As I traveled along, I became painfully aware that there were quite a few pitfalls, both literally and figuratively, in descending a slippery hill in the near-dark. First and foremost--it was god awfully mucky. I’d never been much of a fan of getting dirty, nor being outside, nor getting wet while still wearing clothes, and now, all of my irritants had converged into some massive, congealed ball of piss-off-jelly. I had initially tried wiping away a lot of the water that obscured my vision, falling into my orc eyes or my collar and down my back. Eventually, though, I just gave up and opened myself up to the whims of Mother Nature.

Another annoying bit of this journey was that as I moved down, the trees got more sparse. Not that they went away, just that they fanned out with more distance than I honestly thought was necessary. Seemed a bit rude, really. It was as though every few feet I’d slide in mud and have to coast to a tree trunk, and that was perpetually becoming more and more difficult to do.

It was honestly a little miserable. It even had me contemplating if I would have been better off just dying in the wreckage of the train crash. But then I started thinking about it. Which was ultimately a pointless endeavor because I still wasn’t sure that hadn’t happened.

I remembered seeing a documentary once about a woman who had lived through a near-death experience. She’d been on the operating table and her heart stopped beating during her surgery just as they were preparing to stitch her body back up. According to the doctor that was interviewed, she’d only been dead for a few minutes before they brought her back. Still, from the woman’s perspective, she’d encountered hours upon hours of a unique experience walking through shadowed halls and visiting with loved ones and even frolicking in a field in the sunshine of her hometown a thousand miles away from her hospital bed. She’d been convinced she’d tasted a slice of heaven, but according to the realistic--and most likely--more accurate explanation from a neuroscientist, she’d experienced what he called a “brain surge,” something that has been documented to happen to some people and animals after death.

In this brain surge, time slowed down for her, because--apparently--much like a dream, the human mind can produce a whole cocktail of chemicals and misfiring of synapses that creates a realm of experiences all at once, and the brain translates it as happening in a slowed-down, sequential order. So, for her, it had been hours, maybe even days, but for everyone else, it was three-minutes and fifty-one seconds.

I considered that maybe that’s all this was for me, you know, instead of a coma. Perhaps I’d actually been smashed between the collapsed train car and the pavement and these were the final few minutes of my life in some crazy game world my brain had cooked up. It was very possible my heart and other bodily functions had already ceased, and soon, I’d just straight up expire. If that was the case, I supposed it beat the alternative. I had to distract myself, because once I thought about death, I knew I’d start thinking about Roger, and that wouldn’t do anyone any good—least of all me.

Man, that was a depressing tangent, I scolded myself. Best not to think of that right now.

After another hour, I noticed that despite it clearly getting darker around me, I didn’t seem to have any trouble seeing. In fact, ironically, the only way I knew it was actually night time was because suddenly, all the colors I could see transformed from the usual tones to something of a gray-scale.

Ah, I thought. This must be Dark Vision.

I didn’t mind it. While strange to get used to at first, after a few more slips and near misses it was the last thing on my mind.

It wasn’t long afterward that a curiosity made me pause in my mud-covered tracks. I was just getting to a point where the slope to the hill had become more gradual, and I reasoned I'd reached one of the mound's flatter areas. That was when I saw lights in the distance.

Fire.

Slightly downhill from me, I could see dozens of flames peppering the landscape, and it wasn’t until I was able to figure out how to switch off my Dark Vision that I could clearly see what it was. It wasn’t just fire. It was torchlight.

I squinted down at the scene, scanning from left to right. There seemed to be a bunch of tall wooden poles in a ring with the flames activated on top, and beneath their canopied glow were tents. I couldn’t see how many exactly, but there were at least two dozen. Every so often, I’d seen some of the light disappear and reappear from side to side.

Movement.

People were walking around--and that may have been a good sign, or it could have been horrible. Were these the other rat-men that the scouts had been with? It seemed like it could have been. Granted, I didn’t actually know if they had a larger force or if it had just been the four of them off on their own. A term like ‘Scouts’ could have meant their Class and not their job, I supposed. Though, it was hard to know for certain since I’d learned precisely fuck-all about this world still. Better to be safe than sorry, though.

The lights were directly in the path of the same particular trail I was on, a half-mile from where I trembled in the trees, and that just wouldn’t do. Anything could happen if I approached, and I was still in the neighborhood of a quarter of my full health. Not to mention the only weapon I had was a mostly-dull knife that looked like it still had yesterday’s lunch caked to the blade. Not really the best odds.

Switching back into Dark Vision, I peered around to see if I could spot another route that wouldn’t get me close to the potential visceral doom I could face.

Down just a hair, I could see that it looked like the path forked, with one trail veering to the right. Beyond that, there was another slope in the earth indicating to me--at the very least--that it was way down that might have been safer than traipsing through the camp.

That made me pause as well. I wasn’t sure how I could figure out the natural patterns of the swell of a hill and its possible ramifications just based on a cursory look. I despised going outdoors, and learning about them was almost worse, so I doubted I’d picked it up on accident. I thought back to the Skills and Abilities I’d been allotted at the beginning of this hellscape nightmare and remembered being imparted with both a Survival and Nature Skill. Was that to blame for my wealth of understanding at this moment? I sighed.

“Just great,” I muttered. “This world can mess with your brain as well as your body. This fucking sucks. How long until I’m not even me anymore?”

But, thinking about that, I supposed that was sort of the point wasn’t it? I hated who I’d been in my old life. Back home, I was a short, fat, dumb, angry psychopath with zero marketable talents, no friends, and at least a minor case of narcissism. Remembering it, the first thing I’d decided when I was presented with a new physical form was to go with something very unlike my original self so that I could escape some of what I’d been.

That was a bit too much introspection for me, really. I was never the ‘contemplate my choices’ type, and now was not the time to wax pitiful about myself or my former shortcomings. No, now was the time for semi-decisive, under-informed action. So, that’s exactly what I did.

Slipping quietly in the mud, I moved from tree to exponentially-farther tree, inching closer to the divide in the path and my route to safety. However, when I was within twenty feet of the crossroads, I noticed a glaring problem.

There was someone there.

Standing at attention in front of my intended target was a tall, muscular figure in dark, bulky armor. He had a thick, brown beard, and one of his arms was exposed, revealing a big burn on his forearm. His hand rested on the pommel of a sword belted to his side, his fingertips drumming impatiently on the handle.

Most importantly, I could tell right away that he weren’t no rat-man.

He looked like he was probably human, though it was difficult to tell in the hues I was limited to in the dark. He could have just as easily been an elf or some other Tolkein-y race that should only exist in movies and comic books. I didn’t think he’d seen me, but I couldn’t be too careful, so I stood still and brought my breath to a slow measure.

The sentinel remained completely unaware of my presence, and I was thanking my lucky stars for the light patter of rain that likely masked my movement as I crept forward. I forced a tight grip on the handle of the Paring Dagger and slid quietly toward the man, preparing to strike.

I was just within jugular-lancing distance when the guard suddenly spoke.

“Aye, come to end me life, eh?”

I froze. The man hadn’t looked in my direction, nor adopted a defensive posture or really anything indicating he knew I was there other than the statement. Contrastly, he kept his eyes out toward the woods, unmoving.

I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me, but didn’t want to run the risk of revealing myself if he happened to have an imaginary friend. My silence seemed to goad him into continuing.

“Don’ be bashful, now. You’ve come to bring an end to ole Chessit, an’ he’s ready for ye to fulfill your intention. I’ll not run or scream—I’m more o’ the ‘pass softly into the great beyond’ sort.”

I couldn’t wrap my mind around this man’s motives. Did he really sense my presence? Or was this a ruse to get me to move closer so he could jam his sword under my jaw? As if reading my mind, the man continued.

“You’re just about the most trepidatious assassin Chessit’s ever encountered. First time?”

I remained quiet, looking around to see if there was anyone else within earshot.

“There’s no’n else around, lad. Truth be the tellin,’ I had a hunch it’d be today, so I made sure I were alone out here so as not to inconvenience anyone else might get interested in stopping you from performing your mortal duty.”

He let out a long breath of air.

“Though, it’s a powerful long wait—more’n I thought. Imagined it’d be a bit quicker, ye know? Bit of a sharp stab an’ then curtains. It’s a touch unkind to leave a man waitin’ for his just rewards, don’t ye think?”

I saw the man’s pupil flick to the corner of his eye for a fraction of a moment, right where I was.

“Aye, you’re a big’n. Won’t take much more than a swift drag o’ that blade to end Chessit’s wallow, I’d think. Even with skin as boiled and leathery as mine!”

The man chuckled. It was a rough sound.

I couldn’t believe he’d been able to see that much of me with the quick glance he’d cast in my direction. My size, sure. But the knife in my hand? It was impressive. I wasn’t sure how to approach this oddity, but, considering he seemed resigned to death, I thought it prudent to at least speak to him.

“You knew I was here?” I asked quietly, as to not alert anyone else who might be within earshot.

“Ah!” Chessit exclaimed in a whisper. “He speaks! Gotta say I weren’t quite anticipating that—all things considered.”

I watched a wry smile begin to curl at the edge of his lips.

“I sensed ye a ways off, as it were,” Chessit said. “Ye spend enough time in the woods, and ye learn what to listen for. Spend as much time as ole Chessit, and you can practically perceive an approachin’ man’s boot size.”

I considered this. I probably had not been the quietest sneak-thief during my descent, so it stood to reason that someone like Chessit, who claimed to be one with nature or whatever, would have likely had a keen ear to my direction.

“Your name is Chessit?” I asked.

“Aye, if it pleases ye,” the man said softly. “Though, I suppose it’s probably too much to ask my executioner if he’s got a name?”

“I’m Gab—er—Loon,” I stumbled. If I was going to be a part of this world, I’d need to remember the name I’d chosen.

“Ah, Gaberloon,” Chessit said. “Not fighting for the top spot o’ most curious name I’ve encountered in me life, but it’s a tad south of usual. That a moniker of the Lion Duchy?”

I wasn’t sure how to go about telling him that it was the nickname of a fat high schooler who had tumbled cheek-over-ankle into a different world, so instead, I lied.

“Yep,” I said simply.

“There a lot of orcs over in the Duchy?” Chessit asked. “Reckon I’d heard it was mostly humans and elves o’er that way.”

“Not a lot of them,” I said. “One less, now that I’m here.”

“That’s the way of it,” Chessit said. “A sharp wit’s a good trait for an assailant. Best way to stay a man of your own device, instead of a catspaw.”

“Why—er, what makes you think I’m here to kill you?” I asked, very curious why this man seemed so content to die in the middle of a rainy trail.

“Oh, myriad reasons,” Chessit chuckled. “Most particularly, however, would be me outstanding debts. Had a missive delivered near a month ago now, just said, ‘time’s up.’ Since then, I figured each day a blessin’ ‘til the gods deem my time neigh.”

“...and you believe that to be now?” I asked.

“Better today than tomorrow,” Chessit mused. “This mornin’s breakfast was plum pudding and porridge. Tomorrow’s is boiled turnips. If it’s all the same, I’d prefer to go out on a high. Nothin’ would be worse than ending ye life with a belly full of root vegetables .”

I’ll be honest, as much of a role as food had played in my life, I’d never once considered what my last meal might be. It was an interesting perspective, and one that Chessit had seemed to reflect on more than was healthy. This man had an easy likability to him, even when facing his perceived death. I found that despite disliking almost everyone--Chessit was a man I felt I’d actually not be one-hundred-percent annoyed by. Maybe it was his unassuming nature? There was an element of charm to a person who accepted their fate so readily.

“Well, what if I’m not the assassin sent to kill you?” I asked, glancing around to make sure we were still alone. I didn't see any movement, but I couldn't be too careful as close to the camp as we were.

“Oh, if that were the case,” Chessit started, “I’d just as well request you be the hand that does it. Probably couldn’t hope for a more amiable end, can I? Bit of a chat, swappin’ a fingertip’s worth of pleasantries and a knife in the dark. Beats whatever cruel machinations lie in wait for my future prospects. Many a tale ‘been telled ‘bout sadistic blokes hired to turn a man to a ghost while havin’ a laugh of it.”

“You don't think I’m capable of toying with you?” I asked, seriously wondering at what sort of a strange event I’d encountered here.

“Aye, you could might,” Chessit said. “But it’s in my experience that them sort ain’t the type to beat around the roots on something like killin.’ I don’t get the sense you have that level of evil in your heart—mayhap I’m in the wrong on this, but I’d be surprised. You seem a neutral orc in the matter of death.”

Dammit.

My concerns were coming to fruition. I wanted to be feared in this new realm, not cooed to. It seemed I was presenting myself with a lot less confidence than I expected to give off. It was no wonder those rat-men had thought it wise to almost end my life.

“How much money do you owe?” I asked.

“Me debts?” Chessit asked. “A princely sum, to be sure. I suppose it depends on which enclave of dubious repute is contracting m’life blood.”

“In total,” I specified. It’s not like I had any money to cover it—but, I was curious to know how much coin was worth killing a man over.

“Somewhere near the mark of a thousand Kingdom Gold.”

I let out a low whistle.

“That seems like a lot,” I said, but I wasn’t sure. A thousand gold could have been the price of a coffee here.

“A fair bit,” Chessit said with a slight nod, still never looking at me. “A touch out o’ me price range for recompense too, I’m ashamed to admit.”

“Hence the hit out on you,” I said.

“Aye,” Chessit muttered. “So, now you know me tribulations. Bein’ that we’re good and square friends, could you do a pal a favor and put me out o’ my misery?”

I didn’t even have to think about it.

“I can’t do that,” I said. “Though you seem really earnest in your convictions, you don’t seem to deserve death. At least not by my hand.”

“Might be a bit dangerous goin’ ‘round and thinkin’ the best o’ people,” Chessit said. “Get ye in a situation ye might not be in otherwise. There’s bad folk out here, orc. Best not to get tangled up in a mess if ye can help it.”

I chuckled.

“I don’t typically think the best of anyone. But, I’ll take my chances this time.”

Chessit was silent for a moment, considering my words, perhaps, but then seemed to perk up.

“Right, then,” he said, turning to look at me. “Guess I’ll try me luck with the next set o’ blades that meanders into me purview.”

Now that I could see him more clearly, I realized he was younger than I’d originally taken him for. His manner and tone suggested an old specter near death, but he was at best in his late forties from my estimation.

“You’re surprisingly chipper about the whole thing,” I said, very unsettled by the shift in his demeanor.

“Aye,” Chessit said with a nod. “No use languishin’ in melodrama ‘bout our fates, right? Best to look death square in the gob and let it do as it will. A man’s gotta know when he’s been beaten by the worldly things, and when there’s a new day approaching. Boiled turnips it is! A fine breakfast by any standard.”

Then his tone changed, becoming more clear and serious.

“Now there’s just the matter of you,” he said.

“Me?”

“Aye,” he confirmed, and before I knew what was happening, he’d drawn his sword and had the point stuck directly under my chin.

“You’re encroachin’ on Redmark territory, orc. I’m going to have to take you in for questions.”

I was shocked. After the nearly enjoyable conversation we’d just had, I was completely baffled by this new development.

“What…?” I could only mutter, staring down the length of the blade into Chessit’s cold gaze.

“Best come quietly, friend,” Chessit explained. “As I warned, there’s bad folk out here. Unfortunately for ye, you’ve stumbled onto one o’ the worst.”