augmentedspartan
Surviving in the Metro
Wilhye held his tongue as the guards pushed him again, almost making him trip. He had learned the hard way that these people didn't appreciate their prisoners saying things about their mother and what her favorite pastime was. Even though he stood one head taller than both of them, something rather impressive considering the hunched form old age had gifted him, the guards, clad in armor and holding weapons, showed no fear and were ready to strike the Satyr as soon as he did anything out of line. After an insufferably long walk he was forcefully shoved into a cell and the gate closed behind him before he could stand. He then watched as they walked away with the only source of light, until they were out of sight and the cell was in complete darkness. He waited for a few seconds before summoning a small flame, more than enough to light up the rather small cell. It was then that he heard a voice from behind, inviting him to talk. Wilhye instinctively backed away into the corner of the cell and assumed a position not too dissimilar to that of a scared animal ready to run at the smallest sign of danger.
"Oh, don't be shy," the figure said, a dry chuckle escaping what remained of his lips. "I'm but a harmless little mage." His face contorted into a painful smile, as if he had just told a funny secret.
Wilhye didn't respond and instead examined the man, or what remained of him. It was true that he posed no danger, for he was missing his right arm and left leg. The skin looked more like dry paper, and hair seemed to be an unknown concept for the man. Once the initial shock had passed, Wilhye took a ragged breath and sat down next to the wall, facing the stranger. "Now, son, you shouldn't go around scaring folks. Jumpy bunch us old fellas, nerves aren't what they used to be." He extinguished the flame and used both hands to fix his clothes. Which consisted of an old tattered cloak carelessly wrapped around him. Fashion had never been in his radar, but he was raised with manners. He wasn't going to go around showing everyone the family jewels.
"You're right. I apologize very much so," the man responded from the darkness. "See, I don't get many visitors here, so any contact I can get with others is very much welcomed."
Summoning the flame back again, he looked around the place for somewhere to put the fire, thus freeing his hand. He could just leave it in the floor, and it wouldn't take that much concentration to keep it alive. But in his experience energy didn't care that stone wasn't flammable, and if he didn't pay attention the flame could spread all around him, and he didn't want to deal with an uncontrollable fire again. Sadly, aside from him and his new cell mate, the cell was completely empty. No bowls, no mattresses, not even rusty chains on the walls. He was assuming that a meal plan wasn't included. "Yes, I can see why. Methinks that if I were to tell you about me, you should share some of your life story too."
"Nothing much to tell, really. Have been here so long that I've forgotten most, and what's left isn't really that interesting. Ernest is my name, that you can use."
"Well, Ernie, I'm Wilhye Whateley, but you can call me Mr. Whateley. That's what the kids at the village did." Actually, most kids just called him Grandpa, but this wasn't really the best place, nor the best company, for such terms.
Ernest chuckled again. "I think you are misjudging my age, Mr. Whateley. I might have turned at a young age, but I can assure you, I've been around for long."
"Bah, true age is in the soul, and neither of us have had that for a while." He suddenly felt a sharp pain on his hand, and though for a moment that his fire was burning him. When a piece of flesh fell off from his forearm he realized it wasn't the fire, but the lack of Soul Stone was reverting what changes he had made. Soon enough his left arm would be cleaned of most components but the tendons holding his bones together. Thankfully, he hadn't bothered with much else, so the pain should pass quickly.
"I see I'm not the only one in need of restoration. What happened, played too much with fire?"
"Pack of dogs decided to have a snack at my expense." He had managed to keep the arm attached, but there wasn't much left aside from bones and scraps holding them together. Eventually he had clumped together a bunch of skin and muscle from different corpses and did a poor job at covering it up. Wilhye wasn't the type of person to care for his appearance, but he wasn't keen on the idea of his arm suddenly falling off. The rest of him wasn't looking too good either. The ritual had made his lean figure even skinnier and deepened his wrinkles even more. Skin was hanging loosely and his eyes were sunk in and surrounded by dark skin, as if he hadn't slept in days. The only hair is his head was his short, thinning, grey beard, which was fairly unkempt, which was a big contrast from the thick brown fur that adorned his body from the waist down. So all in all, he looked like the average Child, that is to say, a walking corpse. The only thing that looked intact were his horns, both rugged and looping on themselves once, and his hooves, probably due to both of them being rather resistant.
"It happens. Wild animals tend to confuse us undead with actual deads. How did you end up becoming a Child? Immortality became more tempting as you grew old?"
"Not at all, I was in quite good shape. Folks complain about daily exercise of all the time, but if you ask me they are missing on quite a few extra years. Not to mention the perks of being fit." He had always been on the lean side, even before turning, but he had maintained a daily exercise regime, which consisted mostly on jogging. It didn't help to build any muscle mass, but it did keep him active and sharp.
"Ah, well, so how did you end up like that?"
"Not by choice, that's for damn sure. See, us folks in our village, we're very into celebrations. Sometimes a bit too much, celebration, if you get me."
Ernest smiled again, this time rather mockingly. "Don't tell me that you got drunk. I actually don't believe you can go through the ritual like that."
"No, no, not drunk. I can hold my drink just fine. I don't know if you have this thing, I don't know what it's called, but it's popular with the younguns." Wilhye went silent for a moment, trying, and failing, to recall the name. "Can't remember. Doesn't matter. What's important is that this thing is a root that once you burn it messes with your head, see. Not like you going stupid like with drink, but it makes you change your mind and make you want to do stuff you normally wouldn't do."
"I can't see any reason why anyone would take that willingly."
"That's the thing, no one does. People who think they're funny use it on others and make them do stupid stuff. Like I said, very popular with the younguns." He checked his arm and found most of the skin to be gone, leaving just the bones up to his elbow. He picked at it a bit to let the remaining loose flesh fall off, but aside from that left it alone. It's probably wouldn't fall off. Probably. "Anyways. Someone decided it would be a good idea to burn one of those and throw it into the room. Five minutes later someone decided to try the ritual. How does one go from casual partying to giving their soul? I dunno. Like I said, it messes with your brain."
"Do you remember anything about the ritual?"
"Yeah, the whole shebang. Root doesn't make you black out, just gives you weird ideas. You know how it goes anyways."
"What happened then? You got kicked out?"
"Yes. I mean, not cause I was a Child, village was ok with that. Although not everyone survived the ritual, none of us that survived were blamed. They knew that we were under the influence of the root. I kept getting weird looks from people though, so I'm convinced they weren't completely ok with our new looks."
"Why were you kicked out then?"
"Oh, yeah. I accidentally burned down most of the village and forest area." Wilhye gave an awkward cough.
Ernest burst out laughing. A dry, painful to hear, laugh. Once he managed to control himself, he said "How does one accidentally burn down an entire village?"
"Laugh all you want, you clown." Of all the reactions he expected, that was the most annoying. "Our houses are basically part of the forest. One small flame can eat away all the plants in its path, and from there it's basically impossible to contain." He then mumbled something about lack of respect.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I just don't get to hear many stories down here." He then gave a last small chuckle before saying, "Well, that's one way to discover your magic. What did you do after, learned to control it?"
Wilhye gave him a hard look before exhaling from his nose, calming down. "More or less. I just moved around from place to place, didn't really have a set path. Wasn't really keen on the idea of setting down into any random town. Not that they would have let me in."
"How did you manage to learn? You seem to have a good grasp on your magic." He said, pointing with his head towards the flame. "Found a teacher?"
"Eventually, yes. At first I practiced myself. Make a fire, control it, all that business." He saw that Ernest was about to say something, smile back on his face, but he interrupted him, "No, I didn't cause any more wild fires, shut your goddamn mouth." Ernest just chuckled at this, but kept his mouth shut. "Anyways, eventually I did find someone to teach me, a fellow traveler. Never knew why he was travelling, he refused to say. Didn't really care, since he was kind enough to help me out with my magic, seemed to be really proficient at it. That went for, say, five years or so, not sure, don't really keep track of time." After that, he had to teach himself how to use his magic. Thankfully, his partner had taught him the most important aspects, and he hadn't had trouble learning to control his abilities. However, this only went as far as creating and controlling fire. He couldn't do any of the fancy stuff like giving it a concrete shape or such advanced abilities.
"Five years? How long have you been going around?"
"Hard to say. Like I said, never bothered with time." He stopped for a moment to think. "I would say about thirty or forty years. Give or take."
"It seems that you have been travelling for a long time indeed. How old were you when your turned? If you don't mind my asking."
"Not at all. No shame in one's age. I must have been either 73 or 75, can't remember exactly." It had been a while since he had celebrated anything resembling a birthday. Plus, at this point age didn't matter that much.
"Isn't it true that Satyr's live longer than humans, though? What would that be equivalent in human years?"
"About 73 or 75, cause that's a myth. Us forest folks live as long as you human bunch."
"Ah, I see. Well, it seems you weren't too far away from death anyways. Tell me, what did you do in the village? Your job, I mean."
"Well, at that point I wasn't doing much of anything. Retirement, you call it, although it was for lack of being needed more that not being able to continue working." Wilhye stopped for a moment, judging if the term he wanted to use was correct. "An architect, I supposed you could call me. I helped plan and build houses. Easier than it seems, really, since half of the houses were the trees themselves, but someone had to do it." In truth, his village had been a fairly new one. He had been raised at a much smaller village, but the constant attacks from wild animals and distance from the river had forced the entire townsfolk to move. Most of his early life had been spent helping to construct his new home. At first he just helped, but as time went on he took more control of the situation, planning expansions and constructing more sound houses. Eventually, he was the person everyone went to when they needed something fixed or remodeled. Wilhye fell silent and waited for Ernest to ask more questions. To his surprise, he kept quiet, seemingly processing all this new information. "Out of questions?"
"No. I'm just saving them for later, wouldn't want you to run dry of conversation. We're going to be here for a long time."
"How long exactly?"
Ernest flashed him a grin, or it would have been a grin if he had any teeth left. "Until we die for good, of course."
"Oh, don't be shy," the figure said, a dry chuckle escaping what remained of his lips. "I'm but a harmless little mage." His face contorted into a painful smile, as if he had just told a funny secret.
Wilhye didn't respond and instead examined the man, or what remained of him. It was true that he posed no danger, for he was missing his right arm and left leg. The skin looked more like dry paper, and hair seemed to be an unknown concept for the man. Once the initial shock had passed, Wilhye took a ragged breath and sat down next to the wall, facing the stranger. "Now, son, you shouldn't go around scaring folks. Jumpy bunch us old fellas, nerves aren't what they used to be." He extinguished the flame and used both hands to fix his clothes. Which consisted of an old tattered cloak carelessly wrapped around him. Fashion had never been in his radar, but he was raised with manners. He wasn't going to go around showing everyone the family jewels.
"You're right. I apologize very much so," the man responded from the darkness. "See, I don't get many visitors here, so any contact I can get with others is very much welcomed."
Summoning the flame back again, he looked around the place for somewhere to put the fire, thus freeing his hand. He could just leave it in the floor, and it wouldn't take that much concentration to keep it alive. But in his experience energy didn't care that stone wasn't flammable, and if he didn't pay attention the flame could spread all around him, and he didn't want to deal with an uncontrollable fire again. Sadly, aside from him and his new cell mate, the cell was completely empty. No bowls, no mattresses, not even rusty chains on the walls. He was assuming that a meal plan wasn't included. "Yes, I can see why. Methinks that if I were to tell you about me, you should share some of your life story too."
"Nothing much to tell, really. Have been here so long that I've forgotten most, and what's left isn't really that interesting. Ernest is my name, that you can use."
"Well, Ernie, I'm Wilhye Whateley, but you can call me Mr. Whateley. That's what the kids at the village did." Actually, most kids just called him Grandpa, but this wasn't really the best place, nor the best company, for such terms.
Ernest chuckled again. "I think you are misjudging my age, Mr. Whateley. I might have turned at a young age, but I can assure you, I've been around for long."
"Bah, true age is in the soul, and neither of us have had that for a while." He suddenly felt a sharp pain on his hand, and though for a moment that his fire was burning him. When a piece of flesh fell off from his forearm he realized it wasn't the fire, but the lack of Soul Stone was reverting what changes he had made. Soon enough his left arm would be cleaned of most components but the tendons holding his bones together. Thankfully, he hadn't bothered with much else, so the pain should pass quickly.
"I see I'm not the only one in need of restoration. What happened, played too much with fire?"
"Pack of dogs decided to have a snack at my expense." He had managed to keep the arm attached, but there wasn't much left aside from bones and scraps holding them together. Eventually he had clumped together a bunch of skin and muscle from different corpses and did a poor job at covering it up. Wilhye wasn't the type of person to care for his appearance, but he wasn't keen on the idea of his arm suddenly falling off. The rest of him wasn't looking too good either. The ritual had made his lean figure even skinnier and deepened his wrinkles even more. Skin was hanging loosely and his eyes were sunk in and surrounded by dark skin, as if he hadn't slept in days. The only hair is his head was his short, thinning, grey beard, which was fairly unkempt, which was a big contrast from the thick brown fur that adorned his body from the waist down. So all in all, he looked like the average Child, that is to say, a walking corpse. The only thing that looked intact were his horns, both rugged and looping on themselves once, and his hooves, probably due to both of them being rather resistant.
"It happens. Wild animals tend to confuse us undead with actual deads. How did you end up becoming a Child? Immortality became more tempting as you grew old?"
"Not at all, I was in quite good shape. Folks complain about daily exercise of all the time, but if you ask me they are missing on quite a few extra years. Not to mention the perks of being fit." He had always been on the lean side, even before turning, but he had maintained a daily exercise regime, which consisted mostly on jogging. It didn't help to build any muscle mass, but it did keep him active and sharp.
"Ah, well, so how did you end up like that?"
"Not by choice, that's for damn sure. See, us folks in our village, we're very into celebrations. Sometimes a bit too much, celebration, if you get me."
Ernest smiled again, this time rather mockingly. "Don't tell me that you got drunk. I actually don't believe you can go through the ritual like that."
"No, no, not drunk. I can hold my drink just fine. I don't know if you have this thing, I don't know what it's called, but it's popular with the younguns." Wilhye went silent for a moment, trying, and failing, to recall the name. "Can't remember. Doesn't matter. What's important is that this thing is a root that once you burn it messes with your head, see. Not like you going stupid like with drink, but it makes you change your mind and make you want to do stuff you normally wouldn't do."
"I can't see any reason why anyone would take that willingly."
"That's the thing, no one does. People who think they're funny use it on others and make them do stupid stuff. Like I said, very popular with the younguns." He checked his arm and found most of the skin to be gone, leaving just the bones up to his elbow. He picked at it a bit to let the remaining loose flesh fall off, but aside from that left it alone. It's probably wouldn't fall off. Probably. "Anyways. Someone decided it would be a good idea to burn one of those and throw it into the room. Five minutes later someone decided to try the ritual. How does one go from casual partying to giving their soul? I dunno. Like I said, it messes with your brain."
"Do you remember anything about the ritual?"
"Yeah, the whole shebang. Root doesn't make you black out, just gives you weird ideas. You know how it goes anyways."
"What happened then? You got kicked out?"
"Yes. I mean, not cause I was a Child, village was ok with that. Although not everyone survived the ritual, none of us that survived were blamed. They knew that we were under the influence of the root. I kept getting weird looks from people though, so I'm convinced they weren't completely ok with our new looks."
"Why were you kicked out then?"
"Oh, yeah. I accidentally burned down most of the village and forest area." Wilhye gave an awkward cough.
Ernest burst out laughing. A dry, painful to hear, laugh. Once he managed to control himself, he said "How does one accidentally burn down an entire village?"
"Laugh all you want, you clown." Of all the reactions he expected, that was the most annoying. "Our houses are basically part of the forest. One small flame can eat away all the plants in its path, and from there it's basically impossible to contain." He then mumbled something about lack of respect.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I just don't get to hear many stories down here." He then gave a last small chuckle before saying, "Well, that's one way to discover your magic. What did you do after, learned to control it?"
Wilhye gave him a hard look before exhaling from his nose, calming down. "More or less. I just moved around from place to place, didn't really have a set path. Wasn't really keen on the idea of setting down into any random town. Not that they would have let me in."
"How did you manage to learn? You seem to have a good grasp on your magic." He said, pointing with his head towards the flame. "Found a teacher?"
"Eventually, yes. At first I practiced myself. Make a fire, control it, all that business." He saw that Ernest was about to say something, smile back on his face, but he interrupted him, "No, I didn't cause any more wild fires, shut your goddamn mouth." Ernest just chuckled at this, but kept his mouth shut. "Anyways, eventually I did find someone to teach me, a fellow traveler. Never knew why he was travelling, he refused to say. Didn't really care, since he was kind enough to help me out with my magic, seemed to be really proficient at it. That went for, say, five years or so, not sure, don't really keep track of time." After that, he had to teach himself how to use his magic. Thankfully, his partner had taught him the most important aspects, and he hadn't had trouble learning to control his abilities. However, this only went as far as creating and controlling fire. He couldn't do any of the fancy stuff like giving it a concrete shape or such advanced abilities.
"Five years? How long have you been going around?"
"Hard to say. Like I said, never bothered with time." He stopped for a moment to think. "I would say about thirty or forty years. Give or take."
"It seems that you have been travelling for a long time indeed. How old were you when your turned? If you don't mind my asking."
"Not at all. No shame in one's age. I must have been either 73 or 75, can't remember exactly." It had been a while since he had celebrated anything resembling a birthday. Plus, at this point age didn't matter that much.
"Isn't it true that Satyr's live longer than humans, though? What would that be equivalent in human years?"
"About 73 or 75, cause that's a myth. Us forest folks live as long as you human bunch."
"Ah, I see. Well, it seems you weren't too far away from death anyways. Tell me, what did you do in the village? Your job, I mean."
"Well, at that point I wasn't doing much of anything. Retirement, you call it, although it was for lack of being needed more that not being able to continue working." Wilhye stopped for a moment, judging if the term he wanted to use was correct. "An architect, I supposed you could call me. I helped plan and build houses. Easier than it seems, really, since half of the houses were the trees themselves, but someone had to do it." In truth, his village had been a fairly new one. He had been raised at a much smaller village, but the constant attacks from wild animals and distance from the river had forced the entire townsfolk to move. Most of his early life had been spent helping to construct his new home. At first he just helped, but as time went on he took more control of the situation, planning expansions and constructing more sound houses. Eventually, he was the person everyone went to when they needed something fixed or remodeled. Wilhye fell silent and waited for Ernest to ask more questions. To his surprise, he kept quiet, seemingly processing all this new information. "Out of questions?"
"No. I'm just saving them for later, wouldn't want you to run dry of conversation. We're going to be here for a long time."
"How long exactly?"
Ernest flashed him a grin, or it would have been a grin if he had any teeth left. "Until we die for good, of course."
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