As the days went by, Malcolm didn't get much sleep. It wasn't easy to get comfortable with his arms being shackled with heavy iron chains behind his back. Though, that wasn't the real reason that kept him from slumber. No, what bothered him the most were the screams.

It turned out that the orcs liked to get a taste of their products before selling them off. More than once Malcolm had to squeeze his eyes shut and try to shout away the inevitable sounds that occurred whenever an orc dragged a crying slave into their tent for the night.

Of course, when he had first witnessed this, he had thrown quite the fit, he'd basically been foaming at the mouth with anger. The obscenities that he shouted at the orcs even made them halt in surprise. But they didn't stay halted for long, for a second time that week Malcolm understood how a punching bag felt. Thankfully they stopped just short of breaking his bones, apparently Barolo didn't want him too badly injured.

After the orcs were done reminding Malcolm just how hopeless his situation had become, they sent over an older female slave to treat his most severe wounds. The old slave was at first hesitant to speak but he managed to get her to engage in small talk.

This slave looked a tad cleaner than the rest, she wore deep brown slightly sullied robes. And when Malcolm managed to look at her wrinkled face through the shadowed hood, he saw deep sorrow in her pale blue irises.

"My name is Malcolm and yours?... This is when you reply with your own name."

The woman rolled her eyes and sighed. "My name is Saria, though that doesn't really matter anymore..." Her voice was soft but held a slight rasp to its edge.

She was gentle as she worked, every now and then she'd whisper in words of what Malcolm assumed was magic and a cooling sensation would wash over him. His worst looking wounds would either stop bleeding or close entirely, he'd watch in amazement as the life bar at the corner of his vision would steadily increase.

"What do you mean?" Malcolm frowned. "Of course, it matters, it's your name!" he snapped. "They can't take your name."

Saria shook her head slowly, a pained look on her face. "Can't they? They've taken everything else."

Malcolm just gritted his teeth and glared at the orcs milling about in front of him. It might have been the heat of the desert sun, but he was beginning to see strange symbols floating above their heads. "Hey, do you see that?"

He turned to see Saria watching him, her cloudy blue eyes seemed to cut right through him.

"What is it?"

"You," She said after a moment. "You are a strange one."

Malcolm rolled his eyes with a huff. "Is it strange to not want to be someone's slave?"

Saria sighed as she rose to her feet, shaking her head. "No, but you-"

Just then a clay pot crashed against Saria's head, causing her to crumple to the ground.

"No talking!" One of the orcs shouted in their direction. "Healing wench, get back to your kennel! Don't make me come over there." The orc waved the spiked club in his hand threateningly. "Unless you want me to show that dusty bum of, you're a good time!"

Malcolm was about to explode, but Saria placed a hand on his shoulder as she slowly picked herself back up. She locked eyes with him and gave a quick shake of her head, then she nodded to the orc and left without a word.

Malcolm scowled at the club wielding Orc and mentally added him to his shit list. Again, a strange line of symbols appeared above the orcs head. Malcolm focused on them until finally they arranged themselves and he was able to read them.

<>Name: Mavol. Level: 6. Health: 550/550.

Malcolm's eyes bulged in surprise. Could that be his status? He thought to himself. But then a sequence of prompts popped up in his vision, confirming his thoughts.

Congratulations! You have learned the skill Analyze.

Info: This skill allows you to view a person's status, health, and level. As the skill improves, you'll be able to see their disposition towards you, their weaknesses, and even their full stat page!

Quite the useful skill, he'd have to make sure to use it as often as possible. Especially for when he finally broke out of his current situation, that is if he ever did manage to break out.

Tonight, the orcs were in a frenzy. They were pulling out mothers, sisters, and even brothers out of the cages and into their tents. Screams filled the air, some were cut short and bodies were tossed in an ever-growing pile at the edge of the camp.

Tears streaked Malcolm's face as he watched the slaves in the cages cry out for their loved ones. He couldn't take this for much longer. He didn't care if they beat him to death, there was no way he could just sit there and watch such evil unfold before him. He strained against the cuffs holding his wrist, but it was fruitless. He was powerless.

"Give me that one!"

Malcolm's hackles rose, and his blood began to boil as he recognized the voice. It was Barolo. The chief was standing near a cage and impatiently jabbing a finger to a slave.

<>Name: Barolo. Level: 15. Health: 1500/1500.

A woman's scream filled the air, "Milly! Please no, not my little sister! She's just a child!" Malcolm could barely see the woman due to the angle he was shackled, but he could clearly hear the anguish in her voice.

The orcs ignored her pleas and opened her cage to pull out a small girl, she looked no older than 12. The girl was small and skinny, her hair was short and a pale green, and her ears weren't as pointed as the other elves instead they tilted downward.

<>Name: Milly. Level: 1. Health: 100/100.

She screamed and cried. The fear in her eyes was palpable and made Malcolm intensify his struggle against his bonds.

"Looks old enough to me." Barolo said with a shrug. "Take her."

The cuffs around Malcolm's wrist were already cutting into his flesh, warm blood covered his hands. The pain was excruciating but an idea was blooming in his mind and he began tugging even harder. The handcuffs they had him bonded with were medieval in design, they looked like small horse shoes with an iron rod at the end.

You are lightly bleeding! -2 Health per second.

"Please don't take her, you can't!" The poor elf woman cried. "Take me instead, I beg of you!"

Barolo's face twisted in disgust as he eyed the older woman. "No one wants your pox ridden cunt, grass head." He looked over the crying girl and licked his lips hungrily, "Leash this little bark-chewer in my hut. Ensure you force a drink or two down her throat, I want to have lots of fun tonight."

Time seemed to freeze at that moment, the older elven woman leapt from the cage and latched onto the nearest orc. She clawed and bit at his throat, blood gushed and sprayed.

Her long green hair fanned around her face as she turned her sights to Barolo who was already stepping back. His red eyes bugged out in fear. She flung herself through the air, mouth open wide as she shrieked in pure rage.

Before she could reach the chief, a hand clutched her by the neck and held her in the air as she struggled and tried to bite at his hand. It was Lump Face, though Malcolm could see his real name now thanks to the Analyze skill.

¨ Name: Goran. Level: 10. Health: 950/950.

A cruel smile spread on the bastard's misshapen face. "Looky here boys, poor little knife-ear has gone feral."

The woman dug her nails into the orc's green flesh, dark green blood dripped from the wound.

"Don't touch my little sister! Milly, don't look-ACK!"

Goran gave a roll of his eyes and tightened his grip on the poor woman's slender neck, her eyes began to bulge, and her face turned a purplish shade as she struggled to breathe until there was a haunting cracking noise and she stopped moving.

"Get rid of her!" Barolo flicked his wrist at Goran.

Goran grunted in annoyance at the chieftain for interrupting his fun, but then with a shrug he complied. "Yes, chieftain." He glared over at the other slaves who still cowered at the far end of their cages. "Watch and learn, see what happens to those who think they can say no. Look at her. I said LOOK!"

"Wait, stop!" Malcolm said weakly. His wrist had deep cuts in them now, and he knew if he made the wrong move, he'd nick a vein and bleed to death.

He took little notice as the health bar at the corner of his vision quickly turned from green to a yellowish orange. Instead he closed his eyes and grit his teeth as he continued to tug at the cuffs around his wrist, his hands nearly had enough room. He clenched his jaw in concentration as another prompt manifested in front of him.

You are severely bleeding! -10 Health per second.

He winced in pain as the cuffs pinched deeper into his flesh. A wave of nausea washed over him, and his surroundings began to blur. His eyelids were growing heavy and he was finding it tough to keep his head upright.

"Uh oh." Malcolm's voice slurred with drowsiness. He was losing way too much blood, a prompt blinked urgently in front of his eyes as his health bar hit a deep red color.

Seek medical attention! Use a bandage or a potion to recover health!

But it was far too late for Malcolm, even as he tugged his hands through the bloody cuffs and hung his wounded wrist in front of him, he could clearly see that he had sliced into an artery. Blood oozed freely from his wrist and pooled into his lap, he tried to wrap the wounds with the front of his tunic. But his movements were growing lethargic and his fingers were numb and clumsy.

Malcolm knew in his gut that this was his end, but then everything around him came to a halt.

He snapped his head up at the sudden silence and scanned his surroundings, his eyes bulged as he saw that everyone was standing still. The orcs, the caged slaves, even the fire in the pits stood unmoving. "Oh my god..."

"You rang?" A feminine voice filled the air around him. "What was your plan? To use your own blood as lubrication to slip your hands free from the iron cuffs?" The voice made a scoffing sound, "It's certainly an edgy plan, but also immeasurably idiotic!"

"Who is that?" Malcolm called out into the stillness.

A set of hands grasped onto his shoulders, their grip was like a vice and prevented him from turning to see the one who was speaking.

"I'm your savior," The woman whispered seductively into his ear. He could feel her warm breath against his skin and his nerves kicked into hyper drive. "I'm going to be the reason you aren't going to die tonight. Now, sit still and let me work." The woman's smooth voice caused him to freeze up.

He could do nothing but watch as the hands moved almost provocatively down his arms and rested over his badly wounded wrist. Her ivory white hands contrasting greatly against his sun darkened skin, her fingers were long and slender; a red jeweled ring rested on each finger. The jeweled rings pulsed with light as a cold sensation emanated from her hands and into his wrist.

"Better?" She cooed as her hands moved to reveal that his wounds were gone. "Oh, one more thing." Her hands traveled back up to his shoulders, one cupped his chin and the other slowly tilted his head back.

Panic and fear gripped at Malcolm as he came face to face with the woman who was speaking.

While half of her face was beyond beautiful with flawless ivory skin, a bright green eye with thick lashes, a sharp arched eyebrow, and ruby red puckered lips. The other half was rotted, full of scabs, and had small white maggots crawling around and inside her empty eye socket.

Malcolm screamed. He wasn't sure which he was more terrified by, the way the woman's face was half Marilyn Monroe and half Crypt Creeper or by the sight of the writhing maggots. He hated maggots.

As soon as he had opened his mouth, the woman quickly dumped a small vial down his throat. Malcolm hacked and cough, trying to spit the strange fluid that was already numbing his mouth and causing his stomach to churn.

Health fully restored!

Health and Stamina increased permanently by +10!

He could see as his health bar began to skyrocket to full and the yellow bar just underneath it seemed to lengthen slightly. He would've been grateful if it wasn't for the horrible taste that seemed determined to cling to his tongue and cause him to retch.

"What was that! Who are you? What happened to your face? Why am I here? What's happening!?" He didn't know what had come over him, but as soon as he opened his mouth the questions poured out of him uncontrollably.

"Oh my, so many questions." The woman chortled. "But our time together grows short, so I shall answer you as best as I can."

She threw her hands skyward and slowly brought them down, they rested seductively on her hips. "I am Lady Lorne, the Goddess of All Things Dead. You may call me, Lorne." A sinister grin bloomed on her lips. "And you are my Harbinger, didn't you get my letter?" She then tugged up the hood of the cloak she wore, and it hid the decayed side of her face perfectly.

Now that he could see her fully from head to toe, he was surprised to see how shapely she was. Her figure was very hourglass-like with curvy wide hips, a slim waist, and a modest bust size that seemed to strain against her cloak. But then there was the half-rotted portion of her face, which traveled down her long neck and made Malcolm wonder if her entire right side was decomposing.

"You're a god?" Malcolm scrunched up his face in disbelief. "Wait, a letter? oh, OH! It was you! You are LL, right?" Malcolm jabbed an accusatory finger at the woman. "It's all your fault that I'm in this situation!"

Lorne waved a hand as if it wasn't that big of a deal. "It wasn't me who told you pick fights with Orc Slavers was it? You did that on your own free will."

"I didn't pick a fight! I got jumped on day fucking one!" Malcolm spat. "And you did- GAH?!"

In one fluid movement Lorne had her hands clasped around Malcolm's throat, her grip was tight, and he tried to claw her hands off, but resistance was futile.

Her face was set into a stern scowl at him. "You will speak to me with respect and you will refrain from using such language in my presence! I brought you into this world, I can take you right out of it! And it'd be a slow and painful process. Now, shut up and listen! We don't have much time, you understand me?"

Malcolm nodded profusely. Best to keep quiet and act dumb for now, there's no way I could fight against her. Especially if she is a Goddess.

"Good," A smile on her lips as she released him. "But you are right. I should've chosen a more secure location for your resurrection."

Resurrection? Malcolm's eyes widened. So, it was her who brought me here... Thoughts swirled in his mind as he began to remember more of his previous life. His life was beyond mundane. Each day the same, he'd go to work, go home and eat dinner, got to bed, then repeat. There was no excitement or adventure. Though he wouldn't call getting held captive by orcs an adventure. Also, there was something he couldn't find answers to.

"Why?" He whispered to himself.

But Lorne heard him and cocked her head to the side, causing her ebony black hair to spill over her shoulders. "Excuse me?"

Malcolm forced himself to look the goddess in the eyes, even the rotted one. "Why did you bring me here?"

Lorne squinted at him and then raised an eyebrow. There was a heavy silence between them for what felt like hours till Lorne flipped her hand, suddenly a knife was in her palm. She pressed the knife into Malcolm's.

"There isn't much time. Take this, use it to escape. Go south, we'll talk again." She began speaking in a rush and avoided his eyes as she did so.

She turned away from him and a shadowy portal bloomed in front of her. Lorne's entire demeanor seemed to have shifted drastically, Malcolm wondered if his question had something to do with her sudden mood change.

"What about the others?" Malcolm gestured to the frozen faces of the terrified people held in the cages around him. "I can't just leave them."

"Why not? You have one more minute before time resumes, that'd give you one hell of a head start. Get going and remember to head south." She was halfway through the portal now.

"Wait!" Malcolm reached a hand out to her, "What's in the south?"

She turned her head to face him, he could see as her lips curled into a strange grin. "Sanctuary." And then she was gone.

"Well, that was fucking weird..."