The fae of the deep woods and the pces of the In-Between honored ancient pacts and promises, presenting their best Warriors and Life Mages. They also gave unto the First Children great stores of witchwood lumber, grown from the giant, sentient trees that had roots in both worlds so that the elven craftsmen might make living ships to travel the deeps. The forces under the command of the elven High King were named the Eastern Alliance as an entire continent prepared for war.
— On the Cataclysm by an unknown Quassian Schor, circa 103 AC.
I awoke first to a kick in the stomach, to which I felt nothing except a mute impact. This was followed by another strike to the small of my back, and this time I very much felt it. I let out a howl of agony and struggled to open my eyes as my hand reached out for a weapon that was no longer there.
As my vision cleared, I saw that I was surrounded by four individuals dressed in heavy fur-trimmed leathers and chainmail. Shock filled me as I realized this was my first encounter with other people, and they did not appear to be at all friendly. Through the pain, I tried to expin that I meant no harm, that this must all be some sort of mistake. But all that escaped my lips were wheezing coughs.
One of the men, whom I presumed to be the leader, wore a plumed iron nasal helm. He spat out a mixture of invective, curses, and orders in a guttural nguage filled with far too many consonants. As I gnced at the other men, my eyes were drawn to the cruel weapons hanging from their belts.
Their assortment of weapons, from cavalry sabers to crude-looking clubs, heightened their menacing presence. One of them held my broken half-spear reverently; I subconsciously reached for it, only to receive a stinging backhand to the face.
The men were ughing cruelly at me, no doubt viewing me as no threat. Grasping at straws, I mentally targeted the leader of the small group and cast Identify to try and regain some control of the situation.
Bogurchu Batbayar - Waverider (Human lvl.12)
Health: 142/144
Stamina: 36/37
Mana: 8/8
The men continued to taunt me, their eyes filled with undisguised scorn. One of their brutish number straddled my back, pushing my face into the ground and muffling my cries of pain. I was overpowered like a child, and he grabbed my hair, forcing my head up and shouting at me in a rage-filled voice. Hot saliva droplets sprayed onto my face as he snarled at me in an unknown nguage. I imagined I could pick up one in three of his insults from his tone—something to do with my mother, animals, or perhaps svery.
Another of the men, squat and heavily muscled but bow-legged in the manner of experienced horsemen, kneeled before my face. Looking closely at him, I saw cruel bck Asiatic eyes and a jagged scar running across his nose on a face that was pockmarked with the ravages of acne. His hands were callused and rough from a hard life, but he ran them almost gently through my dirty hair, muttering soft tones of perverse appreciation.
Then, from behind, I felt hands slipping up the hem of my robe, and another pair grabbed my buttocks firmly. Panicked, I tried to twist away, futilely filing and kicking with my limbs. The men jeered and ughed, trading whoops and hollers with one another.
With an angry grunt, Bogurchu pushed the man off my back. Enraged, the man issued a feral challenge to the leader, snarling with pent-up lust. Bogurchu, with a firm voice that brooked no rebellion, barked at the man until his eyes were downcast, and he grunted in frustration, stepping away from me.
They gagged me with a dirty cloth that tasted like ash and rot. The brutes then covered my head with a crude sackcloth before tightly tying my limbs with rough rope. As I struggled to breathe, a blow nded on the back of my head, causing me to lose a significant amount of Health. Finally, I succumbed to merciful unconsciousness.
***
Awakening to darkness, my first sensations were of the acrid stench of the sackcloth, like a mix of rotten vegetables and spoiled milk. I became aware of the rocking motion of what seemed to be some sort of vehicle or wagon. Pain radiated from the back of my head and a ringing sensation persisted in my brain, providing a mild distraction from my numb limbs and the blood trickling down my neck.
The hood was ripped from my head and a rough canteen was brought to my lips. I drank fervently, the stale water tasting of leather, before coughing a little to the men’s crude jeers. Two pairs of hands from behind set me down upon the ground, and I could see that the animal in front of me was just a horse. It reminded me of the steppe ponies I had seen in cultural documentaries, but a few hands taller with stronger, more muscur fnks that promised great strength and endurance.
Tied behind the animal, I was forced into a shuffling, stumbling walk, half-dragging against the rope that bound me. Looking wearily in front of me, I saw the strangest of sights.
