Otis had barely heard the mages clasp hands in agreement, through the chaotic drum of his heart. He was disoriented, dizzy, and confused. Pulling his thoughts together after being inspected, he felt exposed, violated. As unfamiliar as he was with the world of mana, it was clear that the jaundiced man wanted to inspect his wares. His mind had been scoured for every trace of valuable information.
Eros had left soon after the two mages had struck a deal, disappearing with a loud crack. As a cloud of torn space enveloped his kidnapper, Otis was keenly aware that his only escape also vanished. He was trapped, in whatever new hell awaited him.
“Come now.”
A playful severity laced the man’s voice as he seized hold of the still-paralysed Otis. An invisible grasp covered his immobile body before raising him off the ground. Still staring at the ceiling, Otis’ limbs hung limply. Drifting, uncontrollably he couldn’t fight the tears. Taken against his will, the overwhelming evidence of his powerlessness was suffocating. Made to suffer another humiliation, when would he be able to stand on his own? When would he be left alone?
The booming sounds of crowds and screams interspersed the darkness of Otis’ exhaustion as he was transported through the halls of his capture. Although his perspective was limited, the deep scars that scored the walls were never-ending. Soldiers of unidentifiable sex and species patrolled the halls. They varied in size and shape. Some were even quadrupeds and others were arthropods. Tails, spines, all manner of skins, the only constant was the armour. Unlike the light armour predominantly worn in The Veil, heavy black metals formed the base for golden highlights. The highlights formed bands, shields, blades, and intricate designs that varied depending on the soldier. Unique to each guard, each design drew his attention to their most fearsome attributes.
“Home sweet home, boy.”
The mage’s voice disturbed Otis from his thoughts. Straining his eyes upwards, a soft hum grew louder as a blue hue grew brighter.
CHUNK
Flanked by guards, now, Otis floated through the thickest set of doors he’d ever seen. The deep hum was now a deafening thrum as he floated through as the Mana grew evermore dense. Small pale wisps visibly floated before his eyes as he drifted. It was beautiful and haunting; what level had the creator behind these gates been, exactly?
A din of loud clattering could be heard behind him as the doors began to crunch their way closed again but nothing else was said. Whatever fate he had been condemned needed no more introduction it seemed.
CUNK
Otis fell into the dirt the moment the doors shut, his back slammed into the dirt.
“Huuuuuh,” a sharp breath forced its way into his lungs, as control fought its way back into his limbs.
—————————————————
Watching Otis Chow down, Suzia had been reminded of how close the line was between teacher and healer. Given the state of The Veil, the pressure on its healers, and the devastation wrought from the last attack, it wasn’t surprising that a toll was taken. War fatigue affected the psyche, as few things could, but in these few moments, she allowed herself to reminisce. Compared to the years of accumulated stress it was a glimmer of what used to be. Nonetheless, the lines that graced her forehead relaxed slightly.
Unaccustomed to the world in which he found himself and the dour expectations of his reality, Otis was a spectacle that intrigued her. Exploration often provoked unintended consequences and Otis could do nothing but explore. Watching someone so enamoured with the world that she had become so accustomed was humbling. It was a simple joy that she cherished.
Immersed within a healing light, a bounce to her step returned.
Flesh warped and twisted. Bone snapped and righted. Blood poured and ebbed back to the veins from which it had flowed. The scale of injury and gore witnessed by the healers was perhaps only rivalled by the Knights themselves. It felt like a sick contradiction that those who wanted to help cure the world of violence and suffering would be subjected to such sights but every gift had its price. Having been able to fix Otis up with a bowl of soup was a novelty.
“NOOOO!”
A roar reverberated through the walls. Suzia was no stranger to cries of agony but this was anguish. This was loss.
“Stay here! Jyorna, you’re on triage. Get ready.”
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Bracing for the trauma to follow, Suzia felt her earlier calm evaporate. The interior walls visibly warped about her as she willed The Veil’s enchantments to take her to the centre of the shout. It was nostalgic to guide Otis slowly but the violent swirling mana, that allowed for near-instantaneous travel was much more practical in emergencies and it had been decades since she had been too vulnerable to withstand the effects of the current.
Eyes glowing green and hands at the ready, the healer stepped through the final stretch of the void. For a moment, she was stunned. She hadn’t expected to appear before the Smithy. Usually, it would be the recon teams or one of the Knights’ troops returning that would garner such a reaction and summon her talents.
As she stepped out from the void, high-ranking Veil members began to materialise beside her, stepping out from previously non-existent entrances. Only high-level entities would be able to face anyone capable of infiltrating these walls. Tens of the finest Knights in The Veil stood posed in front of Suzia, obscuring what had caused the commotion.
Haekril, the impromptu leader within the smithy, stood in front of the crowd. His usually deep-set scowl now buried deep troughs, his eyes clenched with rage.
“He was taken,” Haekril ground out, in response to a question Suzia had been too late to hear.
“Wh-”
“The boy! Our boy.”
Haekril cut the commanding Knight off before he could finish. He was too tired, too incensed, to listen to the commander. The hoarse grit of his voice reverberated about the silent passage. The aura of grief seemed to physically press down on the blacksmiths. They were exhausted and hurting. Haekril stood at the front of the crowd, as the first to charge towards the commotion. His usually intense scowl now etched deep furrows through the man’s face.
“Our new blood,” he croaked.
Haekril threw a palm into the nearby wall, exasperated. Typically thought of as an ancillary service to the rest of the sect, the raw strength of forge masters was often forgotten. The walls quaked against the low-effort slap. It was rare to see the men in the infirmary but the action reminded Suzia that these men were gentle mountains that shouldn’t be provoked unduly.
Stooping out of sight, a light scraping noise sounded before Haekril righted himself.
Suzia Bulked at the sight. Pressed between the forgemaster’s giant fingers a bloody dagger glinted. How could she not recognise the blade? It may have been the very one that had rested in her hand such a short time ago. How long had it been since she had seen him last? Ten minutes? Less than? Tears fell from her chin before she realised they had even started to roll.
“…from right under our noses!”
Haekril’s frustration was almost palpable. Red-faced and shaking the room felt hotter than it had a moment ago.
“…”
An infiltration was bad but to abduct such a resource was catastrophic. A newly awakened mage was invaluable. Simultaneously everyone understood the implications of such an event. It had to be someone within The Veil to have achieved such a feat. Exceptional individuals might be able to surpass the enchantments that kept the pocket dimension sealed away but these people would have no use for Otis, they were practically Gods to the members of this sect. This was an inside job and one that could imminently destroy the sect.
“This goes nowhere further,” the commander shouted, “we fight as one, till a culprit is found.”
It would do no good for the sect to be at each other's throats or to be wary of one another. Had there ever been a successful fighting force with such dissidence in its ranks? Suzia thought not. This would remain a secret for the sake of the sect but that didn't make the tears flow any less force.
—————————————————
“Fuck.”
He hadn’t noticed it before but despite the migraine, it was his hand that grew progressively more sore. Otis propped himself up against the door, a faint hum still audible.
What stretched out before him was vast. A cavernous expanse sprawled over the interior of some kind of cave system. The glow of bonfires and the gleam of orb light, drifting overhead, reflected like city lights in his eyes. A cave city where he had been all too literally and none too gently dropped. Distracting himself from the pain in his hand, it was the denizens of this place that caught Otis’ attention. Similarities were few and far between, as far as he could make out from a distance. The majority appeared to be bipedal but even then this was likely only just. There all manner of limbs, skins, spines, and hides. So many people… and things all living in one place. It didn’t make sense. What were they all doing here? Had everyone been captured? If they had what was the point of lumping them together? It didn't seem particularly productive, given the state of the place.
No definite answers prevailed but a cold frost enveloped him as he recalled the conversation between the jaundiced man and Eros. Had he been sold?
Frantically whipping his throbbing palm in front of him, Otis willed his stats to appear.
——————————————
Otis Manning (Class: N/A)
Level : 1
Clan/ Sect : [Slave of Fortune’s Favour]
——————————————
He was a slave.
The thought rattled around his mind. It stabbed his heart and throttled his lungs. Having been the “property” of The Veil and being formerly weren’t necessarily too different but it had felt more like a quid-pro-quo kind of system. This felt barbaric. It felt degrading. This brand didn’t hide behind euphemisms, bluster, or negotiation. This would be his life now. If history had taught him anything there would be no love lost for slaves.
Flitting his eyes about the cavern, it looked so much more damning than before. The smog from the bonfires, the stoop that his fellow captives held as they walked.
‘Where am I?’ Otis thought growing rapidly more panicked.
CRACK
It was only the jarring split of detritus that shocked him from his observations. Distracted, he hadn’t seen the three figures that were only metres from his outstretched legs.
Closest to him a jagged monstrosity of stone peered down, its expression difficult to read but inherently intimidating. The amber orbs embedded in its stone skull stared unflinchingly. Grating rock screeched as it loomed ever closer. Two more shadowy figures silhouetted in the shadows cast by the living rock.
“Hi.”