It was a stormy night, the first time it happened. Raging winds tore through the streets, whipping the windows with unending rain. The deluge was so thick, the streetlamps cast no light, if they had not yet already been snuffed out. For the unlucky souls still trapped outside, it was a fight against the elements across muddy roads to the nearest tavern, where they would hopefully not be turned away and they could warm their boots by the fires. That wasn’t even a guarantee anymore. These were troubling times. People had stopped trusting their communities, their neighbours. Their families.
Jamys Owle was one of these few stuck in the rain. He should never have been out this late, but the place he had planned on staying at had closed down in the last 3 weeks since he was here. Every other place refused to allow him to stay, and a few wouldn’t even let him in at all.
“Troubling times,” Jamys scoffed under his breath, echoing the latest excuse he was given. It seemed like his entire life, the Kingdom had been suffering from troubling times. The phrase had begun to lose all meaning to him. Jamys had travelled a fair distance in his time as a courier, and everywhere he went it was a similar story. Famine, inclement weather, unruly roads, even monsters. And talk of horrifying creatures taller than any castle lurking through the countryside, and the Varst that follow. Inky-black shadow demons, the size of a small dog, but infinitely more viscous. Or so they say. Jamys could believe in the usual monsters - stars, he had been unfortunate enough to come across a few in his travels, barely getting away with his life in some situations. But terrible 50ft tall monsters that aren’t even corporeal? That pushed the boundaries of what he could believe.
Absent-mindedly, Jamys stepped into a pothole, soaking his left leg and almost face-planting in the dirty road. He shouted out in frustration, kicking at the pothole and hurting his toe in the process.
“This shithole is going to be the death of me. Guess I better find a bridge to sleep under.”
Great. Now he was talking to himself again. He shook his head wearily, and continued down the street he had found himself on. It ended sooner than he expected, with another boarded up building. Backtracking slightly, he spotted an alley between… yet another two abandoned buildings.
“What happened here?” he mused to himself. A few weeks ago, when he first passed through whatever this village was called, it seemed fine. Dingy, depressing, and devoid of anything noteworthy, but it was at least a functioning little township. Something must have happened. Of course, even if he had asked somebody, they probably would’ve told him to piss off and mind his own business.
The alley was dark, but at least it shielded Jamys from the worst of the torrent. He took the opportunity to try to light his pipe, but it seemed the snuff was completely wet through.
“Fuck’s sake,” he cursed. “Should never have taken this-”
Wham.
Something heavy connected with his temple, throwing him through the air and lying in the dirt. Stars danced in his eyes as he fumbled with his belt, searching for a hilt. He drew his knife, but it was kicked out of his hand before he could even see his assailant.
Wham.
Another heavy blow, to the ribs this time. A resounding crack filled the air, and Jamys yelled out in shock as a blinding hot pain spread through his chest. He rolled over onto his back, wheezing as the rain fell down on his face. The water blinded him, and the person who was attacking him was naught but a fuzzy shape. A fuzzy shape that came closer… And closer…
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
He could hear someone talking. Shouting, at him. He couldn’t understand.
“Please…”
“I know what you are!” A deep voice cried out. “Filthy demon, begone with you!”
A new pain now. Searing iron. What was left of his breath was driven out, as a hot puddle blossomed from his chest. The fire left his chest, before reentering at a different point. Again and again.
Stab. Stab.
Oh, stars above. I’m being killed with my own dagger.
And that was the last thought Jamys Owle thought.
***
[STATUS UNLOCKED]
[READING STATUS FOR JAMES OWLE…]
[ERROR: JAMES OWLE DECEASED]
[ERROR: B̸̨̤͓̠̉̈͂̆̃͑̓̕̕Ĕ̸̠̹͚̳͍͗̋́͊́̌̕͜͝G̴̗̈́̓I̸͇̾̃̃͠͝Ņ̷̢̬̹͖̦͖͔̅̒̇̊̂̇͊̄͆ ̷͕̠̳̖͉̅̿̑͝T̷̨̢͙͓̲̟̅R̴̢͍̹̆͑̎̽A̵͎̠͉͖̋̽̂̌͠Ń̷̨̡̠͈̹̖̩͔̊̒̄̈́́ͅS̷̛͚͎͉̺͚̭͆́͑F̸̨̮͑̕Ȩ̵̙͚͉̫̝̠̗̌͐̽̌͝ͅȒ̴̼̙̂̍̓̃͑̋̚]
***
“WAIT, DON’T!”
Jamys shot up, drenched in sweat. His hands flew to his chest, but to his confusion he found bare, unmarked skin where there should’ve been holes.
“What? I should be…”
Woah. That was… wrong.
“I should… should be… I should be…”
Jamys looked at his hands. But they weren’t his hands. They were too large, too rough, with long-faded scars that shouldn’t be there. His voice, way too deep and gravelly.
[STATUS UNLOCKED]
Jamys jumped as a voice appeared from nowhere, as if from inside of him. “What? Who’s there?”
[STATUS UNLOCKED]
“Status?”
At his word, ethereal blue text appeared in front of him. He instinctively looked away, but the text stayed in his sight, following his eyes wherever they went. Not even closing his eyes would make it go away. He had heard of Statuses before, everyone had. People usually only got them when they became proficient in many things, or “raised their level” high enough, whatever that meant. But why would he be seeing this now? He hadn’t done anything to warrant it.
Status of Marytn Holt
Who was Martyn Holt? Did he get someone else’s status? Was that even possible. Jamys read on.
Status of Martyn Holt
4th Level Forester
HP: 25/25 (+0.16/min)
MP: 0/120 (+0.02/min)
Power: 9
Mind: 5
Resilience: 13
Magic: 0
Skills (active)
Arboriculture [Middle]
Agriculture [Basic]
Courier [Early]
Skills (passive)
T̸̲̒̚͜Ŕ̴̗̐Á̶͙̟̓N̶͖͎̈́S̸̝̥̚F̷̨̀͌E̶̩̦͋̚Ȑ̸̩ [̵̱̎Ë̵̯́Ŕ̵̪͖̈R̶̳͎̕Ŏ̴͎̲R̵͍̉]̵̡̛̣
Marks
Murderer [29/30 days remaining]
Jamys was silent as the status screen slowly faded away. He looked at his hands again. Martyn Holt’s hands. The hands of the person who had murdered him.
“What in the… What happened to me?”