Spies from the alliance and divine scrying showed that the mage-king was actually no king at all. In fact, he was seen to be more of a Steward and Servant of the people and was in fact chosen by the majority of them which was a concept that was so alien and foreign to the members of the alliance. The system of government was seen as preposterous for who would ever in their right mind allow the common man to dictate the rules of power above their station?

- On the Cataclysm by an unknown Quassian Scholar circa 103 AC.

Dark things plagued me in my dreams and stalked me through my own imagination. Sharp things pierce, stab, or bludgeon me while their cruel laughter echoes in my mind. Oily tentacles whisper raspy, sweet promises as they caress my cheek, only to wrap around my neck and suffocate me as they plunge down my throat. I awoke during the night several times, flailing my limbs against invisible assailants before I finally slipped into a deeper slumber.

A worker inadvertently banged against my wooden pallet, rousing me from the last vestiges of my unsettled sleep. The slaves moved in silence, akin to well-trained soldiers about to embark on a dawn raid. Glancing out at the open wooden entrance, still dark before the first light of rosy dawn, I saw them arrange themselves into passably neat columns and rows, watched by our overseers.

I quickly followed suit, not wanting to draw the ire of our masters or the promised pain of my new collar. As I rose, I noticed a few insect-like creatures with double thoraxes and large mandibles scuttling into safety from the stampede of humanity and disappearing into various holes and corners. They seemed vaguely familiar.

Making my way outside I noticed there was at least one positive; despite my disturbed sleep, I had fully regenerated all of my Status points.

Health: 105/105

Stamina: 41/41

Mana: 11/11

Falling into line, our slave drivers exhorted the benefits of hard work and the promise of pain to the lazy among us. However, they lacked the oratory skills and finesse of Hassan, the corpulent fat man who possessed a truly charismatic voice. Although we had been quite literally part of his captive audience, my attention had been drawn to him whenever he spoke. Listening to our slave drivers with only half an ear, I decided to cast Identify on my new collar.

Iron Slave Collar of Obedience

Durability 400/400

Something about the name of my slave collar niggled at my subconscious as we descended into the mine shafts to repeat the drudgery. During the day, while others along my line were rotated out and allowed a reprieve, I was compelled to continue working. I encountered Durhit again during my last shift, but I was so exhausted that I could barely manage a simple grunt in greeting.

So determined was I to avoid the promised pain from the collar that I practically assaulted the white rock. Throughout the day, I had carved great chunks from it with my growing Strength. I had made progress, gaining a single point in both Constitution and Strength. Fear had driven me so hard, and so good was my conditioning, that I had lost a few points of health as I had pushed my stamina to the limit from dawn till dusk. Although I did not make any gains in mining, which I did not care much for anyway, I still earned a nominal amount of experience for my level.

Taking my evening meal, Adita made sure to stack my bowl full. I sat quietly in a secluded corner. No one looked at me, and I took the time to review my character sheet.

STATUS

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Calling: Gilgamesh Level 6 Acolyte of Avaria

Strength: 19

Dexterity: 13

Constitution: 27

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: 830/991

Health: 87/109

Stamina: 7/43

Mana: 10/11

Good, I thought to myself. The increases in Health and Stamina were always welcome. Now that I was finally allowed a moment’s respite, my limbs felt like they were made of solid lead. As I watched the slaves go about their evening meal and chat among themselves, I heard a language that sounded similar to the one Navigator Olai first used when she was interviewing me.

It was much more musical and lilting, like a sing-song version of a Latin language. I sat back and cast a few Identify spells at the words, increasing my knowledge with every cast. I stopped after the ninth spell, unwilling to push myself to undergo what I had begun to term as ‘Mana Sickness.’ Through my spells, I gained a very crude understanding of the language and attained some basic knowledge of its grammar structure.

Distracted, I briefly touched my Iron Slave Collar of Obedience with a wandering finger and was met with a sharp stab of pain that ran along my spine and through my limbs like wild, unbridled lightning. I almost wretched up my evening meal, but my instinct to survive forced me to keep it down despite my eyes filling with tears. I could see that my Health had fallen by two points, which felt completely disproportionate to the agony I had been inflicted with.

The message was clear; I was not to touch the Iron Slave Collar of Obedience. The name of the heavy yoke around my neck, "Iron Slave Collar," stirred something in the depths of my mind. However, like a falling leaf that escapes your grasp the harder you try to catch it, the connection still eluded me.