Magic. Although it is widely abundant within this world, the number of people capable controlling and harnessing its prowess are 1 in every 50,000 people. Considering that the population of the world at subject is approximated 3 billion, those who are adept in the art are considered of the elite. However, those able to reach the level of “Saint” require a talent that appears once in every 1000 years. Those possessing the ability of a Saint rival that an army of 10,000, fully armed. This was the basis of magic that revolved around this world.
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As the result of a blunt force impacting my head, most like due a rock, I slowly regained my consciousness. My vision was blurry. Hearing some indecipherable speech around me, I try to move around, only to feel a tight binding of rope on my wrists and ankles. Moving around was not an option. As my eyesight stabilized and senses regained, I realized that I had been hanging on a wooden cylinder upside down. As stiff as my body was, I moved my head around, trying to grasp my current location and situation.
3-foot tall, bulky, grotesque creatures surrounded me. Their facial features resembled that of a pig, though much more ugly. Fat-covered bodies only covered by a dirtied loincloth. Each of them wielded various weapons, although the most common seemed to be a wooden spear with a metal tip. If my memory serves me correctly, these were called [Orcs], a fairly common monster in RPGs. Their numbers ranged in the hundreds.
As their incomprehensible language kept on rambling, I continued to observe my surroundings. Even though it was nighttime, visibility was not an obstacle due to the light coming from the full moon and multiple torches that the Orcs were holding. We seemed to be travelling along the side of a mountain; quite high up, seeing that I could see a vast forest in the surroundings. The road wasn’t well formed and was rugged, with rubble and luminescent minerals protruding from the ground, so adding on to the fact that I was hung upside-down from a pole, the experience was obvious uncomfortable.
After travelling from roughly ten minutes, we arrived at the summit. Suddenly, the cacophony of the conversations had stopped; only the sound the wind blowing and the crackling of the torches could be heard. In the center of the plateau, a stone altar surrounded by black flames stood tall. I could feel an eerie energy being released. As far as I was, currently, from the pillar, it felt as if cold, ethereal hands feeling my body, almost as if I was being prepared to be forcefully taken to the underworld. Truly a disgusting feeling.
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As the silence went on for a brief moment, one of the Orcs stepped in front of the altar. This one was different from the others. Its figures was roughly half the size of the common Orc, but instead of the amounts of fat that could be seen clearly (too clearly) in the rest, toned and defined muscles were present. Grey skin was pigmented instead of the usual murky pink. As a sign of its prestige, it donned leather armor covered by a rugged white cloak along with what seemed to be a staff. It was clearly the dominant one out of the herd. However, despite that, it still had the same repulsive face as the rest. I classified this one as a [High Orc].
Holding up its staff, it started a chant with a weird rhythm, and soon after the rest followed soon after. Two Orcs carried me from my original position and took me towards the altar. After tying me to the altar with another piece of rope, this time slightly thicker than the ones used for my hands and legs, they returned to their original position and continued chanting with the rest. From my current inference, it was safe to say that what was occurring was a ritual, and I was the sacrifice.
As the chanting grew louder, the High Orc turned towards me. Seeing it more closely, these orcs were truly disgusting creatures. Afterwards, the creature put its staff in a holster on its back, then proceeded to reach inside its cloak. As it took a curved dagger from under its cloak, I was prepared for what would normally happen next. However, instead of using the tool on me, it slit the palm of its hand, causing a dark, oil-looking substance to flow out. As the liquid continued to flow, the High Orc splashed my entirety with the foul substance. The consistency was similar to that of cornstarch mixed with water, while the smell reeked like that of rotten fish guts. I tried desperately to hold in my gag reflex, but eventually had to give in to the odor. Not a pretty sight.
Just as I, reluctantly, grew accustomed to the stench, the chanting came to an abrupt stop. Then without a warning, I was stabbed in the heart by dagger-wielding High Orc. As the blood slowly seeped out of my wound, my consciousness drifted and soon, all faded to black.
I, who has no recollection of his name or past, had just died.
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[DO YOU WANT TO LIVE?]
[YES/NO]
. . .
[YES]
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… or so I thought.