which she gave me a short nod of appreciation.
The others, sensing that there would be no similar entertainment this night, followed suit before slowly drifting off towards a crude flat-roofed building. It resembled a sort of stable for housing a large number of animals. A single wooden entrance and crude shutters were the only decorations on its front facade.
Following a herd instinct, I made my way to the tail end of the group and accompanied them inside. It was dark inside with the lack of lighting, but I could still make out crude wooden pallets at certain intervals on a hard-packed earthen floor. Some of the slaves had already claimed their spots, but I hazarded a rough guess that there was at least one free space today.
I settled down on a simple crude pallet a little way from the corner. Remembering that I had enough mana for healing, I took the time to cast a Heal silently amid the flatulence, snores, and myriad noises that humans make in a packed space near one another. Grinning to myself, I noticed that the strength of my spell had increased significantly and was now healing me for just over a third of my total health.
Health: 90/105
Stamina: 22/41
Mana: 1/11
This reaffirmed my decision to focus my points instead of trying to be a jack-of-all-trades. While I began to plan for my near future, exhaustion stole upon me, and I fell into a deep and troubled sleep. At least tonight I would hopefully know some measure of peace.