They were met on the beaches by envoys of the unknown mage-king under the banner of peace. Their decapitated heads were sent back wrapped in spider silk and sweet-scented with Aeyory blossoms, a traditional decration of total war in the east.

  - On the Cataclysm by an unknown Quassian Schor circa 103 AC.

  It stank with the general effluence of the city and the newly ensved and packed humanity. It was grief in all its stages. Some were choleric with rage, defiance a bright torch in their hearts. Others were catatonic with shock or grief, some wailing and crying a river of tears. Yet, a rare few had accepted with serenity their new station in life. This was to be the beginning of my new life as a sve.

  Naked, we were prodded, pulled, and scrutinized by rough men and women with licentious hands. Our teeth were closely examined for decay, and our bodies for disease. Those of us still holding on to our previous lives were taught otherwise with the crack of a three-pronged leather whip.

  All my life, svery had been mostly just an academic subject. Its most btant manifestations were buried in the past, and though it persisted in some corners of the globe, svery bore no relevance to my privileged existence in the West. Yet, in this pce, I was receiving an education of a different sort. One that left scars on my body and imprinted lessons that no mere historical css or award-winning documentary could ever aspire to impart.

  Two days had passed since my triumph in the arena when I was brought to this pit of human suffering. I overheard some gossip about my fate as I was being led. Some of my captors had wagered that, against all tradition, I would be poisoned or have a subtle knife plunged between my ribs. Others thought I was destined to be broken in the mines.

  I was determined not to break. The fire of defiance smoldered like an ember within me, although it was almost extinguished when I heard another man's screams as burning hot orange metal met his pliant skin, melting a red hot mark in the shape of a flowing wave. Nevertheless, I clung to a strange blend of rage and hope as I received a new mission. As I read the words, I felt like I was witnessing a divine revetion, and I knew that the gods had not yet abandoned me.

  New Quest: Escape from the Svery Pits of Ansan.

  I would not be a sve to mere NPCs.

  Non-pyer characters, the designated name for the myriad of entities that gave flesh to the world of the games I had pyed in the old world. A simple binary series of ones and zeroes. Here, I clung to this shallow defiance, using it to fuel my anger at the current injustice of my situation.

  Narcissistic fantasies crossed my mind as to what I would do when I escaped and wreaked vengeance on these svers, only for them to retreat whimpering to the back of my mind with each crack of the whip. Still, I managed to hold on to the notion. In the old world, I was free, and I would be so again.

  The comeliest of the men and women were lined up the right, sve brands to be repced with a tattooist's art. They were fated to be the concubines or pythings for these cruel people. With fire or ink, we were however all still sves.

  I stared at the man who branded me without the defiance that would have invited a shing, nor did I react to the searing touch of the hot metal with the animalistic pain that had reduced so many before me to sobbing wrecks. Instead, I felt total apathy, as if this were just a routine procedure that was, at most, a mild annoyance. My skill Pain Nullification allowed me to experience this small mercy and I had made sure to be at full Health before the branding took pce, using precious Mana to do so before fear could overtake me.

  They shouted at each other, trying to confirm whether someone in their mercy had administered drugs to numb my pain. I had shown no expression, which had visibly unnerved them.

  The man with a puzzled expression on his face yelled at me to keep moving. Another person applied a foul-smelling green paste to my newly opened wound, making me feel as though I was both being stung and salved at the same time. After that, we were ushered to another open-air enclosure by the cruel svers' barking commands. Then and there, we were made to strip and don new clothes consisting of simple coarse-weave linen tunics, short baggy trousers, and leather sandals with hobnailed soles. The more violent and rebellious sves were separated from us and grouped on the left.

  The wooden-fenced pen was surrounded by dark-bearded guards who were silent, stern, and cd in dirty chainmail and leather armor. They carried a variety of blunt instruments, ranging from cudgels to wicked-looking maces and fils. One of the guards, a particurly brutish specimen, stood nearly two meters tall and wielded a giant pole fil studded with deadly iron. He occasionally made jokes with his peers about how long it would take to break the weaker-looking sves or how he would enjoy shattering bones with his weapon, which he affectionately called "Wife-Beater."

  After we were all herded into the pen, which had a hard-packed earth floor from the passage of hundreds of feet, we were forced to form lines and columns. Many of us held an arm to our fresh brand, whimpering in pain. Not all of us were fully compliant, and the guards gleefully beat the troublemakers into submission. Extra licks of the whip were thrown in for good measure, leaving a few new sves bloodied and bruised.

  Suddenly, the guards snapped to attention as a corpulent man entered the holding area. He wore a light red turban trimmed with fur, with a red ruby at its center, and clothes cut from the finest silk. His round girth was emphasized by a sash of vermillion red that strained to contain his prodigious bulk. Two sparkling, jovial eyes were set in his face, orbs of icy blue against a backdrop of olive-brown skin. His mouth lit up in a satisfied smile as he surveyed the assembled, newly minted sves.

  He spoke to us then in a voice filled with genuine joy, as if he had just enjoyed a particurly satisfying bowel movement, which was so incongruous to our suffering and pain.

  “Greetings, friends, one and all. My name is Hassan. Welcome to the first days of joining the family of the Children. Life aboard will be harsh but fair. All must py their part on the great waves. There is no pce for zy deck children on this vessel. By low or high tide, work, and you will be fed. But understand that ziness will be met with the kiss of the whip. Know well then that either will give us great satisfaction!”

  The fat man guffawed as his jeweled fingers sparkled and danced in time to the heavy heaves of his ughter. The guards dutifully ughed along with him, for they had pyed this part many times before.

  Initially, I was puzzled at their use of a mariner-like lexicon before remembering that their whole culture was based on a sea-faring people now trapped innd by world-shattering events. I brushed aside these mistaken thoughts and focused all of my attention back on the portly yet jovial man.

  “…Work well and live content,” he ended, my attention having wandered for part of his speech.

  After Hassan’s introduction, we were manacled and chained together, before being frog marched out of the pen. Now that I had some time to gather my wits from the pain and mental exhaustion, I recognized where we were. Across from me, to what I presumed to be the east, a breathtaking vista of golds and reds painted a riot of color across huge gigantic trees. I stopped in my tracks to drink in some of the natural beauty, only to be pulled along once again by the cutting cruel chains around my ankles which cut through my reprieve.

  We began our descent down a wide dirt track that wound ever downward, cutting through hard abaster stone. Eventually, we passed a guarded checkpoint, where guards lounged about their posts, only to be pyfully shouted at and brought to attention by our escort.

  As our rge group of sves made our way through, the sounds of metalworking and industry grew ever louder. The cng of hammers striking metal, the roar of coal-fired furnaces, interspersed with the occasional crack of the whip and a painful scream. The smell came next, an acrid scent that crept up on the nostrils before finally overwhelming them.

  They led us to a pile of tools, and in front of us were pickaxes, shovels, and other miscelneous mining equipment. The guards then removed the manacles from our wrists before gesturing for us to quickly pick up a tool. As I bent to take up a crude mining pick, I heard a sudden war cry rise above the sounds of the mine.

  A blonde, bearded animal of a man, with hair grown long in wild dreadlocks, screamed in fury as he brandished a pickaxe, attempting to strike down the closest guard. He was hindered by chains still attached to the other sves, dragging them along with him.

  A guard nonchantly, with ease born of many years of practice, clubbed him across the back of the head with a bckjack. He fell to the ground like a great sack of meat. The fmes of rebellion were instantly smothered and cast a pall over the rest of the sves, stifling any thoughts of further defiance. The blonde man was unchained from his line and roughly carted off somewhere by the guards.

  Our group was now thoroughly cowed, with some of us beaten and all of us still suffering from our recent branding. An individual approached us then, reedy-thin and stooped like a wading bird. He cked the muscuture and solidity of his peers but exuded a strong bureaucratic aura.

  Carrying a tablet and stylus, he directed our group with a pointed and oddly shrill voice, through his thin lips, to the mine shaft cut deep into the rock to our left. The noise from the industry around the mines was oppressively loud, and I could not hear his exact words, but our guards nodded to his authority. My mana had since recovered from the Winnowing, and I decided to silently cast an Identify spell on him.

  Degei Ganbataar - Sve Overseer (Human lvl.8)

  Health: 72/72

  Stamina: 27/27

  Mana: 12 / 12

  Interesting, I thought to myself. The Overseer, despite being three levels higher than myself, seemed to be weaker overall, except for a little bit more Mana. I deduced that he must be a wily individual to have risen to his current authority. I muttered an inner curse to myself for not taking the opportunity to Identify Hassan as another point of reference.

  As we continued to pass by the Overseer on our way to the open mineshaft, my column was forced to a halt as Degei raised an arm, checking his tablet. The sve behind me was trembling, panicked vibrations traveling along the length of the chain that connected us like a cruel Morse code. The Overseer moved closer to me, his bck eyes cruel and inquisitive, before checking something on his tablet and making some notes.

  “No trouble from you, sve. Work, and if the gods are kind, you may live to see the end of the year,” he said coolly with no emotion, before turning abruptly and moving off. He waved the line to continue absentmindedly, and I was jostled forward. A few of the sves in front of me threw me wary, inquisitive gnces before moving forward, pulled inexorably by the others in front.