I really wanted to talk to Mixie, the person who insisted on saving my life not once but twice now, but something told me that would be a red flag. Instead, I was stuck walking with Andreen, who seemed to be in pain, having to substitute his usual long strides for short stubby ones. At least he was being considerate, even if his face grew longer and longer in his general disdain for the situation.
My status screen demanded my attention, as the rolling list of damage numbers and status effects all started jumbled together before finally settling one phrase-
You Leveled UP
And suddenly, relief and confusion seemed to mix together. On the one hand, I didn’t get my ass beat for nothing, though unlike in a video game, I never really got the euphoria you’re supposed to feel from leveling up. Even with five attribute points, the difference between me and the mind slaves or me and Andreen and probably his sister was too great to overcome with just one level. But that also leads me to another problem...am I worth XP? That man I killed early, naked, blind, and with his name changed to “slave,” was still considered human. That means if he wasn’t driven insane by a pseudo snake god, he would still be worth experience on death.
I glance at Andreen while thinking about this, thinking but doubting this scenario; what if, in desperation, Andreen needed 25 more XP to reach the next level, and he just had to kill one hill dwarf to push him over the edge? Would he do it? Well, I doubt he would like I noted before despite his abrasive attitude and blatant desire to shove me down the nearest chasm. Not sure why I assume that, but I do. But that has to be a problem because a society that shares a planet with giant bugs and snakes also built a massive prison. How can any society function when there are tangible benefits to killing another human being?
“Dwarf.” I look up at Andreen, who is staring down at me intently. “Where do you come from?”
Is this small talk, or is he trying to interrogate me? Should I lie? Well, I don’t have time to come up with a convincing lie so-
“I’m not from this...planet, or dimension or whatever you guys call it.”
There I said it, shocked faces or disbelieving faces should follow. But instead? Oh fuck, Andreen’s face doesn’t even move, and when I glance at Mixie, she seems content to remain quiet and uninvolved. Not at all what I expected, a thought that carries as Andreen clears his throat to speak. “So you’re plane-dropped.”
Ok, so I’m confused and now worried, “What?!”
He shakes his head and looks to Mixie, who shrugs. “Planes-dropped. I guess that’s only an elven term. When you arrive in this world from another, usually via divine intervention though some beings intentionally come here.”
“Though it’s been several hundred years since a dwarf has been planes-dropped, so this is...” Mixie’s face frowns, trying to find the word but finally settles on an appropriate phrasing, “Unfortunate.”
They both stop as they realize that in the midst of the conversation, I’ve found a nice section of wall to lean against amid my building mental breakdown. This can’t be the worst news I’ve heard, but something in the way she mulled over and picked the word ‘unfortunate’ reminds me of a little voice in my head.
“In any case,” the man elf breaks the silence, “you have two choices. Find your people, or stay with us—”
Mixie interrupts, “But he’ll only—” before Andreen gives her a look from the corner of his eyes that immediately shuts her up. I try not to leave my mouth hanging open as my hamster wheels begin to turn. Because I was wrong about those two, that’s not an expression you share between brother and sister. That was something you do to a subordinate. Which is to say... I don’t know what it should say or why I care in particular besides the growing obvious.
I have a shot.
Which is a dangerous assumption for many reasons but my overactive imagination and libido can wait. Andreen is—
“You don’t have to decide now, but at some point, assuming we survive, that is something you may want to consider.”
“What about humans?” Two pairs of slender eyebrows perk up. “Are there any around here?”
Mixie stares at me intensely for a brief moment, something I felt like the tingling sensation you get from grandma’s microwave, before she speaks, “You’re below the last human settlement on this continent.”
“There are no more humans?”
Her eyes narrow, and my spine seems to go from tingling to straight itching, “Why do you care?”
I gulp rather loudly and look to Andreen for support, but he is currently finding a rock more interesting. “Just asking, I literally got here... yesterday?”
Her features don’t ease up, the hint of avian in her face and body seem more pronounced as if I’m staring at a rather large bird of prey, and her skin seems to bristle, but then she relaxes all at once, and suddenly I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
“To catch up.” Her voice still crackles with an edge. “The humans stopped sending tribute hundreds of years ago and, unlike the rest of us, didn’t make any attempts to contact their plane of origin to secure more. The gods weren’t pleased, so to appease them, they started sending raiding parties to secure sacrifices in place of their quota.”
She takes a deep breath and then continues, “Wars were fought, atrocities committed, but the gods grew impatient and started taking the tributes for themselves.” She shudders as if she was there personally but grits her teeth. “When the dust settled, only a few holds outs remained between the races, but the humans... well their mighty civilization was reduced to”—she pointed up—“and even that didn’t last long.”
“We should have taken the opportunity to wipe the remnants out, but we had our own problems,” Andreen added, and Mixie nodded.
I looked between the two of them, and then I started to wonder what exactly would happen if I had chosen to spawn as a human? Would they have saved me? Or lopped my head off just to be sure.
“Do you have humans on your plane of origin?” Mixie begins and then sighs, “I’m sorry for...my outburst.”
I swallow, something I realize I’m doing a lot, but honestly, a nervous tick or two isn’t too bad when faced with a woman, who I can reasonably assume, can rip my head off and beat me with it, “... Yes, yes we do...”
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She nods, and her partner nods. And they start walking with something unsaid between the two of them that I barely missed that I really want to know.
They need you, apparently.
Good thing to know that being born the wrong race can trigger a hundreds of years old blood feud. I guess they never heard of Martin Luther King here. So I follow, in silence, not wanting to know why they ‘need me’ but also not wanting to ask. If it’s terrifying, I’ll simply run, and one or both of them will break my legs and make me do it anyway. Dark, yes, but it doesn’t seem to be off-brand. They’re warriors sent to rescue their people against an evil cult of bastards, and that’s before they were possessed. If I distract them or jeopardize their mission in any way, I’m dead. Simply put.
Are they aware of the Basilisk hiding down here? Or are they assuming it’s just humans, well, humaning?
“Do you know there’s a Basilisk down here?” I say in a squeak as we try to climb up the abrupt rock face of the caves insides.
“Yes,” replies Mixie, who, like Andreen, is making it up the cliff effortlessly.
“Do you have a plan to kill it?”
Andreen looks down and shrugs. “No.”
We make it over the top, which has us low crawling due to the lack of ceiling. In this, I can at least keep up with the elves, but I start to wonder, considering the number of alternative paths and turns we took, if this was intentional.
I soon realize it was. Looking down, I see a small village worth of people with us positioned overhead and hopefully beyond the notice of any guards. Seeing the elves in this collective, I can clearly see the avian inspiration in the children, their small bodies resembling fat baby chicks, only to lean out and become tall and lean and muscular as adults. I see Andreen’s mouth curl into an unnatural grimace while Mixie’s eyes remain laser-focused on the task at hand. So I go back to surveying the situation and realize something is terribly off.
The men are clearly noticeable, from young boys to adults. They are all trapped in a giant metal cage a story off the ground, all stripped down to their underwear and none of them looking healthy. They all have bruises, but they also looked... tortured? Yes, that’s the word, their bruises are visible even from up here, but they also have limps and arms so broken they dangle uselessly, and some are even missing hands and feet.
If I got closer, I’m sure I’d see more specific brands of torture that I’d rather not think about as anything they’ve suffered through would have happened to me. Then there are the kids who look unhurt, yes, but they are all in the bottom of dug pits where barely any light penetrates, and they are overcrowded. In fact, there are five of these big holes, some more crowded than ever, with the small children outnumbering the men and teenagers in their large metal cages two to one.
Again I glance at Andreen and Mixie but keep my mouth shut because if I say the obvious and think about the implications... I instead focus on the guards. They aren’t really guards, just men sitting or laying down, not paying attention to the giant cage of grown men. Only one guy seems semi-alert, and he is by the control mechanism. Insane? Yes. Able to build a giant pulley system for future captives? Also yes. But there are twelve of them, and they are all big and burly, and Identity summarizes their HP, Stamina, and Mana to be roughly the same amount as each other, which, come to think of it, should be weird, but I’m rolling with it.
I’ve seen Legolas chop someone’s head off like an orc during the battle of Gondor. Surely twelve guys shouldn’t be a problem, and god knows what Mixie can do. I give them both a third and now a more detailed look. First thing to notice is the armor; a simple and functional piece composed of layered mats of leather and lined with small bristles of fur along the shoulders. Probably to denote them as hunters as well as warriors. Their outfits aren’t form-fitting, but not unflattering either. Andreen’s frame is lean and powerful, and he carries twin swords that are slightly curved and a little wide at the tip, while Mixie carries no weapons with the only noticeable difference between their gear being a tiny skull hanging off her belt from a creature I don’t recognize. Her body forms a natural albeit small S that belies a womanly figure that is still clearly athletic. My mind begged me to let Identify view her stats but resisted its pleas.
But even giving them god knows how many once overs and being saved by them twice, there is still something unnerving about the elves. Like someone tried really hard to make a human but didn’t use an ape as a ‘base,’ so they just stretched and stretched till you meet this walking uncanny valley. If I blinked, I would think their long noses were more like beaks, and their short but pointed ears seem more like an evolutionary compromise. And if I look even closer their skin—
“Hey, we’re going down.”
Broken out of my trance, I can only reply, “Huh?”
Andreen shakes his head. “We need you to get their attention. You’re clearly a spell caster. What spells do you have?”
If he wasn’t trying to save his people, I’d find him rude. “Cause Fear, Cold Extremities, Frost Armor.”
Andreen looks at Mixie and then back at me, his facial expression saying, “That’s it?” before shrugging. “Try not to die.”
And then grabs me and throws me to the mob below.
***********
Character Sheet
Name: Mike Sammons
Race: Dwarf
Origin : Hills
Stats : Level 8
Strength : 11
Dexterity : 7
Intelligence : 14
Wisdom : 12
Constitution : 12
Charisma: 1
Bonus Stat Luck: 19
Bonus Stat Perception: 1
UnAllocated Points : 5
UnAllocated Class Points : 1
Character Status
Health : 88/104
Stamina : 56/56
Mana : 87/130
Conditions : Curse of Grave Water - Partial Resistance (You have extended the time until insanity takes your mind, body, and soul. Use it wisely.)
Class Sheet
Class : Necromancer (Wizard Lv_5) (Cleric Lv_2)
Spells Book : Tome of Mike
Cold Extremities_Lv 3:: Active Spell_Cost 14 Mana_ 1 Second Cooldown_You remove the warmth from things you touch. Deal 26 Cold Damage per second with a 25% chance of causing Chill and Frostbite. Lose 3 health per second the longer this ability is active. You can activate this ability on each extremity. Scales with Intelligence and Constitution.
Frost Armor. _Lv 3:: Active Spell_Cost 25 Mana_ 5 Second Cooldown_ Give a protective layer of Ice on a target object or creature you touch. Target gains 117 points of Elemental Armor however they lose 3 Stamina per second. Has a 50% chance of applying Chill and a 15% chance of applying Frostbite to Melee attackers. Scales with Intelligence and Wisdom.
Cause Fear. _Lv 1:: Active Spell _ Cost 10 Mana_ 3 second Cooldown_ Your perceived combat prowess has allowed you to manipulate the hidden Stat Will. Enemies you target within a short cone are forced to reconsider attacking you and have a 20% chance of being effected by Terror. Scales with Wisdom and Charisma.
Passive Skills
Identify Lv 2 :: Allows you to see the first page of a Character Stat sheet. At second level you can perceive details of monsters by knowing their name. Glossary is unlocked.
Reduced Spell Cost Lv 1 :: Spells you cast cost 5 Mana less.
FrostBorn :: You have an increased chance of applying FrostBite and Chill. Also anytime you apply FrostBite or Chill to a target above 3x stacks gain 1 Health, 1 Stamina, and 3 Mana.
Extended Touch Range :: Spells in touch range can either remain touch spells or shoot out in a straight line for 1 meter (about the size of a baseball bat).
Multicast :: Reduce the effectiveness of a spell by 40% to increase the number of times that spell is cast by 2 at no additional cost.
Resist Disease :: You have achieved a greater than normal resistance to biological agents like diseases and toxins. You gain XP once foreign ailments have been overcome.
Resist Curse :: You possess a supernatural resistance to the effect of Curses. You gain XP from breaking curses.