Frederick: {44}
Ponder the effects my actions will have on the future. {4}
Sleeper: {43}
Spontaneously regenerate. {2}
Triad: {33}
Try killing again. {6}
Dragnar: {18}
Convince Korbin to appear defeated. {1}
Korbin: {1}
Hurl a sword at the archers.
{6} Swordsmen: B: Run! {6}
Balance: {4}
C: Balance! {2}
D: Balance! {2}
E: Balance! {3}
Archers:Attack!: {1}
Defense: {2}
Turn 09: History has been changed.
What changes will these actions bring forth?
As the last of the serfs returned home, Frederick sighed. His actions would have far-reaching consequences, he knew this. Trepidations discarded, he focused on exactly what would change. He didn’t need to be a history major to understand that this world would be warped. The serfs would survive, along with the Feudal System.
Or would it? Perhaps their leader’s actions during this time would incite a slave’s rebellion of sorts. While historically, the sudden decrease in population brought about an ultimately better social system, painful changes ran amok during the transition. Knowledge was lost and regained, only to be lost once again. Society crumbled, but a new one was built atop the ruins of the old. Even when crushed, human spirit and will stood up once again; they rebuilt their towers, cities, roads, and ultimately progressed. Moving forward was all that could be done.
Frederick had robbed this world of such a thing. He had stopped the virus before it could spread, before civilization gave way. Instead of dealing with the conflict themselves, an unknown savior had appeared. Fate progressed linearly, change needn’t be ushered forth. The status quo was maintained. At the very least, this was one possibility. But as we all know, fate is fickle. What is expected is not always what occurs…
Studies on human culture, they were meaningless to some. Sleeper was included in that ‘some’. He never cared much for history, nor for people. Day in, day out, his life was mediocre. Always the same. It always was, always should’ve been. Until the door was opened. That cold concrete floor — he would never forget it. It might be a dream… but it was a dream he didn’t want to wake up from.
This world was perfect, it was ideal. Sleeper was everything he wanted to be, everything he could hope to be. His coworkers weren’t here. His boss wasn’t here. This world was Sleeper’s dreams made manifest; freedom was presented to him, and he reached forth, grasping it for the first time in his life. His eyes turned towards his left hand. He had smashed it into an unrecognizable mess, but the pain didn’t feel real. The blood was there, of course, but he could pretend it wasn’t.
“The pain isn’t there. The wound isn’t there. It was never there.”
Sleeper forged onward, treating this reality as a dream. He tried to attain lucidity. Bending reality, forcing it to adhere to his will. Fate itself was within his reach if he could attain such power. He imagined his hand recovering. The bones, regenerating, and his flesh returning to normal. No matter how hard he wished, no matter how hard he concentrated, reality remained still. The world was unchanged.
Shouts echoed within Triad. They tore at her heart. Claws reached around it, tightening their grip. She clenched her teeth, bearing the pain, until she could bear it no longer. The wails of demons rang through her, every moment she was tortured by the sound of thousands of souls, begging for death. The pain swallowed her whole, and she gave herself to it. Letting herself be taken, her eyes closed and her consciousness faded.
The gates of Hell itself had opened. An eternity of hatred surged through the woman and her actions reflected this. Her physical body knew no limits, no bounds. Havoc was wrought, lives were lost, fear, instilled. Even her form had changed. What was once elegant had become despicable, violent, and brutal. Her movements were focused on inflicting pain, not something as petty as incapacitation. Bones were left broken as her victims lay helplessly on the ground. No one dared stand up to her.
When she awoke from her demonic trance, what befell her eyes was simply tragedy. Under the light of the moon, silhouettes were vaguely visible. Peasants lay, scattered, bones jutting out from their joints. Faces plastered with looks of horror, all trained on her. Their eyes were dull and empty. This wasn’t what she had wanted…
Shaking off the feelings of misery, Dragnar approached Korbin. Everyone around him was slowly breaking down. Perhaps he was no different. Such thoughts were unproductive, yet they filled him. He couldn’t think of anything else. It was possible that his own sanity was slipping away, and he could do nothing to stop the gradual slide. He could already see it beginning its descent, distancing itself from him. How much time did he have left?
He stood, paralyzed, unable to progress. As much as he willed his legs to move, they remained frozen mid-step. A battle was raging, within his own mind. His quarrel was with none other than himself, and it was a conflict fought for his soul. Everything he had done and everything he had accomplished; all was tested. The loss of such a struggle could prove fatal.
Korbin wasn’t sane. At first, this ‘trance’ he entered heightened his senses. It allowed him to evaluate the battlefield and determine optimal actions to take. All that it asked in return was concentration, a clear mind, things Korbin provided gladly. Yet his actions of late had exceeded human ability. No mortal could possibly attain such power.
Realization dawned. This was not strength Korbin had gathered by himself but strength he was borrowing. From who, he didn’t concern himself with. It was power, and he would use it. A slight glint was all that could be seen, and within seconds a sword had cloven through two archers. Threat number one eliminated.
The swordsmen approached Korbin clumped together, all struggling to retain their balance. A single retreating guard was all that had been needed to send them toppling off the wall. Two had cleared the wall completely and a third held on by but the fingers of his left hand. The offending guardsman had already made his way off the wall, retreating back into the safe alcove that was the barracks.
Status: Godly. Has recently invented modern medicine from scratch.
Inventory: Rusty shiv , sewing kit. Masterwork black cloak.
Skills: Skilled Paramedic (1/4 xp to rank up), Ambusher (0/3xp to rank up), Surgeon (1/3 xp), Skilled Doctor (1/4 xp to rank up) Philospher (1/3xp)
Abilities: Godly doctor, but nothing else of note.
Status: A little blood-crazy. Has caused an enemy to explode lately. Has captured an enemies heart lately.
Inventory: Exceptional Steel Spear, bloody. Iron chainmail.
Skills: Martial Artist (2/3 xp to rank up), Searcher (1/3 xp to rank up), Accomplished Spearman (3/5 xp to rank up), Thrower (1/3xp)
Abilities: Minor Prepared Concentration Minor Physics-Defying Jumping
Status: Locked in a battle with his own mind. Looks like a traveler. Has no nose.
Inventory: Engraved Exceptional Steel Claymore Iron chainmail. Leather pants, shoes. Guard’s helmet.
Skills: Skilled Searcher (2/4 xp to level up], Dabbling Swordsman (1/2 xp to level up),
Abilities: 100% human.
Status: Impossibly intoxicated. Is wearing a foreign karate suit. Left hand is badly mangled.
Inventory: Keg (50 liters) attached to back. Karate Master suit.
Skills: An unskilled laborer.
Abilities: Minor Intoxicated Agility.
Status: Mostly patched up. Wound may become infected, but symptoms will take time to show. Collapsed lung, but otherwise okay. Has alienated beggars and orphans. Has been overtaken by a murderous rage.
Inventory: Iron chainmail,, Staff.
Skills: Skilled Martial Artist (0/4 xp to next rank)
Abilities: Demonic Possession.
A strangely out-of-place storehouse. Filled with boxes, booze, and exceptional weapons. Blood coats the floor.
A run-down street. Beggars and orphans litter the sides of the road. Frederick, Triad, and Sleeper are here. Dead peasants litter the ground and blood runs thick through the streets.
An armoury filled with weapons and armour. Sharp spears litter the floor. Currently inside: Dragnar’s nose.
To the north of the streets. Appears to be surrounded by high walls, with a single gate being the only way in. Guards regularly patrol the inside. Currently Korbin is on the walls, an exploded guard, a dead guard, and a frightful guard are not attacking Korbin. Dragnar is here, forced into a battle to retain his sanity. 2 guards have toppled off the wall and died, a third barely retains his grip.
A tavern filled with booze.
The streets surrounding the Town Hall and other important buildings. There is a high wall between the two places.
A decrepit old church filled with Frederick’s brilliant medical notes and equipment.
...I'm probably not going to make another update like this, this was just an experiment. I'll return to my usual style of writing next turn. I have a rather large English assignment coming up soon, so updates will be shorter for a while.
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Topic: Awakening: Turn 13: Blood. (Read 13607 times)