There had been a lot to unpack for the young man. First was the realization that the three not-quite-human women were now bound to him, as the slave contracts would transfer ownership to the person who killed the previous owner. At first, he thought it was a stupid stipulation to have in a contract. "Why would any sane person put that in as a clause?" It would just lead to greedy people doing stupid things. After a bit more thought, however, he realized it wasn’t for the master but for the slaves. It gave people or persons a reason not to kill the enslaved, as with the change, they could not reveal anything the new owner wanted to keep quiet. “Just how messed up a world is this that such a clause would be needed?” he muttered to himself.
Second was the realization that he could and did remember his past and was strong enough to handle it, while at the same time realizing he was stronger than a normal person should be. He hadn’t really paid much attention to his physical changes after his initial look. Judging from the previous fight, he felt quicker and stronger than before. Of course, just a few days ago, he was pushing close to 80. So, it made sense in one respect; however, he still felt his improvements were a bit above what they should be. ‘Maybe the lightning forged my body as well as my… soul?’ he thought to himself.
Sighing and looking over to the small pond, he saw the three now-clothed women talking quietly and fishing with some string and sticks pulled from the weird storage/space/ring thing the dead guy had kept their possessions in. It had contained some bedding, food, and some odds and ends like the makeshift fishing stuff. What it had not contained were clothes for the women. Apparently, the sick bastard just made them walk around without, not even shoes. There had been balls of what might be wool yarn of different colors, as well as other textiles. The dead guy made his living by using his storage ring thing to transport goods from one place to another, as well as whoring out his slaves. The young man shook his head in disgust. “What the hell kind of place did the bird bring me to?”
Still, that had turned out to be a boon of sorts. Taking one of the smaller claws from his pack, he carved a small piece of wood into a crude crochet hook. He then grabbed one of the balls of yarn and eyed the first woman thoughtfully, then began to make extra-long shirts that could double for dresses of sorts. He steadfastly refused to cry as doing this brought back images of him learning how to crochet from his father and of him teaching his own kids… yeah, no crying.
By the time the three dresses were done, it was getting dark, and the women were fishing for dinner. So, he decided to stay here for the night. Going through the contents of the storage ring, which he was told what it was, he came across three slips of parchment, or was it hide? He had no clue, but he was surprised to see that even though it wasn’t written in English, he could understand the words. These parchments, it turns out, were the contracts for the women.
He wasn’t a good man, he knew this. Not with what the part of him that had been 2. He wasn’t a bad man either, though some would most likely argue the fact, after what he had done in the old world. “You can’t blame a cracked mirror for a faulty reflection,” he thought to himself. He decided then, that while he would remember the people and person he had been. He would not let it define him here, in this new world. There would be madness otherwise. With that thought, he read over the parchments, and knew what he could do, and what he could not.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
Standing and moving to the fire, with the contracts in hand, he stared into the fire for a few minutes. “I can’t free you from these contracts, only the original owner can do that. These parchments are enchanted...” he paused wondering if that was the correct word. “…To allow new owners to make changes but to not free you. Something about the death of the first owner removing the mark needed to free someone.” He stopped speaking and looked at the three not-quite-human women and saw sadness and resignation on their faces. “Even if I were to destroy the parchments, the last orders given would be permanent, and without being able to change them, that would eventually lead to your deaths.” He shook his head and looked around the clearing. “I’ll see if I can figure something out.”
Absently picking at the fish one of the Not quite… No women, just women, gave him, he continued to read and re-read the contracts. Looking for anything that may free the women from servitude. It looked like he could take them to the Slavers Guild, “Of course there is a Slavers Guild,” he thought to himself. As long as he had the parchments, he could pay to have himself added as the TRUE owner and then he could free them. The problem was, the cost seemed to be ten times the original cost of the slave contract, and there was a chance of failure, ending with the death of the slave. “What a truly messed up world,” he mumbled to himself. Sighing he turned his gaze to the now sleeping women, then to the sky realizing it was pretty late.
Turning to the fire, he got up and tended it, then stood staring at the flames lost in thought. Watching the burning logs as the flames danced and consumed the wood, he was transported back to better memories, camping with his family, sitting down at the table for dinner, pulled out of bed on Saturday morning, way too early so his kids could watch their favorite cartoons with him. He smiled at those memories, he would sit half asleep, while his brood of 4 would pile on and around him to settle in for several hours of Saturday morning cartoon hijinks. It was their way of showing him they loved him, and they missed him when he was on deployments. So, he would just smile and let it happen.
Standing there now, in a new world, tears came again. Good tears this time, though one could argue all tears were good, though it may not seem like it at the time. A soft chuckle rumbled out of his mouth as he remembered some of the shows his kids would watch with belief and wonder. Then the chuckle stopped in his throat, as his mind latched onto something. Something so stupid, childlike, and improbable, that it just might work. Shaking his head he almost discarded the idea, Cartoon logic wasn’t real logic, it was just set up to keep things simple and wrap up things in a nice bow that the kids could kind of, sort of, understand. Still there was something about it that he just couldn’t deny. Grinning like a madman, and perhaps he was, for all he knew he could be in an asylum somewhere or still on the streets having another blackout. This whole place and situation could just be a dream or delusion. His old and tired mind just giving up and embracing fantasy. Still, he didn’t believe that was the case, and would go on thinking this was real. After all, if it wasn’t real he could still live the way he thought he should until the dream ended. Not unlike life itself.
Grabbing the three parchments, he stood still, watching the fire, and thinking. Then after not a little bit of stillness, he began to give the final orders to the sleeping women. The Magic or whatever of the contract would enforce them regardless of whether they were awake or not. Once the orders were given, he waited for a few heartbeats, then tossed the parchments into the flames. They burst into sparks and light sending a pressure wave out and pushing him back a step or two. Then the wave hit the women, which of course woke them up. Listening to them, he noticed a change in tone and inflection. When the green-skinned one yelled at him, asking what the hell just happened, without any of the “Master this” nonsense or deference she showed earlier, he just smiled wide and muttered, “Cartoon logic for the win.”