《Forsaken Warrior - A LitRPG Adventure》 Chapter 1 - Tabula Rasa The water curled around his neck like a guillotine and he frantically swung his arms back and forth to keep from drowning. The coolness ran into his mouth and past his throat as if to reach inside of him and firmly drag him into the depths, but his legs kicked out again and again, blasting jets through the water that buoyed him up to gulps of precious air. His hand, searching for something, anything, landed on a hard beam, and he instinctively gripped it tightly. Another hand was secured beside it, and he pulled himself up, heaving all his weight over the side and letting himself collapse on the flat structure that dipped as it absorbed his fall. He tried to reach back into his mind and remember how he got here, as if he were like a ghostly hand gliding along rows and rows of files, skimming the flimsy labels and hearing them whistle through the air as they bent from his touch, each and every one of them brandishing themselves as empty, empty, empty. He strained his mind but there was nothing he could recover, no memory of where he had just been. No memory of falling asleep in an old familiar bed. No memory of feeling his hands loosen his hold on an evening book as fatigue from the working day overtook him. No memory of a light kiss to someone he loved before he shut off the light and felt the welcoming embrace of his pillow. No, there was none of that. There was no such image of where he had just been that he could recall. There was only the water, and now, this boat on the water. He sat up and shut his eyes and waited for an image to return out of the specks of colors that were dotted among the dark. He opened and shut them, tensing the muscles of his brow, as if he could squeeze something out of them: a picture, an answer. But there too, was nothing to be found, only a disconcerting absence of anything that would reassure him that he was not indeed losing his mind. And then, as if brightened by sudden light, he felt the sensations in his hands. Rough, grainy, dense, cylindrical. He looked down and saw his hands had been gripping a long pair of oars that dipped into the murky water. The boat was small and simply cut, with no decorations and no coloring aside from its deep wrinkled brown exterior. Around him was only water that slowly drew weak waves that his boat languidly dipped and raised across. He turned his head to see if there was anything else around him but fog and water, water and fog, yet nothing else appeared through the dense mist that faintly tickled his face. He focused all sensation on his hands and arms and tried to forget the cold droplets that continued to fall off his body, and then he discovered his arms rowing on their own accord, as if they were called to action to get somewhere, anywhere, out of here. And he found himself identifying with that movement wholly, if that was all he was in this moment: a pair of arms, rowing. His tongue folded and touched the roof of his mouth, and his bottom lip lowered. There was something coming, he could tell. But first, there was just movement. "Hello?" he called out. Words. Before he could hear the answer to his call, he let one out again, louder this time. "Hello?" Finally, he felt, something of some familiarity. Words, yes, even speech perhaps. He had that. He felt it attached to the very capacity as if it were a physical appendage, the same sense of discovery when he first felt his hands tighten around the oars. "Hello?" he called out again, this time more confidently. This time, it wasn''t just a test of the vocal cords, a blowing of air through the muscles. This time there was intention. A drive to greet whatever it was that was out of here, if there were anything at all.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. His voice echoed for ages before returning to him empty handed. He listened to his greeting decay, softer and softer until there was no sound again but the oars cutting through the surface of the water. He scanned his head along the water, hoping to find something out of the thick fog, and his eyes focused along mangled pieces of wood there were barely lashed together by frayed ropes that sank into weeds that popped out of the water. He rowed towards it, but a thought frightened him: just because you get to land, doesn''t mean you''ll be any less lost. He shook his head and continued to row, getting into a pleasant rhythm, enjoying the arc of his shoulders and arms and the predictable resistance as his oars pulled his boat through the water, leaving behind a steady wake. He reached the dilapidated dock and reached over the side of his boat, tying whatever could be tied to keep his boat anchored. There were little loops carved into the side which he fastened to the ropes, some so frayed he thought they''d melt in his hands at his touch. When sufficiently secured, he carefully tried to step over onto the planks that remained, allowing his leg to steady for a moment after some tremors and pulsing muscles. His feet slid gingerly along the planks, afraid any step larger than that would surely puncture the wood and plunge into the opaque waters. The grass tickled his feet and he wriggled his toes as the strands stuck out between them. He looked back into the waters from which he came, hoping to see something appear out of the fog that focused into an impenetrable darkness. A pang of worry hit him as he was reminded of his previous concern: just because you get to land, doesn''t mean you''ll be any less lost. Maybe I was fishing, he thought. He could feel his powers of speculation return, but without his ego to supplant a critical center. There were thoughts, thoughts in search of a self. Fishing, he thought again, I remember that. I don''t remember who I am, but I remember fishing. Well, the idea of fishing. Maybe I was fishing and hit my head. How? Someone dropped something from my head from a bridge. My head hit a low bridge. Or I was the lone object on the water and lightning found me a convenient target. The fear of the damage that might have caused him was replaced with a temporary contentment in the fact there could at least be a rational explanation for his situation. He continued to imagine possibilities, feeling some accomplishment when a new one presented himself to his mind. It was if it could fill the void of not knowing who he was or how he got here, like flicking channels endlessly on a TV, distracting oneself from the knowledge that there was nothing to watch. He would have stood there longer, were it not for the chill that whipped across his body and forced him to hug himself to preserve warmth. There was no going back in that boat, he thought. He''d be out there for days, rowing in circles. Instead, he turned around and faced the field before him. Slick grass and small tufts of weeds stretched out as far as he could see, which still was not very far, because of the constant curtain of fog. Yet there may be shelter somewhere, he wished. Something to protect him, to limit his exposure to the elements. He looked at his clothes for the first time, to see what he was wearing and check if perhaps there were a clue that could assist him in discovering his whereabouts. But there was little to go off of. Gray, coarse materials that bristled his skin when he walked, and barely kept in any heat. They looked like they had been found amongst refuse and were fished out just for him. Regardless, he had a second of appreciation as another chill blew past him, and he wondered how piercing it would have felt if he did at least have that short undergarment on that hung in loose fibers right before his knees. The ground was squishy and wet and gurgled under his feet with each step. He was disgusted at the sloppy sounds that seemed like grotesque laughs mocking his plight. The ground seemed to slip under his feet and he was making slow progress, as if he were walking the same plot of land over and over. His frustrations began to well up with every step. Dirt, water, grass, that seemed to accumulate on his feet like cuffs, a spear of cold wind to rip through his bones and needle its way through the openings in his clothes, and the fog, always the fog like a wall he could never get past. "Damn it!" He cursed as he kicked a round stone in his path with all of his might, sending it rolling it over the bumpy ground with a speed that shocked him. His eyes were fixed on the stone''s trajectory as it collided with a round three legged creature with scaly and murky green skin that barely cleared the ground. The creature was flung up into the air from the impact and emitted a high pitched honk, then scampered away on its tiny legs the moment it made contact with the ground. Before he could laugh at the absurdity of what just happened, black lines suddenly materialized and filled his vision, forming letters, and his heart skipped a beat at the unexpected sight: [You have struck a trihop for 7 damage.] His eyes widened and he tried to shield himself from the words as if they were invaders that swooped in from the sky to smite him. But the words simply dissipated into the air, leaving him all alone, once again. Chapter 2 - The Trihops Honk "What the hell was that?" he said aloud to himself. He waved his hand in front of him, trying to summon the words back from the air, pinching and pulling the vacant mist back and forth and side to side. He did this for a while before he realized how dumb he must have appeared to any onlooker. The sentence appeared in his mind again, as he tried to make sense of it. You have struck a trihop for 7 damage. It must have just been a figment of his imagination that was jostled loose from his stressed mind. He placed his hand over his rumbling stomach and fruitlessly tried to recall the last time he had eaten. This is not good, he thought. I''m becoming delirious, imagining weird sentences. And what the hell is a trihop? He walked over to where the trihop had been, and noticed a slight and shiny object on the ground. It was black and would have blended in with the dark color of the mud were it not for the faint glimmer that caught his eye. He bent down and held it in his hand, feeling the cool metal against his palm and recognizing it as a key. Then he held it up to his eye, revealing the inscription "HRDTS" cut precisely into its side. But before he could inspect the key any further, he heard the familiar high pitched honk of the trihop in the distance, and realized how far it must have hopped away from him. Surely an animal wouldn''t walk, or hop in this case, towards danger, he thought. But am I seriously going to follow a three-legged annoying thing into the - wherever it was? He tried to think of a different course of action, but nothing came to mind, nothing but the piercing honk of three-legged creature that beckoned him to follow. He tucked the key away into a pocket formed out of some of the fabric breaking apart on the inside of his garment, and used a sinewy weed on the ground to make a tie around it and secure it tight.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. And so he began his trek again, dragging himself through the mud, swatting the clumps of grass that would stick to his feet at first, then later accepting its clinging to his skin as his arms became tired of flicking them away. His ears would perk up every time he heard the honk of the trihop, which was now his beacon in the foggy field. He increased his pace to keep the trihop within earshot, wondering that if got too far, he''d be directionless forever. As he walked, his mind returned to the text that appeared before him just moments ago. Well, at least I can still read, he concluded. My brain isn''t that damaged. Just damaged enough to make up sentences and hallucinate them. And imagine a key. Maybe the trihop would lead him to some food and water. That would clear his mind up and help him regain his bearings. He couldn''t remember the last time he ate. Well, he couldn''t remember anything about himself at all, of course, he conceded to himself. There was little else to do, though, but to press on. The sky was beginning to darken and the urge to catch up to the trihop asserted itself within him. He did not want to be in the middle of this field when it became dark. Who knows what other creatures there were. Or which other ones his mind would conjure up. He put the thought he was losing his grip on reality out of his mind again and began jogging towards the sound of the trihop, which honked again in the distance. The tiredness began to creep up his legs as he began climbing up a hill. He had to lean forward and assist his ascent with his hands, propelling himself slowly with all fours. His hands sunk into the wet ground but moistness and the darkening sky only strengthened his resolve to catch up to the trihop. Finally, he reached the peak of the hill, and allowed himself to sit down. The wet ground, which had been his bane, was finally accepted as a suitable place to sit and relax his body. He crossed his legs and saw he was almost face to face with the trihop which sat on his right side, staring at him. Its eyes were black, and an eyelid made its way slowly across it, moistening it, barely reflecting anything. The trihop tilted its head as it stared at the man, then its milky colored throat filled with air. "Murp!" it honked, then hopped down the hill at a breakneck pace. He didn''t know if he had been expecting answers from the trihop of all things, with its incredible one word vocabulary. He sighed, rubbed his eyes, and then saw that the trihop had indeed provided him with some kind of lead. As he watched the trihop shrinking into a dot as it sped away, he saw orange and yellow - fires - clustered next to one another in the distance. Who set them there - what set them there - he had no clue. But he at least figured that he wasn''t going to be walking to a camp of trihops. Chapter 3 - Night of the Noctogorge, Part 1 The fires from the camp shined through the night as if they were stars. He squinted and tried to sense if there was any other movement, but he couldn''t make out anything. He was too far, and it was just too dark. He looked back and tried to make out the body of water he had ventured from, but it was nowhere to be seen. There was no going back there, anyway. The trihop, o cacophonous trihop, chorister of resplendent honk, had led the way to this camp, then promptly deserted him. No time to get attached to that creature, he thought. He lowered himself down the hill, fearing one wrong step would send him tumbling down like a human avalanche, mud, grass, and covert trihops rolling behind in his wake. To distract himself from that horrifying possibility, he imagined warming himself up near the fire. He''d wring the water out of his clothes and let the heat dry him from his skin to his bones. He''d finally be able to unwind and hopefully his memories would return to him, once his body was no longer in a state of constant unease. He drew closer the fires, and could almost feel their heat. The camp began revealing more details to him. Empty carts were lined up side by side. Tools were piled up along the ground. Tents were pitched around each fire, the cloths drooping from support to support. He walked closer towards the camp and heard the fires crackling. He examined the tents to see if anyone was going in or out, but there was no activity to be seen. Not even a trihop, which he secretly wished to hear from again. He reached the perimeter of the camp, marked by a tall pole stuck into the ground, that flew a flag that wavered lightly with the breeze. He did not wish to barge into the camp, but neither did he wish to stay outside of it all night, on account of the cold that still crept into his bones and the possibility of something more sinister lurking in the darkness. He wondered how he would introduce himself, since he did not know the real story of how he got here. Perhaps he''d simply portray himself as a traveler who had gotten lost from his caravan. But then what if they tested him? Which caravan? From where were you going, and to where? The only explanation he could give would be something that matched his original understanding: I suffered some terrible accident, of which I do not know, and have lost my memories up to this point. And what if they did not speak his language? What if they were simply grown up versions of trihops, honking in deeper and louder tones? There were too many possibilities that could dissuade him from trying to make contact. But there was no other option. Staying out here in the dark would be death by exposure or by some other creature he could not yet imagine. No, he''d have to enter, but approach as harmlessly as possible. Surely there was a traveler''s hospitality that even these people, if they were people, would abide by. Some rustling in the distance behind him stirred him from his speculation. It sounded like several heavy steps cascading one after the other, like a snappy drum roll. He looked back but it had stopped. It was just the wind, he assured himself. He walked towards the entry of the camp marked by the flag and placed his hand on the wooden flag pole to steady himself. His legs were quaking with nerves and the new sweat on his brow was instantly chilled by the wind. "Hello?" he called out towards the tents. No answer. The fires continued to pop in the silence. "Hello?" he asked, this time louder. No answer but the honk of the trihop from deep inside the camp. He measured out his wait with the ever crackling fires. He cleared his throat and gripped the flagpole tightly. "HELLLLOOOO?" he shouted, not appreciating how loud he was until he let the last syllable ring out from his throat. Metal jangling, feet pounding, cloths being thrown and whipped against the air. A dozen bodies flew out from the tents and ran towards him, their brown robes flying back from the wind. Before he could even take a good look at them, a spear was held an inch away from his throat. "Who are you, stranger?" said the one holding the spear. The sleeves of the robe spilled over the knuckles of two small hands that were tensed around its handle. He could not make out the face of the robed one holding the spear. All that poked out from underneath the dark hood was a pointy nose deep wrinkles that were almost engraved into its skin. The robed one pushed the spear closer to his throat until the tip was just touching the skin around his windpipe, and then another spear joined its side. "I''m - I''m just a lost traveler," he answered carefully, afraid any movement would lead to his neck being punctured by the two spears that rested on either side of his Adam''s apple. "I am completely lost and have nothing," he continued. But one of the spears pushed further into his neck. He could feel its pressure stretching his skin, as if it were one hair''s breadth away from stabbing right through. "Don''t lie to us, ''traveler,''" the robed one commanded with a sharp and hoarse voice. "What are you doing out here and what do you want? Tell us now before we kill you." The man ran his eyes down along the spear to the robed one''s hands. There was no way to somehow wrestle it away. The moment he''d move a muscle, his blood would spill onto the grass below him. He was about to answer but the sound of the trihop honking several times interrupted him. "I swear to you, my story is true," he finally said to the robed one. "I have nothing and I mean you and your band no harm. All I humbly ask you is -" The sound of pounding footsteps interrupted his plea and he braced himself from the low vibrations that traveled through the ground and up his body, and against the spear tip still held menacingly towards him. He tried to open his mouth again but the vibrations began again, this time even more deeply, before it was broken by the sound of wood being toppled and several guttural belch-like calls, like a stomach closing into a fist and being blasted open with air. The robed one looked back to his band and motioned to the perimeter of the camp. "It''s a noctogorge raid!" he shouted. "Draw your weapons and take your positions!" The robed one pulled his spear away and dashed to another barricade in the camp. But before the man could even understand what was happening, he felt a blunt arm bash into his back and knock him down into the dirt. [You have been battered by a noctogorge for 14 damage. 36/50 HP remaining]. The words appeared within his mind despite his eyes being shut against the ground. He pushed his upper body up from the ground, and frantically patted the dirt before him, trying to bring out the words again. 36/50 HP remaining - so what would happen when he got to 0? He could not deliberate the possibilities as his body was rattled again by another heavy noctogorge rushing by. This time he was able to get a look at it. It was a stout creature, about the same height as the robed ones, so roughly one and a half feet shorter than him. It swung its arms in slow arcs as it ran and its bulbous purple skin jiggled, bouncing against the black shells it wore around its lower back and ribcage. Its ears were circular and stuck on the middle of its round head which sat on another mass of deeply wrinkled skin. He got up and heard metal clanging and the voices of the robed ones calling out to one another. Before he could get any closer, a noctogorge ran with great difficulty right towards him. His heart began to race as he tried to escape but his foot was stuck in the mud and he could not strafe out of position. The noctogorge''s footsteps banged through the ground, rolling up his trapped foot and all the way through his teeth that rattled against one another. The noctogorge''s arm was raised up high, its hand like a ball with a brown club shoved inside of it. The noctogorge emitted its foul belch of a war-grunt as it was only yards away from the man, but right before the noctogorge could strike, the man shot down into a squat on the ground, and then felt all the weight of the sweaty noctogorge slumped on top of him as heard the wet sound of flesh and the noctogorge letting out a shrill squeal of terror.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. Did I just die, he wondered for a second. He heard footsteps rush around him and caught the gray footwear of one of the robed ones sprinting away. The noctogorge''s body lay lifeless on top of him, and his arms were tensed, preventing himself from being crushed into the ground like a hammer pressing a nail into wood. With all his strength, he heaved the noctogorge off him to the side and it slammed onto the ground. He then dug out his foot from the ground to check out the noctogorge. It had been impaled by a spear that had been broken in two. Half was struck through the noctogorge and its ending was jagged from where the wood snapped. It stuck out into the air, as if it were marking a fresh kill. The other half of the spear was on the ground, its tip running with blood and pus. He gagged at the smell which ran from the fatal wound of the noctogorge and the spattering of fluids out of its back. The cries and clanging of nearby melees told him that there was going to be more terrible sights like these. He patted his body and did not sense any injury, so he picked up the broken spear, worrying that another noctogorge might attempt to rush him again. "What the hell is this?" he said aloud, referring to both the frightening and absurd situation he became involved in, as well as to the spear before him. Then, the words materialized before his eyes, although this time it wasn''t as shocking as it had been previously. [Item: Broken spear half with iron tip. Durability: 2/10. Damage: 7 if used as melee ; 3 if thrown from close range ; 1 if thrown from long range. Special attack: If poison is still applied to spear, damage is multiplied by two. Description: A spear with wooden base from The Diggers tribe. Primarily used for hunting game and tribal status.] The words appeared in his mind like a flash, and it was if he were able to read all of it at once. It was as though it were more like a picture or photograph he digested in an instant, than a number of discrete words he had to read individually. There was a sense of psychological familiarity, as though the information slotted into his mind like a card into a deck. The man shook his head to rid himself of the mental images and feelings. Is this really a hallucination, he wondered. What kind of dream is this? The spear was light in his hand and he made a quick stabbing motion with it to confirm its physical reality. However, he was careful to avoid the tip, especially because of the note about the poison, which he persuaded himself he could still see faintly glowing in a thin green ciat applied to the tip. Now, with some trepidation, but eagerness to see if the words would appear again, he picked up the club. It was crudely carved out of a single thick piece of wood, with knots and bumps lending it a simplistic appearance. But no words appeared in his mind despite his physical examination. And then, by epiphany, he uttered the magical command: "What is this?" he asked aloud, directing his attention to the club he held. [Item: Noctogorge club. Durability: 5/10. Damage: 6 if swung ; 3 if used as battering ram. Special attack: Capable of providing a concussive blow if swung with lengthy wind-up. 4 times damage multiplier. Description: A crude club carved by a low-level noctogorge. Primarily for intimidation and setting noctogorge tribal disputes. Useful only in close combat.] The club was heavy in his hand and he would have to use two hands to swing it dangerously. However, he unloosened a sling from the fallen noctogorge, and fastened it around himself, placing the club in the holster, so he could have one hand free while he walked, with the other holding the spear half. The squeals of the noctogorges continued to pierce the formerly silent camp, and he observed several of the robed ones in back and forth one-to-one battles with the noctogorges. However, bones cracking sounded out from his left, and he saw a robed one on the ground with its hand out trying to shield itself. The noctogorge raised its club over its head to strike the robed one, but the robed one rolled to the side, leaving the noctogorge club bashing the ground and sending dirt and debris flying into the air. The noctogorge grunted, and raised its club menacingly again, but before it could bring it down upon the robed one, the robed one drew out a short blade from his boot, and plunged it into the noctogorge''s foot. The noctogorge arched its back in agony and squealed, dropping its club. But the robed one seemed to be out of options, as the dagger would not come loose from the noctogorge''s foot, no matter how desperately he attempted to pull it out. The noctogorge seemed to be getting over the pain, and although its foot was rooted to the ground from the dagger, it slowly began to raise its club again to finally end the robed one''s life for good. There was no time left to keep watching, he thought. The noctogorge would surely clobber the robed one into a collection of broken bones and tissue. He took out the club that was hanging heavily by his ribs, and placed the spear half in the sling holster. His hands tensed around the club handle and his knuckles stretched from sheer strength needed to carry it. If the spear had not been broken, he could have attempted the long range attack that was mentioned when he received the item information, but it was too unlikely to connect since it was snapped in half. Punching and kicking the noctogorge would have done no good. It probably would have only felt like a tickle to it because of its thick bones and coarse skin. No other tool was around that he could see which could be used. The only option was the club. He sprinted towards the noctogorge, the club bouncing off shoulder with every step, since he had to already half raise it into position because of its weight. His fear began to erupt from his heart and course through his veins, and he unwittingly let out a battle scream which broke into a high falsetto several times, as if it were bolstering his entire body and the only thing preventing him from turning back and escaping out of terror. The noctogorge turned its head with a puzzled expression on its face as it tried to determine where the nearing cry was coming from. The man untwisted his coiled body and flung the club with a vicious blow into the noctogorge''s curious head. The impact of the club crushing the bones of the noctogorge ran along his hands, down his arms, and into his stomach, and his abdominal muscles braced him against the momentous swing. The noctogorge''s eyes were instantly shut, and the life vacated its body, as its head dropped to its chest, it dropped to its knees, and it descended head first into the ground, just inches away from the injured robed one who was still on the ground. The words materialized in the man''s mind again, though this time he was not shocked by them. He was shocked enough after what he had just done. [You have landed a concussive blow to the noctogorge for 24 damage.] [The noctogorge has been concussed.] [The noctogorge has been slain.] The man then got his first clear look at the face of one of the robed ones. It had narrow, yellow eyes with a green iris, and weathered skin. Its forehead was short and wrinkled, and its body was sinewy, and lined with thin but dense cords of muscle. The robed one gave the man a suspicious look and reached for its dagger, now that it had been loosened after the noctogorge''s fall. The club now had a deep cleft running along its middle and multiple bits of wood had been chipped loose. He decided to leave it behind. "I''m not here to hurt you," he then said to the robed one. "I just want to help, so you can help me understand where I am." The robed one stared at the man, trying to root out any deception behind his words. The panicked honking of the trihop broke their moment, and the man reached his hand out to the robed one, who took it and raised himself back to his feet. The robed one started running into the heart of the camp and the man followed him, trying to keep up the swift pace that left him winded. "There are two more nearby," the robed one said. The man merely nodded his head, his lungs so punished by the sprint that he couldn''t speak. He had already spent much of his energy in the sneak attack on the noctogorge, and carrying that club had taken a toll on him. "Can you slow down?" the man said, breathlessly. The robed one put his hand into a pocket, then pulled out a large berry and shoved it in the man''s face. "Eat this," the robed one commanded. The man''s mouth was parched and his stomach was empty. He craved something that energize him but did not know if he could eat the strange fruit. "Eat it!" the robed one yelled. But fatiguing in the middle of a fight against a noctogorge would be even worse than getting an upset stomach from the morsel of food offered to him, he thought. He imagined the heavy foot attached to the trunk-like legs of the noctogorge crushing his stomach until it burst after he had fallen to the ground from exhaustion, and the horror was enough to pop the berry into his mouth and chew. As he chewed and tasted the juices of the berry along his tongue, he immediately noticed energy coursing again through his body and his mouth watering like a fountain from the lip-puckering sourness of the berry. The information appeared in his mind again as he wondered what he had just consumed: [You have eaten the Blitzen Berry.] [Endurace has increased 20 points for 5 minutes.] [Strength has increased 20 points for 5 minutes.] [Nausea to begin after 5 minutes.] The words quickly faded from his mind and he found himself able to match the robed one stride for stride as his legs cycled into a powerful sprint. His heart pounded against his chest but it was as if his entire body had been electrified and was defying it to push him further and further. The squeals of the remaining noctogorges still pierced his ears, but they were beginning to be drowned out by a brand new buzzing throughout his head that only made him more feverish, more single-mindedly focused on the spear-half in his hand and the urge to see it sink deep into something and see the flesh tear. Chapter 4 - Night of the Noctogorge, Part 2 The man noticed a green jewel at the top of the hood the robed one was wearing. After eating the berry he was given, he could feel his eyes focusing on new details and his ears picking up frequencies of sounds he had ignored before. "It''s kicking in, isn''t it?" the green jewel robed one said. "Yes," the man said, his eyes narrowing on the skirmish he saw ahead of them. The green jewel robed one glanced at the man beside him and squinted before focusing again on their path. "I remember that look," the green jewel robed one said, "that madness!" The man felt energy piercing his skin like a needle, all along his arms, chest, and legs. His hand gripped the spear-half so tightly he thought the handle might break. Was it indeed madness? He couldn''t resist its effect and it him instantly. It was like it had reawakened something within his body that was now yearning to burst out and assert itself. With every step he was more convinced it could not be contained and the fear that had still been inhibiting him was burnt away. They were nearing on a noctogorge which was attempting to wheel away a cart full of furs. Its legs were driving into the ground and mud was being thrown up as it took its clumsy footing, catching itself falling and stumbling forward. It craned its head around nervously and barked out unintelligible orders in different directions. "Take the left," the green jewel robed one said.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. But he didn''t hear the words. Now there was only the blood pounding in his head. He couldn''t stop it. It was like he was watching his body take a course of its own as his muscles contracted and loosened with a single-minded purpose he no longer could control. "Take the left!" the green jewel robed one commanded once more. Yet all the man could see was the cart and noctogorge''s back as it tried to pull away. He caught up to the noctogorge and plunged the spear-half into its back. It was a strike with no art, no grace, only physicality, bare violence, yet the new strength from the berry had almost thrown him off balance when he drove the weapon as far as he could. [You have stabbed the noctogorge and poisoned it for 34 damage.] [The noctogorge has been slain.] This time the words that materialized in his mind did not surprise him at all. He blinked and they disappeared and he saw the squealing noctogorge drop to its knees before releasing the cart, slamming it on the ground, the wood rattling. The noctogorge fell face down into the ground, the spear sticking out of its back. He tried to pull out the spear-half from the noctogorge, but it was stuck, wedged deep within flesh, twisted between muscle and bone. He grabbed it with both hands to pry it out, and out it came, but in several pieces, which he threw in rage onto the ground. He turned around, craving something more, only to meet a globular fist slam into his cheekbone, knocking him to the ground, his fall only softened by the lifeless noctogorge. [You have been battered by a noctogorge. No damage due to temporary blitz-state. Damage will be applied after blitz-state ends. However, critical bodily injury such as dismemberment or structural destruction of the body (e.g., head, chest, abdomen, legs) will still be applied immediately.] He sighed a short breath of relief and blinked so the words disappeared, only for them to be replaced by two noctogorge feet that blotted out the stars, noctogorge feet dropping right towards his stomach as he had previously imagined in a moment of fear, noctogorge feet that seemed to bring with them the weight of the entire sky and that were sinking fast, fast, fast, fast... Chapter 5 - Night of the Noctogorge, Part 3 His eyes shut in terror - even the feverish course of energy from the berry that had been driving him was no match for the paralysis he experienced from seeing huge body dropping from the sky towards him. But then, the sound of air being ripped apart, high pitched and quick, like a whip, shot above him again and again and he opened his eyes to see arrow after arrow slotting into the noctogorge''s chest. A fiery explosion from the lodged in arrows blew the noctogorge back several feet, and its body slammed into the ground with a thunderous drop. "The last two are retreating!" said one of the robed ones. The man got up to his feet and felt his arm being shaken. "I told you to take the left!" barked the green jewel robed one. "Didn''t you learn anything back then? You''re still the same blockhead." The man shook his head, puzzled. "Back then"? Back when? The only memories he had were the scenes of violence he had just witnessed, and comparatively prosaic wandering in water, then grass and fog. He stumbled over to the noctogorge, now slain, which was on the precipice of crushing him with its grotesque feet, its nails as yellow as a yolk and thick as an egg. But a hole had been blown out of it from the explosive arrows, and now there was only scorched flesh and hanging entrails out of the crust of the gaping wounds.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. The stench and the sight of the mutilated corpse hit him and he clutched his stomach as heaved several times, trying to contain his disgust. The irrational confidence which had overtaken him and stifled any fear was quickly subsiding. And then, the side-effects of the berry took their turn as well, as the nausea that had been signalled to him after taking it was making itself felt. He bent over, trying to stop the waves of sickness rolling over him repeatedly, until it was too much, and he vomited all over the ground and himself, each time feeling it like a bash from the noctogorge but in his abdomen. [Blitzen Berry boost has ended. Strength and endurance reset to original levels.] [You have suffered 20 damage from Blitzen Berry sickness. 16/50 HP remaining.] He blinked and the words dissipated in his mind. He could feel more words trying to appear but every time his stomach would wrench itself into a knot and release, relaying pain through his limbs. His mind was reeling and another wave of sickness left him writhing on the ground, yet new words still attempted to materialize in his mind, but were rebuffed each time by his agony, like someone who can never get a word in during a conversation. He tried to say "help", but the impetus of speech couldn''t reach his lips, and he was left contorting his mouth and tensing his neck in vain, until the mercy of darkness and quiet took his mind and his head swiftly dropped back into the ground. Chapter 6 - Who Are You? Part 1 He awoke and immediately shut his eyes again. Daylight, finally no longer obscured by thick fog or hidden by the night, was a foreign sensation that stung. The pain his body had passed out to escape from still lingered but in duller forms throughout his limbs, and seemed to circle around the nerves in his stomach. He tried to rub his eyes but he couldn''t lift his hands to them. In fact, he discovered he could not move his hands nor arms at all, as they were both tied behind him in thick cords. His legs were bound around the base of the stool, but he could rest his back against a tree which supported his weight and was at least some sort of relief, some sort of grounding. "Look," said a voice, "he''s awake." It sounded like the same voice of the robed one who had first held a spear to his throat when he entered the camp, but all he could see was a blur. "Ugh," the man moaned, arching his neck back against the tree to try and rid himself of the pain. "Shut up!" said a different robed one. "How did you find us?" Although still exhausted, the man did not fail to see the absurdity of the command. "You want me to shut up," he slurred, "but you also want me to say how I found you?" He shook his head and grinned. "Aha, ha, aha." The half-hearted laughs strained his chest. He heard clothes rustling, a foot driving forward onto the ground, and then an object being sliced through the air. He winced as a heavy wooden stick struck the man on the shoulder, his body twisting in vain to avoid the blow, only being pulled more tightly against his restraints. [You have been struck by Khayin''s baton for 5 damage. 11/50 HP remaining.] The words appeared in a flash in his mind with the sharp sting of the baton''s blow. He found himself unwittingly understanding the words faster than before, like a long dormant faculty or sense was being active once more. "Are you insane?" the man shouted at the robed one he now intuited was named Khayin. "What the hell is wrong with you?" "Khayin," said one of the robed ones, "calm yourself. I believe I recognize this man." The man''s eyes were able to focus for a moment and he saw the one who just spoke was the green jewel robed one. "Do not interrupt me, Halqat!" said Khayin. "You believe you recognize him? No, I recognize him. I recognize him, as I have recognized them all over these years. He is just one of many travelers who attempt to divert us from the way of the ancestors. We have already strayed, and we stray further by even allowing him in our midst. He should be executed at once for endangering us and bringing bad fortune to our camp." Halqat, the green jewel robed one shook his head.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. "I believe I know this man," Halqat asserted. "I swear to you," Khayin said, "by the very gods of the Diggers, I too shall render the flesh on your skin scorched like the black Earth we have escaped from so long ago, if you interrupt me once more." "Why don''t you just let the guy speak," the man suggested to Khayin. Khayin turned back with agape to the other robed ones behind him. "This insolence must be punished!" Khayin shouted. He winded his arm back again and whipped the baton at the man''s shoulder, hitting him in the exact same spot as before, sending a shockwave that traveled from his arm and into his ribs. [You have been struck by Khayin''s baton for 5 damage. 6/50 HP remaining.] [Caution: You are almost at 10% of your remaining HP.] "Agh!" the man howled in pain. He tried to reach over to grab his shoulder but the bindings just dug into his skin as he struggled against the enveloping sensation of immobility, of being wrapped up with a space to escape. "Please," the man pleaded. "I''ll answer whatever I can." "Don''t speak unless we address you," said Khayin. Khayin walked closer to the man, examined his face with a look of disgust, then turned towards the crowd of robed ones. "This man is the one who had led the noctogorges to our camp, fellow Diggers" he orated. "We suffered injury. We damaged our weapons. And our location is now known to those vile beasts. This man is the one who is responsible. He is a bad omen, and is a sign this wandering of ours has gone on long enough." The crowd of robed ones - presumably Diggers, as they were called by Khayin, stood in an uneasy silence. The lack of response seemed to suggest Khayin''s message did not fully resonate with them. "But he fought," said one Digger, somewhere in the group. "Yes," said another. "Quite brashly, dangerously. But he did fight." "Any damn fool can fight," said Khayin. "Is that who we Diggers are now? Is that how desperate we''ve become? To accept this recklessness which almost brought us destruction?" But again, silence from the Diggers. Khayin stared at the Diggers, then spun swiftly to face the man again. "Where are you from?" Khayin asked. "I don''t know," the man said wearily. Khayin snorted. "You don''t know," Khayin said aloud, mocking the man''s response. "OK, let''s try something different. Where were you before you came to our camp?" "I was in a field," answered the man quickly. "No wait, first, I was in a body of water. A lake." "A lake!" Khayin said in disbelief. "Not only is this man a bad omen, he is a lake-walker as well! Truly he must be slain!" "No," explained the man, "I didn''t walk on the lake - I''m not a ''lake-walker'', whatever that is. I was in the lake, if it was that, and then I was traveling through the field, and -" "Do not try to spin tales, vexing water spirit! We shall be rid you and the misfortune you bring in your wake." Khayin drew back his hand and thumped the man with the baton once more. [You have been struck by Khayin''s baton for 5 damage. 1/50 HP remaining.] [Caution! You are almost at 1% of your remaining HP.] [Total loss of HP is fatal!] The man recoiled from the blow and his eyes widened at the last words in the text that flashed before his eyes. Total loss of HP is fatal. Fatal. Even if he didn''t know what this all was, what all these people, this land, these experiences were, he knew what that meant. "Stop!" the man yelled with desperation. "I only have 1 HP left!" Khayin furrowed his brow and spit on the ground. "Are you telling me what to do?" he asked, making small circles at his side with the baton. "Are you commanding me?" Khayin laughed and ran his hand along the baton. "This does stop now," Khayin said. "Because after this, you''ll be vanquished for good." Khayin slowly raised his arm, tucking the baton behind his head, before bringing it down towards the man, aiming it right at his temple, with an unmistakable arc and follow through of his entire body. Chapter 6 - Who Are You? Part 2 The man grimaced in anticipation of the baton rocketing towards him and tensed as he heard it cracking into pieces. I''m dead, he thought. The bone has been shattered, and any moment shall come the darkness. But when he came to his senses, he saw that another baton was held right to the side of his head, blocking the baton of Khayin. "Halqat," bellowed Khayin, "how dare you defend this bringer of ill will? Release your baton at once and allow me to finish him with my strike. Though my baton is splintered by yours, he does not deserve a clean strike. I will tear his skin apart regardless." Halqat, his arm trembling and flexing, stretched across the man to protect the man and hold back Khayin, did not relent to the command. "No," Halqat said calmly, the word delivered with authority over a tense diaphragm keeping him steady. "Relent," Khayin, "and let me end this nonsense once and for all." "No!" Halqat answered, and with a swift turn, flung up his baton and forcefully carried Khayin''s on top of it so quickly that it flew out of Khayin''s hand. "What is the meaning of this?" Khayin demanded. Halqat stood in front of the man, blocking Khayin from reaching him. "I know this man," Halqat explained. "I''ve been waiting for him." The man wracked his mind and tried to search for any memory, any image he could of Halqat. But there were no such flashbacks, no stories his mind could recall, which all the more puzzled him as to Halqat''s claim. While searching for some tie to Halqat, his eyes idly came across Khayin''s baton stuck into the ground, and he shuddered at the painful memory and the bruises surely enveloping his shoulder. And the text flittered across his sight again, reminding him of his precarious state. [Caution! 1/50 HP remaining.] [Total loss of HP is fatal!] Although the full meaning of the words still eluded him, the threat implied was to be taken seriously. He did not want to speak out again, knowing Khayin''s apparent hatred towards him, but he also didn''t want to die, if dying is indeed what would happen after his "HP" had been totally depleted. He felt his heart pounding in his chest, and if he weren''t tied down, he''d have a burst of anxiety that''d take him far from here, running until his legs collapsed. "Halqat," the man said quietly, trying to avoid the attention of Khayin and all the other Diggers, "I only have 1 HP left." He did not know whether pleading would help his case, but he sensed that Halqat had at least some affinity for him because of how he saved his life from Khayin''s baton attacks. Halqat nodded, but still faced Khayin and the Diggers. "Almael," Halqat said, "could you heal this man? He has hardly any HP left." An older Digger walked into view. The man could not tell whether the many lines in his face were wrinkles, or innumerable scars that looked like they felt as a coarse as the tree bark that would dig into the man every time he leaned back on his stool. The older Digger had a cane that shone with metallic inlets but he did not seem to be putting much of his weight on it. "Stop, Almael," Khayin interjected. "You are not to heal this man with your powers. For your own hand to heal him while I am certain he is still a cursed outsider? That is a grievous insult to us all." "He''s no good to us dead, you know," Halqat said. "He''s here for a reason."Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! "He''s no good to us alive, either," Khayin responded mockingly. "He''s no good to us at all." "Do you not understand?" Halqat asked. "With his HP, a single bite from a mistaq would render him dead. A puny mistaq." "Then dead he shall be," Khayin dismissed. Halqat clenched his fist and then let the fingers flay out. "Almael, you do not have to heal him with your own powers directly. But bring us an elixir so that the man will at least not perish before our eyes from a mere field bug. An elixir that can remove any lingering effects of nausea. I had given him a Blitzen Berry during the attack." Almael nodded and began to walk over to a tent but Khayin grabbed the sleeve of his robe. "Do not do this," Khayin ordered. "I am a healer by trade and by code," Almael declared. "While we have our rules for outsiders, my elixirs are my creations and my products and can be used however I wish." "Confabulations," Khayin dismissed the reasoning. "Simply more violations of the spirit of the Diggers. I know how much value your elixirs have and how time consuming they are to produce. Let us not waste one of these precious potions on this man so unworthy of our respect." "Halqat is my friend and I trust his judgment," Almael said firmly. "Let us heal the man via elixir and continue on with the investigation." Almael walked into the tent and Khayin walked back to where Halqat was. "How much more are we going to give this cursed traveler?" Khayin asked the Diggers. "We have already given him a taste of one of our treasured plants." He looked at Halqat. "And now we are healing him? What if we are attacked right now and an elixir is soon needed?" "Then we''ll fight," Halqat said. "Some of us at least." Halqat gave a quick look at the man, still tied and seated. Almael''s hand swept open the tent and he walked towards the man with a clear long container full of a bubbly blue liquid. He tilted the container towards the man''s mouth, and the liquid hovered right near the lip. "Drink this," said Almael, holding the container near the man''s mouth. The man looked at Almael, and then at the blue hue of the strange beverage. He recalled the experience of eating the Blitzen Berry. Though it produced an incredible rush, its side effects to him were so crippling, he wouldn''t want to go through the same experience unnecessarily. But being at 1/50 HP, although the full significance of that status was a mystery, was complicated by the terrifying warning that full loss of HP would be fatal. A bite from a so-called mistaq, as Halqat discussed, or even another merciless strike from Khayin would be enough to deplete him of HP. The unimaginable voyage of entering that unknown state was even less palatable than taking yet another taste of a strange offering from the Diggers. "It''s OK," assured Almael. "It will replenish your HP." The man studied the wrinkles and scars of Almael to find a trace of deceit, yet the only element of darkness he could detect were the benign shadows cast by the hood which rested atop several white locks of hair. The man assented and opened his mouth. Although he wished he could examine the container himself, his body was still immobile. The blue liquid was sweet and warmed his throat and stomach, and he felt a mild euphoria that if prolonged could have made him forget he was tied up in the middle of nowhere. [Almael''s Blue Elixir is restoring HP.] [10/50 HP...] [20/50 HP...] The man felt relief of his anxiety that was almost as good as the flavor of the elixir as he witnessed the numbers return to their former levels. [30/50 HP...] [40/50 HP...] [50/50 HP remaining. Almael''s Blue Elixir has fully restored HP.] It seemed just short of miraculous that such a thing was possible. Almael had declared himself a healer. So what other abilities were possible in this world? He had witnessed repulsive creatures and explosive arrows fired by Halqat that carved out a hole in one of them. Was there something else he was capable of, too, then, which he did not know? He felt his body tingle from his feet to his eyes with a refreshing energy. The pain that had lingered had vanished before he could focus his awareness again on the various creaky joints which had previously taken so much of his attention. "Thank you," the man said to Almael, appreciating the great service rendered to him. Almael smiled faintly then returned to the side of Halqat. Khayin crossed his arms, displeased. "I suppose you are happy now," Khayin said, looking at Halqat and Almael. "Now what explains your perverse interest in wasting a potion to keep this man alive? I believe you were uttering nonsense before to desperately spare his life. You may speak more honestly now if you wish. Is it to keep him as a slave? As labor? Perhaps as ransom for a future cause? His clothes are beggarly - I cannot fathom such a reason." Halqat turned away from Khayin and looked at the man. "No, Khayin," he said. "You are completely mistaken." Halqat took several slow steps toward the man and stared at him, narrowing his eyes until his iris was imperceptible, before turning back to Khayin and speaking. "This man is -- this man was -- my friend." Chapter 6 - Who Are You? Part 3 ¡°Your friend?¡± Khayin asked in disbelief. Your friend? the man asked himself, echoing Khayin. That would mean that I am ¨C or at least I was ¨C Halqat¡¯s friend, for friendship is a reciprocal relationship. And Halqat had to be referring to a time before the Blitzen Berry. Indeed, he had to be referring to a time before the man got off the boat, crossed the field, and in an exogenous burst of fury, challenged the noctogorges. He had to be referring to a time he could not remember, a time of which he knew nothing. A void in which the concept of his self disappeared and made no sense. Khayin looked at the man, then grinned, then chuckled, then put a hand over his stomach as it heaved with laughter. The other Diggers did not laugh but continued to observe the discussion with unease. ¡°This sad specimen was your friend?¡± Khayin questioned, his outstretched arm pointing to the man. ¡°Don¡¯t make me laugh, Halqat. This absurd charade of yours would be more amusing if I were not now convinced there were some remnants of the Blitzen Berry still disrupting your thoughts. Do you need an elixir from Almael also? You¡¯re clearly not well in the head.¡± ¡°I know it is him,¡± Halqat replied immediately, his voice steady, his body turned away from Khayin. ¡°Oh,¡± mocked Khayin. ¡°And how would you know?¡± Halqat raised his hand to explain but Khayin cleared his throat to interrupt him. ¡°I''m to presume you are among the psychics of Praeterius now, aren¡¯t I, Halqat,¡± Khayin teased. ¡°That¡¯s how you ¡®know.¡¯ I suppose you have picked it up with your various dalliances among the pitiable con artists and sham fortune tellers we have run into? Maybe it was your incredible psychical insight that led us to this patch of barren ground, bordered by nothing of value, slowly being enclosed and governed by a lazy despicable spoiled prince!¡± ¡°You know we had no choice to go here!¡± Halqat shot back. ¡°We didn''t?¡± Khayin said with sarcastic surprise. ¡°And what do our fellow Diggers think of this? He turned to the other Diggers who were standing, silently watching the scene. ¡°We have strayed for too long,¡± Khayin said with pomp. ¡°It is time we finally return to our fellow Diggers in the South, and live among them. Let us slay the traveler for his intrusion and return to our traditions at last.¡± Almael stamped his cane and all the Diggers. Including Halqat and Khayin, instinctively turned their heads. ¡°Enough of your grandstanding, Khayin!¡± Almael bellowed. ¡°You are not the head of this tribe ¨C do not forget that! Just because your mouth is the biggest doesn¡¯t mean your vapid ramblings have any meaning at all!¡±Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. The man¡¯s eyes widened and he suppressed a huge smile trying to break out on his face. He was just glad Khayin appeared shocked by Almael¡¯s outburst that he wouldn¡¯t catch him stifling laughter at his comeuppance. ¡°The path of the Diggers and the role of our traditions is a discussion for another time,¡± Almael stated, calmly this time. ¡°Let us listen to our fellow Digger Halqat explain his link to the captive man and then proceed. This time, based on reason, not demagoguery.¡± Almael shot a look at Khayin, who merely rolled his eyes at the reproach. ¡°Thank you, Almael,¡± Halqat said. ¡°As I was saying, I know this man. Do you not remember me, traveler?" The man bit his lip unwittingly in thought. He considered making up a memory just to get out of this situation. Some kind of mundane event of the fictitious past so that the Diggers would think he wasn¡¯t a lake-walker, evil spirit, or spy. Some kind of mundane event that might even satisfy the man¡¯s own need to understand how he got here, a need which was still totally unfulfilled. But he thought the better of it. Although he wasn¡¯t partial to the history Halqat claimed existed between them, if there really had been something that happened, it¡¯d be wisest not to muddy the waters, especially while at least one of the Diggers still had him in his sights. And perhaps, hopefully, there might be a real clue, a real taste of the void his memory could not cross over into. The man shook his head regretfully. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t remember you, Halqat,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m trying but nothing is coming to mind.¡± ¡°I told you,¡± Khayin taunted. ¡°Are you sure?¡± Halqat implored. ¡°Maybe your memory was affected by the battle. One of noctogorges must have rattled your skull. It must be temporary.¡± The man shook his head again, as if he could not apologize enough for not remembering something he wasn¡¯t even sure happened. ¡°No, Halqat,¡± he said. ¡°Even before the noctogorges, I couldn¡¯t remember anything. The water, the field, the camp, and the battle. That¡¯s all I know.¡± The Diggers standing away looked at each other and murmured something. Halqat looked at them and furrowed his brows and held his pointy chin, the fingers on either side of it only and inch apart. ¡°He¡¯s lost his mind,¡± Khayin said. ¡°Maybe Halqat had been concussed by one of the noctogorges.¡± Almael shot a glance at Khayin and stamped his cane on the ground again, and Khayin crossed his arms in response. Halqat paced around in frustration. The man wished he could help Halqat, as Halqat was sticking up for him, and even more, might be the only thing keeping him alive in this world. Even if his life were sparred, being thrown out of the camp to wander for himself might be just as fatal in the end. The noctogorges were enough of a fright, and that was with the power the Blitzen Berry bestowed him. Imagine if he had to fight a hoard of them alone as he escaped to try and find a more hospitable place to gather his bearings. "Almael," Halqat asked, "is there another elixir you may have that could recover his memories?" "Unfortunately, I have no such elixir," Almael said ruefully. "A memory recovering elixir is quite rare to come across and requires many exotic ingredients that many healers, adventurers, and traders have lost their lives trying to procure. And neither could I formulate one out of the barren land in which we have encamped." Halqat held his forehead and clenched his other fist. "And further, my young friend," Almael elaborated, "I am alas not a psychic, but a mere healer." Khayin let out a single rude laugh that echoed in the mist still piling above the land. "Let this farce come to an end," he said. "What in the entire world could this man have done -- if he is a man -- to have deserved your mercy in such a prolonged fashion?" Halqat turned to Khayin and looked at him, and gave a dismissive sigh. With hope in his eyes, he looked at the man. "This man," Halqat said, "saved my life."