Dawnanda didn’t show any concern about being found first and possibly captured, beaten and, or slain. She spoke about her prison food without emotion. She mustn’t break, I needed her to remain strong and not bolt or worse fret and lead our prison guards to her too early.

“This plan will work,” I assure her and proceed to hide my naked black body. I then decide, if I did acquire clothing, it would need to be black and close fit as would a second skin.

If all else fails I could call upon Hera’s Gift, it would mean leaving Dawnanda to her fate, therefore, only a last resort option as somehow loyalty weighs heavy upon me now.

---

A sweat sheen covers my body and the perspiration on my face now coalesces to the tip of my nose, drops falling away to the stone cavern floor, the stillness of the air in the Captive Cavern now oppressive. The wait for, mashed insects with mushrooms, is not yet over.

A light cough draws my attention to Dawnanda where I left her hidden. Her body falls into the cavern folding and crumpling to the ground, conscious to resist, although physically unable to. I am tempted to call out to her and realise she won’t respond as I am sure she would try to recover if she could. I could offer her comfort, would she be aware of my presence, would it make a difference. These thoughts I consider as I wait and decide; to tend to her and abandon the plan or stay for an unknown length of time placing my faith in the plan.

My throat dries while I wait and swallowing no longer relieves the condition. My belly squirms and aches. Hunger and thirst now call upon me. I am starkly reminded by my condition when I am away from his Dungeon, I must attend to both and being trapped in this cavern; an indeterminate amount of time has passed, which reminds me of another obligation. I must return to his Dungeon or suffer respawning, the polite way of saying the Dungeon destroys you for being away for too long.

---

More than a heartbeat passes before I catch the scrapping anguish of the boulder. While it appears it could roll, it can’t it seems as it jerks in response to each heave placed upon it by our jailors. Their body sweat competes with mine as it wafts into the cavern, the new air however fetid relieves the conditions in the cavern, almost pleasantly. I must still be delirious, Ogre sweat pleasant.

I need to wait; they aren’t in sight yet and I must make my attempt count. I glance at Dawnanda, and she continues to lay motionless. The short beast kin a surprise, she is a significant lump when prone.

Two kobolds enter first, each lugging a bucket, I am sure recognisable differences exist between them, although I can’t discern any, the light is poor and well they all appear the same to me. Both are cautious for jailors, perhaps being small always makes you wary of your surroundings to increase your survival chances. They manage to part in time as their escort of two orcs charge towards the prone lump at the back of the cavern taking a direct line, kobolds irrelevant obstacles.

With the orcs occupied and the kobolds darting out of their path I judge they are making enough noise for me to sneak. I edge quickly to the entrance; my jailor’s eyes are focused elsewhere, and the pleasant breeze draws me. The promise of freedom cancelling any thought of repulsion and escaping it!

I slide my back across one side of the cavern entrance, the threshold is under my feet. I am practically there, the freedom I yearn for and miss. Across from me is the roughly rounded edge of the boulder, its thickness equal to my height. I spy a muscled hairy leg and naturally following its length, it ends with a brutal hobnailed boot. I pause and can now pick up the laboured breathing of ‘monster boots’ and at least one more creature.

Beyond the entrance is a roughly chipped cave, a pile of rags, furs and lumps of flotsam on the floor, possibly their bedding. No weapons.

“Where the other one?” Yelling in orc echoes from inside the cavern.

I must act, and I must act quickly.

I rush around the corner of the boulder, fumbling for the head of monster boots. His eyes wide open, startled, his bottom jaw drops. Before he can bellow his lungs out, I wield by fist, roundhouse at his head, my smack sending it reeling back against the boulder door he is propped up against. His skull comes to a sudden stop on the door, his brain smacks into the back of his skull. Blunt force trauma to the head and possible fracture to his skull. I thank my creator for the knowledge of human anatomy and medicine.

“Where other food?” The question in kobold and then a wet smack and yelp.

The second sweat covered, and greasy skinned ogre now rises, trying to lean on my arm to assist him. The arm, which moments before smashed his fellow jailor’s head against the jail door.

I assist him to stand by grabbing his arm with mine. His sweat and grease don’t assist with my purchase on his arm and instead of kissing the boulder as I swing him around, he slips from my grasp and smacks up against the far wall of their smaller Jailor’s Cavern.

Now the consequence of the swing, I am going to claim as part of my carefully well thought out plan, because upon reflection, why not, particularly since any witnesses would agree.

My flying jailor’s hobnail boots connect perfectly with the then standing and growling, third jailor, the snap of a bone, possibly his jawbone the most satisfying. Second only to him crashing backwards, felled like a tree now slowly sliding off the stone jail door. The fourth jailor reacting to the flying jailor stops and leans back avoiding the fate of the third jailor. Eyeing me, viciously smiling he continues his charge.

Finishing my preparation, both fists and arms are ready to grapple him. The yelling and clash of metal a signal, the exiting and rapid return of the feed detail. I resign myself to one challenge at a time, turning to receive the charging ogre. He grunts, which transform into squealing yelps, eyes flashing in surprise as they face the rapidly approaching stone floor. His face smacks into the cavern floor, neatly between the third Ogre and the first. I then assist him to death by planting the heel of my foot into the back of his skull. It seems my fourth jailor didn’t appreciate his most recent trip, too distracted by his victim to notice the prone body of the third ogre jailor, which slid off the boulder door and into his path, by a foot or two or perhaps a leg.

The first orc dodges around ‘smashed skull’, although the distraction of the dead ogre’s blood painting the boulder provides enough time for me to smash him in his face with my fist. The flesh and bone of an orc not in any way hindering or wounding my living basalt fist. Perhaps weapons are overrated, at least in surprise situations.

The second orc, following slightly behind the first starts to reach across with his right hand for his scimitar. I grab him around the neck. He instinctively grabs with both of his hands to reach for my arms to release them. I end him quickly by smashing his skull against the boulder.

The two kobolds, a bucket each to hand, cautiously peer around the corner of the boulder. They both drop to their bellies, prostrate, whimpering. I am possibly intimidating; my right fist certainly is painted in blood and gore and perhaps my foot and maybe other parts I can’t see.

“Feed and water the beast kin if you want to live,” I growl at both.

They are up on their feet and scamper back into the cavern. I examine our surroundings; the moment of silence is broken by a groan. My second jailor, a crumpled lump on the far side of the cavern, stretches a leg or does it fall from an awkward position.

The ultimate exit from the jailor’s cavern is a low, barely one ogre wide passageway, which joins another passageway forming a tee. I strap on both swords and scabbards from the orcs. I wipe my hands and feet on the orcs clothes as best I can and then attend to my second jailor. No obvious food exists if you don’t count the slain. I contemplate eating the fresh jailor at my feet, a revulsion germinates in my mind, not civilised human behaviour and I am not yet starved enough to reject the etiquette.

I find amongst the squalor of their bedding a barrel of liquid. It is sealed with a round knot of wood, which I tug free. I smell the liquid and it is strong, my nostrils burn and then a delightful headiness ensues. I shake my head, recovering quickly. I slump to the floor of the cavern with the barrel on my lap. I dip my little finger in and as I draw it out my finger cools and before the drops of liquid fall, I slurp them from my finger. The liquid burns as it trickles down my throat. A delightful headiness lingers as the aroma and taste invade my mouth and nose completely.

I contemplate, dipping my finger in again. I peer around, some sort of ‘I know I shouldn’t’ settles upon me and I need to check first, check what I don’t entirely … grasp. I lift the barrel to my lips and swallow a quick, short gulp. Some in my haste has spilt either side of my lips. The coolness of the liquid on my body slightly distracts from the headiness of the molten fluid as it rolls down my throat. I shake my head to no avail this time, the headiness remains and an inner warmth spreads throughout my body. What is this liquid, why haven’t these monsters already drunk it?

I drink another sip and this time I pride myself on not spilling a drop. The initial burning sensation is now past, and I realise my thirst and drink more to quench it.

---

Something is tapping me on my face.

Something is stabbing me in my face.

Something is slapping me on my face and while it doesn’t hurt, it does sting.

I open my eyes and retain enough presence and awareness to position my arm to knock away the next slap attempt.

A dark overbearing shape looms before me, mouthing sounds, mumbling at me, words perhaps, yes words. As I concentrate to make sense of the words a horrendous frightful pain stabs within my head. Both of my hands try to catch it and upon failure, soothe it. It remains despite my hands cradling my head in their care.

The words are whispers, I am sure of it, yet within my head, they are shouts and each word spoken is a punishment of the highest order. Never suffered such pain, is this more magic, is this shape in front of me responsible? I try to reach out and the shape dodges and laughs. Her, yes, it is 'a her', the laughter punishes me further. I wish to cut off my head.

I take in my surroundings, trying to remember. My mind is blank, although my body is in a wet stickiness, which doesn’t seem right. I now focus my eyes upwards at the dark shape and memory returns, beast kin, badger beast kin, um, what’s her name, Dawnanda.

“Dawnanda!” I gasp.

“Shh, you, you, drunken sow.” I earn another slap.

Drunken sow? I worked out some time back what a sow is, female badger kin, what is drunken? Not a medical condition I am certain, otherwise, my Greek Medical knowledge would explain.

“Can you stand now? We must get you out of the mess.” Her face is one of disgust, badger fur or no badger fur it is obvious and radiates from her whole being. What is my crime?

I fumble around to stabilise myself and stumble to stand. Sucking and squelching accompany my rise. Swaying, I reach out to the cavern wall to steady myself. I didn’t notice it until I needed it, and of course, I planned for it, never doubt my brilliance. Trickles of fluid track down various parts of my body, although mainly my legs.

The two kobolds! They are still here; I remember them now. They are shaking and shivering, they must be cold for some reason, although they twist away from me when I smile at them flashing my teeth.

“Stop that, they will believe you want to eat them,” she whispers at me, her words hurting my head once again.

I am shocked, why would they think that?! I step out of the grotto gingerly; aware this is where the ogres kept their bedding. A faint light shines now. My head is stabbed once again, the pain stops when I shut my eyes.

“Open your eyes, your hungover, you drunken sow and see what you have become.” The rasping, accusing whisper hits me heavier than any other assault since I met this bewildering companion.

Slowly I open them, and I need to peer beyond the grotto and away from the boulder to find any of the Jailor’s Cavern not painted in blood or soaked in gore. The grotto is particularly messy, and it is difficult to recognise what lingers there, although I can testify the bloody remains belong or once belonged to an ogre. I finger and knead the stickiness upon my skin confirming I wallowed in flesh, bone and blood, eating my fill, satisfying my hunger.

I realise now, the kobolds aren’t cold, they truly fear I will gorge myself on them.

“Finally, I see some sanity and realisation return to you.”

I couldn’t respond, gobsmacked in fact, unable to respond. I notice the destroyed barrel and dimly remember licking the insides of it, hence it being smashed.

“Drink this, it will help, I hope.”

I ignore any precautions and tip back the offered water skin, drinking it all. It could’ve been poisoned or many other ways harmful, I didn’t care. I handed the empty waterskin back.

“Right now, are we? Well, enough to lead us to escape? The good news is the two kobolds are willing to help, well terrified into helping I would say. We will leave you as you are, painted in blood and gore, even monsters it seems are shocked by your appearance and may run away from your horrid visage.”

The badger kin lectures me, saying the words plainly and simply, repulsed by the sight of me although this didn’t prevent her from taking advantage of my horrific appearance if it enables her to escape.

“… I would like to retrieve my armour and such but value my freedom more. The kobolds inform me left tunnel first, lead on.”

I step forward and my vision fills with notifications.

{Experience Human Emotions Deceiving/Honest, Mean/Kind, Negligent/Caring, Violent/Gentle and Short-tempered/Patient +5% Sentient Dominate.

Penalty -1% Sentient Dominate for using Monster Dominate Ability

Penalty -1% Sentient Dominate for using Monster Dominate Ability.}

{Bonus: Monstrous behaviour rewarded +5% Monster Dominate.}

{Warning: You will need to return to Quest Dungeon of Azizos in 4 hours or require respawning.}

I still wish I knew how much time an hour consumes.

I inwardly acknowledge the first penalty, one for the kobold, I suspect the second for the ogre, yet I don’t remember the actual deeds. A pity, the deeds significant enough to grant a bonus reward and as such signals to me the behaviour I must avoid or find myself descending into monstrous behaviour forever. The Human emotions granted reveal much to me about the inhumanity of my monstrous behaviour. An ignorance or perhaps deadness is awoken within, and I am ashamed of my uncivilised behaviour, the dishonouring of my Creator.

My Creator who endured and still suffers pain after creating me and gifting me with life allows me due to his clever design to discover my humanity and when strong enough, I will return to him, victorious and free him. Tears well within me and while I don’t sob, I allow them to roll down my face as acceptance and recognition of my newly discovered humility.

Character Sheet: Aphrodite Name: Aphrodite Culture: Greek Mythos Race: Human Superior Spirit: Human Body: Living Basalt Soul: Dungeon Dominate Sentient Dominate: 17% Monster Dominate: 16% Dungeon Dominate: 58% Hominine Essence: Level 10 Avine Essence: Level 10 Dragon Essence: Level 0 Strength: 65 Grasp: 65 Toughness: 65 Constitution: 65 Vigour: 65 Endurance: 65 Dexterity: 65 Agility: 65 Quickness: 55 Wisdom: 75 Perception: 55 Mettle: 55 Intelligence: 50 Willpower: 20 Power: 20 Charisma: 20 Glamour: 50 Beauty: 100 Languages: Greek Kobold Orc Ogre Gifts: Regeneration Prolific Fertility Shadow Hide Silent Step Spear: Level 2 Halberd: Level 1 Bow: Level 2 Sword: Level 15