Stick rushed over to PP, who was bleeding profusely.
“What happened?”
The big man lifted his hand from his belly. Blood seeped out in a steady stream, soaking his tunic and pooling around his waist, darkening the fabric to a deep crimson. The flesh around the wound was torn and ragged, exposing the underlying muscle tissue. Each breath PP took seemed to exacerbate the bleeding, the wound pulsating with every heartbeat, sending fresh rivulets of blood down his side. Without hesitation, Stick removed his new clothes and tied them around the wound. His shirt was barely long enough to tie a knot.
“Those things,” PP said in a weak voice.
Stick tightened the makeshift bandage around PP’s belly, the fine fabric of his new clothes now soaked in blood. He turned around to look at the creature lying stiff on the opposite side of the shaft. It was an unnervingly large insect… thing, its body a grotesque amalgamation of chitin and sinew, stretching over six feet in length. Its exoskeleton, a deep, iridescent black, reflected the scant light that penetrated the cave. Six powerful, spindly legs jutted out from its thorax, each ending in a wickedly sharp, clawed appendage. A greenish mess of brain matter and viscera was scattered across the ground where its head should have been. Along its back, two sets of translucent wings lay folded, twitching occasionally as if there were remnants of life still in them. What the fuck?
image [https://i.imgur.com/g9mtwiN.jpeg]
“There’s more,” PP grunted, sensing Stick’s rising terror.
“Stamos held them off until I raised the barrier,” PP said, pointing deeper into the cave. “One slipped through before I was finished.”
At the edge of the light cone, Stick made out a raised wooden wall cutting the cavern off from the deeper parts of the cave. Stick glanced at PP, his mind racing. His [LP] was slowly recovering from 0, making the bleeding stop. He checked the insectoid one last time, this time inspecting it. It was a [Skornix (dead)] and the rest of its Status was greyed out. Stamos must have killed it after it attacked PP. The thought of Stamos’s indifference gnawed at him. They must have known about this place. About those things.
"Let’s get you out of here," Stick said, pulling PP to his feet.
With a grunt of effort, Stick half-carried, half-dragged PP out of the dark, dank cave. The path was difficult to navigate without a torch, the air thick with the smell of damp earth. Luckily, the faint shimmers of the gems near the wooden tunnel guided him. When they reached the main part of the mine, Cadmun swiftly took over and helped the big man get out of the cave. He was unusually calm about the situation, reacting in a cold, professional manner, as if he knew what had happened.
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“Are there more of them? Will the Lords be safe?” the bald man asked, anticipating bad news.
“The barrier should hold for now. I don’t think that Stamos would have left it unsupervised otherwise.”
Cadmun nodded, relieved. They got out of the cave and headed for Reacher and Becket sitting under the canopy. Stamos was nowhere to be seen. Reacher, who looked like he had just finished his nap, confronted them.
“You’ve still got an hour. What’s the meaning of this?”
“He needs help!” Stick answered. “He got attacked by those insect things down there. The Skornix.”
Reacher looked confused towards Becket. “Skornix?”
But the Sword just raised his shoulders.
“I guess Stamos should know,” Reacher said. “Get back to work.”
PP’s bleeding had stopped for good, but the ordeal had left him weak and shaken.
“You need to do something!” Stick yelled. “He can’t make it back to camp like this.”
“What a waste of fine clothing then,” Becket simply replied.
What? But they’ve healed him before! He’s called the Prized Possession for fuck’s sake.
“You’re heartless!” Stick yelled louder than before.
The two knights stared at him, indifferent to his provocation. After a moment, Reacher clicked his tongue. He raised his hand and produced a bandage from his inventory, which he threw in front of Stick’s feet.
“Afterwards it’s back to work!” the Mace ordered.
He glanced over to Cadmun. “Sir Frost will go, but I’ll stay.”
Becket crossed his arms, but Stick insisted.
“Fine by me,” the Mace commented. “If you don’t turn in your quota, it’s less food for you.”
They laid PP down gently, and Stick watched as Cadmun changed the clothes with the fresh bandage, offering what little help he could. When Cadmun was done, he returned to the cave without saying a word. Stick sat down on the cold dirt near PP, watching his [LP] slowly regenerating back to full, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. The decision to join the Players haunted him. On one hand, accepting the offer would give him a fast track to level 25 and armour, something that could be used to protect the others. To prevent incidents like this from happening. He’d be down there in the cave with them, instead of sleeping by the fire outside. But the thought of his friends and fellow slaves continuing to live in their current squalid conditions made his stomach churn. As the hour wore on, he observed PP’s rising and falling chest for any abnormalities in his breathing’s rhythm. The weight of his decision pressed heavily on him. The luxury of the bath and the sumptuous meal seemed like distant memories, replaced by the harsh reality of their predicament. He knew he had to make a decision. And soon.
After that day’s haul was counted, Cadmun and Titor joined Stick and PP. Together, they managed to get the big man back to the safety of their encampment, where he laid down to rest once more. His thoughts clogged up every time he looked at the bloodied bandages. What should I do?
At dinner, he was so absent-minded that Cadmun had to come over to him after he failed to notice the man calling him over to the fireplace. He waived his serving, telling Cadmun to bring it to PP instead.
“You’re a good-natured Adventurer,” Cadmun said, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You’ll make a Great Hero one day.”
“What?” Stick replied, slowly getting back to reality. “You really think so?”
“Yes! Who knows? You might even be the Greatest,” Cadmun joked.
Stick’s posture straightened and a radiant smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. That night, as the camp settled into an uneasy sleep, he made his way to the Lords’ tent. He had made a decision. He was going to propose his plan and they were going to get out of there.