The world is a terrifying place; Shrouded Mountain, the Silent Moors, the Ice Meadows…there’s no end of deadly environments on Tsanderos. But never underestimate people. They’ll live anywhere. Seems to me that the worse a place is, the more dangerous the men and women that make it out are.
Grimmer the North came striding out of the Ice Meadows one day, and the Salazar Coast has been piss-scared of him ever since. Not much you can do to a man that’s worse than a childhood spent in freezing misery picking off the dead carcasses of waylaid ships.
That’s why the Sarhail nearly wiped us all out. They came out of the Southern Deltas, so deep that even the flies will kill a man. No surprise they kicked our arses. Is what it is, I suppose. Just be glad you live in the heartlands, hey boy? Means you’re unlikely to meet a man like that.
But if you ever do, run for the fucking hills, you hear me?
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Anyway, enough about that. Happy birthday, lad! I got you this little ball in a cup. You play it like this, see?
- Guard Captain Ischus Travail on his nephew’s 16th Colchet, circa .211
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My back ached and my legs were nearly cramping. It was time to change to position 5.
I rotated my body within the tight confines of the cage, stretching my legs to rest against the roof, dangling an arm out between the bars. The other I had to trap beneath my back in order to cushion it from the jolting impacts as the contraption rushed across the bumpy plain beneath me.
Francis – the only one in the four-man convoy that wasn’t pulling the cage-on-wheels I was trapped in, other than the scout roaming far off beyond sight, turned to face me as soon as I moved, and spoke in his monotonous voice.
“Keep your arms inside the cage.” That was it. No inflection, no gestures, the most emotionless man you’d ever meet.
“Oh come on Francis, you big bag of dicks. I’m squished in here like a fucking sardine! Give me a break.”
My reply, on the other hand, was full of nothing but emotion. It was day three of this charade and I was sick of it. I’d been given food and water along with the others as they ate, but I was watched at all times. They gave me a break from the cage every night to allow me to sleep, but I was shackled even then.
We made good time, much to my dismay, and with two of my captors pulling the cage, we had quickly left the desert behind on the first day. By now we were barrelling merrily through the plains eastwards alongside the foothills of the Dragon-Spine Mountains, and while my knowledge of the geography of this world was still shaky, it seemed to me that we were destined for one of the many seaside port towns littering the edge of the Shattered Sea.
It made sense that we wouldn’t be crossing the Dragon-Spines– far too easy for me to slip away when not confined to this ridiculous cage, not to mention far too dangerous to cross at my level, and theirs too I would wager. No, it was the coast for me it seemed, and likely a long sea voyage to the Sunset Kingdoms from there.
I had reluctantly settled into my current position as prisoner. I had rebelled against the idea for two nights, creating schemes each more hairbrained than the last, before I finally reached the point of acceptance. I was trapped, and there was precious little I could do about it.
I still felt the familiar rage bubble up every now and then, especially when my captors reinforced the hierarchy. ‘Keep your arms inside the cage’ and other ridiculous rules seemed more like a reminder of my helplessness than a real requirement – realistically, there was no chance of escaping. At this stage anyway.
What helped most was the discussion I had had with Nathlan a few days prior. Reading about the Breeze-Born rebellion in Colchet had inspired me to look for more. I’d asked him about other famous heroes, mythical figures and folk-tales, and Nathlan had lit up like a beacon.
We’d spent most of the afternoon talking, and he’d filled my little brain up with a multitude of heroic individuals; Markuth Breeze-born, Arakosh Wyrms-Bane, The Silence, Sythics Thrice-Blessed, Hazel of clan Zutesh, the Scarab King…the list was likely endless, with more would-be gods rising to challenge the heavens each era before being broken by their counterparts or the uncaring world around them.
The one that stood out though, was Sol D’Antereq. Not for any feat of greatness, but rather because her story gave context to my current situation. Her story presented two choices when the anger came; the first was to react. Let the rage leak out in a great display of violence, fight with all my worth against my captors and show them my defiance. I may not win, but I could make their lives hell. I could show them that I was not a mere rat to be captured and caged. I could make them bleed for their arrogance. This was the path of Altine’s hero.
Unfortunately, that would probably get me killed. Or so beaten and broken that I would spend the rest of the journey a shell of myself, and long-term my odds of escape would go down drastically. So the other option then; Accept my position. Swallow my rage and play along. I would still put up the token resistance expected of me, but I would harden my heart to the humiliation and discomfort and play the role of meek captive. Use the reprieve to stay as ready as possible, so that when the time comes, I could escape with as much of my former strength as possible.
It was an easy choice in theory, but I struggled in practice not to rage against the treatment. I’d never really had a temper in my old life, as far as I could recall. My rebirth in this new world, where my first few months were filled with life and death struggle, had certainly lent me a savage edge I’d never had before though and I struggled to keep it under control.
It seemed obvious in hindsight, given how my aura skill had become path-bound, echoing deep within my soul, reflecting a facet of my very being. But it really was surprising to me how much I struggled to put aside my pride and reflexive anger at these four captors.
At least they were cold and professional. One of the men had looked at me with a glint in his eye that had initially concerned me, but it turned out he was just a bit of a sadistic bastard, and once I’d decided to play my role, he seemed to settle down a bit more. The occasional hard kick in the ribs when I was sleeping was all I could expect from him now, which was a lot better than the alternative his hungry gaze had initially brought to mind.
I had no doubt now that I wouldn’t be harmed too badly – I was needed after all. No idea what for, but the leader had assured me that he knew of my ‘God-Touched’ title, and that was the cause of my capture. Therefore, ol’ wandering eye wouldn’t be allowed to take too many liberties with my confinement, lest he turn me from a begrudgingly cooperative captive to a belligerent and then likely dead one. Didn’t mean I wasn’t gonna kill him before I escaped though.
I allowed the thought to carry me pleasantly through another quarter of a bell in my current position before moving onto the sixth and final pose in my new cage-yoga routine. It kept me as limber as was possible in a small cage, and more importantly, gave me something to focus on. I had tried to meditate – draw on the mysterious forces of the world and bend them to my will, empowering myself beyond all mortal means. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to work like that, and without something to fight, my skills and levels would remain firmly in the middle of the 1st tier.
I itched to be free, to shed my shackles and face my captives at the end of my spear, but I suppressed the feeling as best I could. They surely out-levelled me but weren’t so strong they could disregard me completely – hence the whole cage and shackles routine. I could tell the leader, Francis, was of a different calibre to the others though, just by the way they all acted.
I hadn’t just spent the last three days complaining internally, I’d also been observing them and searching for anything I could glean about my captors. Three seemed to be a well-oiled machine, exchanging insults and banter freely and while I wouldn’t call them friends, the group dynamics certainly seemed to have some history behind them – even the clear apprehension that the two had for their friend ‘Sir Rib-Kicker’ as I had mentally dubbed him.
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The three all shared the common theme though of acting like they were in the presence of a superior officer when around Francis. Eager to follow his suggestions like orders, and unquestioning of his actual orders to a degree that showed they were not just paying him respect as a senior but genuinely frightened of his power. At least that was my read on it.
In summary, I could maybe take each of the three on their own – hard to know without seeing any of them fight – but would not have much hope against all three together, and that was still disregarding the real threat of Francis – likely in his 2nd tier if I had to put money on it.
So, patience. I repeated it like a mantra. Patience. Your time will come. Patience.
We were skirting the edge of the Dragon-Spine Mountains if my memories of Jorge’s geography lessons could be trusted. Of course, the continent-spanning mountain range didn’t just burst forth from the earth like – well, the spine of a titanic dragon. Like every good mountain range, it was ringed by smaller hills and rolling forests carpeting the transition from open plane to rugged terrain we couldn’t - or rather shouldn’t - cross.
It would be folly to try and escape deep into the mountains, as Jorge had heavily emphasised to me that there were parts of the world far too dangerous for me. Places where the creatures, and sometimes even plants and earth themselves, were far too powerful. Places where even a 4th tier warrior – those nigh-invincible gods – would struggle to survive.
The deep peaks and valleys of the Dragon-Spines were some of those places, and while there was less danger the further from the highest peaks you travelled, that was relative. Anywhere in the mountains-proper would be too deadly for anyone not already in their 2nd tier, and a strong one at that.
I could stick to the hills though. The lowlands, the rough meadows and rocky outcroppings, sticking deep into the forested valleys, and hiding my presence in the vast wilderness. While I did not fancy a fight with all three of the weaker captors, I had no such qualms about out-running them. They may even have movement skills, but my combination of strength, agility and endurance was high even for a warrior in the first tier, and I would back myself against any similarly levelled individual when it came to a chase through wild hills.
No, again it was that fuck Francis that I was concerned about. Any escape attempt would have to start with him distracted, and for long enough for me to get out of sight and lose myself among the trees. Probably longer, for I’d need to cover my tracks as well. I could see the edge of the forest on my left as we trundled along the packed earthen road, probably no more than a mile away. Less than a quarter-bell and I’d be hidden within tree-chocked valleys, beyond the reach of my captors.
So now I just needed the luck of the gods to shine down on me and drop a massive distraction in my lap. Great. More cage-yoga for the time being then.
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I tracked the heavy clouds as they rolled towards us from the mountains. Dark, foreboding, and full of promise, the storm-front swirled and scudded across the sky, wind leading the charge and whipping the hair from my face as I gazed at the horizon.
I tried my best to contain my vicious grin, but I needn’t have bothered. Francis had seen the storm just before I had and was busy shouting orders to the two idiots pulling my cage. The fourth and final member of the team – Sir Rib-Kicker himself – was out scouting, but I could see him returning from ahead already.
“Sven, Rank; get that fucking cart turned around! We’re heading to the forest. Now.” Francis’s commanding voice cut through the charged air, and the two bulky guards scrabbled to obey.
The speed at which the storm arrived was impressive, but also not unexpected given the mountainous environment. Weather changed quickly here, and while the locals would probably call this nothing but a quick shower, the heavy clouds and scything wind seemed more than a storm to me.
My captors clearly didn’t want to be out in the open plain either with this weather, and as I was finally wheeled under the cover of the forest canopy, I caught the first few impacts of fat raindrops on my head. I turned my face to the sky, eager to slake my thirst, knowing this may be the last chance I would get before my desperate escape.
As the team bustled around setting up their camp, I tried desperately to think of a suitable distraction. Ideally, I’d want to lure a creature here that could challenge Francis. Something powerful this close to the plain would be difficult to find, let alone lure out without arousing suspicion. I knew a few calls that could come in handy - mountain lion, bear, auroch, and a few species of birds – but I was liable to get my teeth kicked in if I started hooting in the middle of the camp.
Couldn’t be sound then, too obvious. Smell’s not really an option either, and taste was out. Sight then? But what could any creature see in this fucking forest? Anything I could do that they’d see would mean they were already here in the first place, and I currently saw no animal-shaped distractions happily swanning around the camp.
“Get a fire going – not too large, don’t want to draw unwanted attention. I need some hot food if I’ve got to sit through a thunderstorm. Will be good for the watch too. Get the kettle out Sven.”
“Right you are boss.”
I nearly laughed with relief. Smoke, that would do it. I just had to make the not-too-large fire into a definitely-too-large fire somehow. Smiling to myself internally, I settled back into the cage in position 3 and waited to be released.
It came no more than a bell later, my captors no doubt keen to get bedded down inside their canvas tents and out of the cold rain dripping through the canopy. I actually did let out a smile when I saw the sadistic one come to grab me, knowing he would give me more plausible deniability.
The cage door clanged as it opened, and a thick arm thrust its way in, grabbing a handful of my robes and pulling me roughly out. I fought back, acting affronted that I would be handled in such a manner, going so far as to spit at the burly man as I was pulled out of the iron crate-on-wheels. His reaction was swift and outsized, as I had hoped.
I was thrown bodily to the floor, a cacophony of swearing from the man as his boot sunk into my stomach. I groaned and flung myself in the air, not having to do much at all to simulate the movement, such was the force of his strike.
Unfortunately for him, I landed directly on the small cooking fire that Sven was nursing. I rolled, at first just trying to spread the fire to as much of the still-dry underbrush as possible. Within a few heartbeats though, the heat started to become noticeable and my act became a frantic scrabble to put out the flames clinging to my heavy cloak.
I eventually succeeded, although I’d left a nasty burn on the wolf’s fur cloak around my shoulder, and singed some of my hair, not to mention the reddened skin on my cheek that would likely develop into a proper burn soon. I barely looked up in time to block another hefty swing of a heavy boot coming at my face, and despite my hands shackled together, I diverted enough of the force to merely knock me on my back rather than break my nose outright.
“I’m gonna make you bleed for that, boy.” The sweaty face and greasy hair of Sir Rib-Kicker leered down at me as he lifted his foot again, intent in kicking my teeth in. He was shoved off by an equally red-faced Sven, who seemed just as pissed, although at his companion rather than me, thank all the gods.
“Fuck off Shavkat, you ruined my trousers! There goes our fucking tea too, ya scrub.” He bellowed, pushing the burly man again. Shavkat for his part seemed bewildered, gesturing wildly down at my prone form as he raged back at Sven.
“It was his fault! Idiot boy spat in my face, you think I’m gonna just let that slide!? And why are you pushing me, hm? Need me to remind you what happened last time a man got in my face like that?”
Sven blanched at that, and Shavkat took a menacing step forwards, hand dropping to the handle of a thick knife at his belt, clearly noticing the change in demeanour and relishing the fear he put in his companion.
For my part, I was bewildered as well. The burning red logs now scattered about the forest floor were catching in the underbrush. The wild grasses covering the plain were losing their grip on the land inside the forest, being replaced by carpets of mosses and pine needles, but given how close we were to the edge, the floor was still predominantly made up of tall yellow grasses.
Grasses which acted like kindling, twirling and dancing in the overcast twilight as they shared their eager flames with each other. I watched in awe as the fire spread, snaking through the camp and climbing up one of the tents and another of the trees by way of dried, mossy vines.
I gaped in amazement as I watched the two massive idiots argue and square off against the backdrop of their camp collapsing behind them, entirely unnoticed. Maybe they’ll even come to blows and I can sneak away right now?
“Oi! Get your asses back here and clean up that fucking fire before I put both of you in that cage with the little bastard.” Francis’s voice echoed around the clearing. No such luck then. The two arguing men abruptly stopped, no doubt hearing the anger in Francis’s words, if not his tone, and deciding to listen rather than face his wrath.
Rib-Kicker gave me a look that I’m ashamed to say made me flinch a little, and he curled his lip before spitting at me, his smirk promising retribution that I definitely didn’t want to be around to endure.
The flames were quickly stamped out, water thrown over the vines and tent, surrounding us with the sound of hissing and spitting for a few moments. Then, without much fanfare, the fire was put back together, the camp reorganised and the evening continued on as normal. I caught Francis watching me out the corner of my eye a few times, but he didn’t say anything, and for now seemed to buy the idea that I was a victim of circumstance rather than an instigator in the whole camp-on-fire oopsy we’d just experienced. Good.
I watched as smoke curled up and away from us, winding through the canopy and hopefully shining like a beacon in the sky above to mark our camp for every predator around. I certainly knew it was a risk, what with us being so close to the Dragon-Spines there could easily be a Cave-Bear or Rook or even one of the more fearsome apex predators like the Rakshasa around. That would push my plan from the ‘just about success’ category into the ‘firmly dead’ one. Nevertheless, I’d made my bed, and now it was time to lie in it.
Luckily for me, it was only a few bells later, when Rank was on watch and the embers had long since burned out, that I heard them. Rain spattered from leaves above, and wind howled quietly in the night when I heard the first growl.