Chapter 2: Intoxicating Weakness

"Denial and delirium."​

Having no prior training with climbing, caution is key as you slowly scale down the rock face. The stones are slick from running water, and you struggle to keep your hold right out of the gate. Ray watches you intently, as you try and fail to find your footing. The outcroppings of rock are jagged, narrow, and precariously placed. The descent is concave, so as you attempt to move even a few feet down, gravity works against every motion. About ten minutes later, you're sweating, and have barely made any progress. Hands aching from the lack of a proper hold, you silently thank Mercy that at least your headache has subsided.

This is far from optimal. Why didn't the church give me climbing gear?

Several minutes later— and only a few more feet down— the joints in your hands are becoming numb from the cold water. Your right hand slips. Your left is infinitely too weak to support your body-weight. Panic sets in. The cold certainty of death redoubles your efforts to cling onto life. Onto the mission. Onto the jagged rock that's slicing into your palm, as your grip falters.

Your left hand slips, too. Wind rushes through your hair in the start of a free-fall. Your robes and hands scratch against the rocks in a frantic attempt to cling on, to keep your foothold. The rocks underfoot give way. There's a hard pull. The air leaves your lungs as the rope SNAPS taut.

It should have bisected you. A hundred prayers for forgiveness and in gratitude would leave you, but all you can do is wheeze. To scramble to get your feet, hands, or any other part of you back onto something stable.

Ray barks at you from above. Mercifully, the rope is holding. The slight fall should have been only a few feet at most, but you can no longer see the steps above. By your best estimates, there's at least thirty feet between you and your boy. It's difficult to scrutinize from a distance, but you're certain that the ceiling doesn't have any logic to it. Rather than having a clear view of the waterfall and doors above, there is only a square hole overhead. Stone surrounds it, and a golden light obscures the area you've entered from.

Before and below you is an enormous waterway. Angular halls and passages extend out in all directions. Filthy, foaming water rushes along the floor towards your right. Chains line the stony walls. Rusted grates are raised to the ceiling. By your best estimates, the fall to the rock-solid floor is over forty feet down.

​

Despite being unable to see your boy, you can hear Ray whining from above. Apprehension stills your desire to call out to him. Even if the rope fails to hold both of your weight, you're pretty sure that the fall wouldn't kill you.

Probably.

This dog is going to be death of me.

Swinging back towards the wall, you flex your hands and grab onto the protruding rocks. In the same moment you collide with its jagged surface, it slices open your robes across your torso and chest. Trying to find a foothold is difficult, but you manage to dig in your heels and the tips of your shoes. The position you find is stable enough to even twist around and get a single hand free. Your balance is lacking, but you can hazard looking up. Through the yellow light above, you can just make out Ray's nose peeking over the ledge. Both arms are raised up towards him. You whistle. He leaps.

You pray. "My restraint is my peace, but my peace shall be broken. Flesh of my flesh, forgive my weakness. Flesh of my flesh, your strength is made perfect in my weakness!"

The embers of your devotion stir. A searing heat courses through your thin frame. In an instant, an inferno rises— begging you to make use of your body. The prayer is cut short as Ray collides with you. You clutch onto the answer to your prayers— all 200lbs of him— with enormous difficulty.

It's folly. Your footing slides. A deeper pitch, conviction, and all of your piety rings out with the gifts of a God.

"Flesh of my flesh, grant me your strength—!"

The wasted skin and bones beneath your robes are filled with vigor. You grasp tightly onto Ray. New muscle emerges to meet a challenge presented to the God of Sinew. A brutal SNAP comes from above the rocks. The rope completely breaks from your combined weight. It is peril that takes your breath away. Wind whips through your hair. Streaks of stone and water flash by your vision for precious seconds, before your collision with the rocks below.

The impact of your feet on stone is deafening. A simultaneous break should register from the soles of your shoes to the entire length of your spine. Rubble and water rises in plumes of smoke and mist around your perfect landing. Reward for your form and action comes not only from the near-instant repair of each injury. The torn muscle, fractures in your ankles, and even the cracks in your spine throb as they rapidly mend. It's far from excruciating.

You gently let Ray down onto the floor, and feel perfectly fine. Your boy barks, and sticks his nose towards the grand waterway that stretches out before you. There are more footsteps. Something is down here, and it heard your landing. By the sound of it, it's either a small standing army, or a demon with many feet. Neither one would be welcome news.

"Ray. Get ready."

He growls menacingly, gnashing his teeth in the direction of the footsteps. Mace in your main hand— shield in your right— you stand with your companion and face down the waterway. Streams of grey foam rush rapidly past your feet. Chunks of mushy and decaying tissue from unknown beasts occasionally bump against your frame. You don't care. You feel brutally strong. It's as if your scarcely used muscles could burst out of your skin at any moment. They're visibly larger, thanks to the invocation. You tense, and flex— admiring the addition to your figure.

Flesh is your strength.

Barreling down the corridor comes another answer to your prayers. It crashes into the sides of the walls, barely able to control their momentum. It's a chance for violence: An orc with pale green skin. He's painted in streaks of dried blood across his face and bare chest. Incoherent screams rush to meet you. The brutish creature is something you've heard of, but never witnessed before. Orcs are mortal enemies to the last of humanity. Part of your race's near-extinction is thanks to the generational conflict that's been fought between the "peoples" of Cyno and humanity. This one looks like a war chief, based on the battle axe he's spinning over his head.

Orcish combative prowess is the stuff of legend. There's truth to the rumors. He's successfully tamed a lesser demon, and is riding atop its insect-like head. The creature resembles a centipede— save for its gargantuan size, and its odd tail. While one end of the beast is screeching along with the chieftain, and gnashing its colossal mouth at you, the other is subdued. A dark-featured, well-endowed, and long-haired woman's torso extends from the back of the centipede's form. While the fairer side of the creature has but one pair of arms, there must be over one hundred legs lining the entire monster's body. It fills the breadth and length of the waterway. Rising waves and tides of filth are rapidly obscuring your site. All of its legs and hate are rapidly running straight towards you.

​

As the monstrosity rapidly approaches, you can hear the orc's screams clearly.

"ORGOTH RIDES NOW! FOR DEATH AND GLORY ON THE FIELD OF BATTLE! SLAYER OF DEMONS AND CONQUEROR OF THE RUINS!"

You have no fear in your heart against this warmonger. Your hands tighten on the shield and mace. Calm as the eye of a storm, you run at full speed towards the demon. With almost effortless grace, you speed past Ray, who barks and snarls at your feet. He's been trained to kill if the need ever arises. At the sight of your charge, the orc's cries falter for only a moment— before he redoubles his efforts. "I WILL TAKE THIS PLACE AND WIPE OUT THE LAST OF YOU! FEAST ON MY BLAAADE HUMAN!"

You both meet in the center of the waterway. This lunatic has your blood pumping— you can't help but let out a cry as you strike.

With a running start, you explode into a leap that clears the entire height of the demon. The orc's eyes widen as you swing your mace as hard as you can into the side of his head. Orgoth brings his battle-axe up with catastrophically fast reflexes. He catches the mace, barks a laugh at just how light your attack truly is, and turn the momentum against you.

With a turn of his broad shoulders and a shift of his figure, he keeps you going in the same direction of your attack, and heaves you away. Your body is stronger, but you're still thin and human. Soaring through the air for a second is enough time to register that the sheer might of his blow has dislocated your shoulder. You crash-land to the soaking waterway on both feet. A trained jerk on your shoulder pops the socket back into place.

The hulking orc whips his head around , and barks a laugh at you. "IS THAT THE BEST YOU'VE GOT?!"

You tear across the waterway and close the distance between you and Orgoth once more. A silent leap through the air catches your breath in your throat. The mace is swung overhead with the hopes of pulping the orc's head. Yet the instant you land on the demon, it violently writhes and deprives you of the opportunity to strike. Both ends of the monster kick and buck with enough ferocity that you and Orgoth are forced to pause your assault.

While clinging onto the beast for dear life, you catch Ray's form out of the corner of your eye. He jumps onto the lowest point of the demon's body, and buys you a moment of precious time. Carefully maintaining your balance puts a burn through your renewed and redoubled muscle. A simultaneous strike from you and your boy couldn't feel sweeter. Orgoth can't keep his eyes on both of you at once. He moves to deflect a brutal swing of your mace. It spares his head from being caved in— at the cost of Ray taking a giant bite into his shoulder. The burn in your core intensifies as you laugh in Orgoth's face. In addition to Ray refusing to release his grip, the remaining webs on your mace has stuck your weapon fast to the warchief's battleaxe. His weapon is rendered nearly useless, his right shoulder is weeping red, and you see him favor the other arm as he pushes against you.

You precariously keep your balance atop the demon, as it thrashes and bucks under both of you. This is no place for a dog. Your command to Ray is made with gritted teeth. "Release him!"

Your boy immediately complies. The battle of strength between you and a monster lasts just long enough for Ray to dart back to the floor of the waterway. Dread intermingles with inner flame, as the demon clearly tries to crush your dog underfoot. It's luckily to no avail, thanks to Ray's rapid maneuvering.

Your focus is ripped back to the orc before you. It's with only one arm that your mace has kept up with this chieftain's full might. He screams in your face, with blood and spittle spraying into the air. "YOU'RE ONE OF THEM ALREADY!"

Does he think my strength is demonic? Does this orc have the gall to not recognize the might of Flesh?

With a final shove, you catch Orgoth off-guard. His balance is compromised, and he struggles to keep his hold on the demon. It gives you a precious moment to jump off of the creature, and to run next to Ray. His evasive maneuvers are doubly impressive once you realize the intensity of the demon's assault.

From the side of the monster's body, it's apparent that its legs must number well over its namesake's 100. Each side of its segmented, armored frame drums against the stone and water. Each buck and kick brings up another wave of filthy foam. Orgoth resumes screaming from atop the beast, which carries over your whistle to Ray. Your dog obeys the command to return to your side immediately.

The orc and what you thought was the face of the centipede demon disappears from sight. An odd maneuver by the war chief atop the centipede's head spins the creature slowly around. The head of the demon moves to face you. She's devoid of any humanity, and leers down at you from a great height. Despite vaguely resembling a bare human woman, the creature is over-sized, and bears no pupils or whites in the pits of her insect-like eyes. You take a step back. "Move with me, boy."

The demon rears up to smash its body down onto the floor. You and your hound leap aside just in time. Skidding along the floor of the waterway shield first, you are granted refuge from the assault. It does little to keep away a mouthful of the filthy runoff. Keeping your eyes to the demon, you spit straight in its direction. There's no time to run.

Bringing your shield overhead, digging in your heels, and letting loose a scream for strength is all the time you're given. The demon brings down its full weight directly onto the humble wooden item in hand. It miraculously fails to break, thanks to how flush you are against the item. All of your back, shoulders, and shield arm go into keeping the beast from crushing you instantly. The monster's strength almost outclasses the work of a God.

Ray snarls, and dives out from under the shadow of the creature while your body screams with heat. A faint trail of red smoke rises from Flesh healing your tearing muscle and splintering bone through the strain.

To linger here is to die. With a strangled shout, you use all the power you possess to throw the monster off of you. A thunderous echo shakes the furthest reaches of the waterway as it collapses just to your side. A huge surge of water threatens to knock you off your feet, but you hold your ground. Breathing. Still alive. You turn and break into a run.

This side of the creature is insanely aggressive, and you have no weapons to speak of. Black and red smoke comes off of your body in tendrils, as you keep pushing yourself to fight. Heat is through every inch of your tortured frame, yet you still tighten your free hand into a fist. All the green in your eyes look up at the demon's armored hide. Its exoskeleton is thick. It may have special properties.

Ray is running alongside you. He's a strong dog, but you know he can't keep this up forever. You need to do something before he gets hurt.

It's only a lesser demon, and I've faced far worse creatures than this before. Sure, I might break a few fingers— but I'd rather get hurt now than have Ray get hurt later.

You're struggling to keep your emotions in check, and it's not helping that you're literally seeing red. The smoke rising from your weakened body is intoxicating. You want to put Flesh's blessing to work, but it's terrifying.

Giving into violent impulses is a necessary evil.

Defending the innocent comes before self-preservation.

Even if I get dangerously close to activating the Catalyst, I need to protect Ray.

You and Ray slide to a stop. "Hang back, boy. Stay safe."

Ray barks at you, and bolts further away, keeping a safe distance. You can hear his heavy panting as he starts to catch his breath, but it's nothing compared to how hard you're breathing now. The shield is slung once more over your back. Both hands are clenched in righteous fury, and you sprint straight towards the demon.

The ground is left behind with an explosive leap. Arm drawn back, you let out a cry. Every ounce of strength in you meets the startled monster. Knuckles and flesh crunch as they slam straight through the demon's exoskeleton. The force of the blow reverberates through your hand and up into your arm. You drive your arm up to the elbow in softer innards without any further resistance.

Suspended a dozen feet above the ground, you cling onto the side of the demon's body to avoid crashing into the waterway. Excruciating as your broken fingers feel, you make sure to grab a handful of the monster's guts before ripping your arm back out. The blackened, poisoned flesh from within the creature smells horrific. It coats your entire right arm as you drop to the ground.

The moment you land, you toss aside the chunk of muscle you tore from its body, and grin maliciously at the beast. Flesh's blessing courses through you. There's immediate relief as your bones begin to repair themselves. There will be scars, but you'll wear them with pride. The humanoid head whips around to see you, shrieking and crying in pain.

Every hair on your body stands on end. Her sobs sound exactly like a human woman. "Give it back!"

Both your fists remain clenched. "I'll give you everything you deserve."

The demon howls, and Orgoth lets loose another scream in turn. From atop the demon, his battle axe and your mace are simultaneously tossed to the floor of the waterway. The orc and demon work in tandem to overwhelm you. While Orgoth unsheathes something from his back ("KILL HIM!"), you break into a run. The demon seeks to trample you with as many feet as she can, before readying to slam down on your body. From his vantage point above, a weapon is loosed.

I definitely got their attention.

The orc shouts, and hurls a javelin towards you. You have a split second to react to the two-pronged assault.

There's no time to deal with both attackers at once. You leap as far to the side of the centipede demon as possible. Orgoth predicted your movement, and aimed for where you've headed. The javelin streaks through the air. You watch with horror as it tracks with your leap, and plunges into your side. You stumble as you land, and shout in pain. Every motion digs the weapon in further. Orgoth calls from atop the centipede's rearing head, and throws his voice. "HURTS, DOESN'T IT, LITTLE MAN?!"

The only thing you hate more than people fucking with your dog is people fucking with you. You grab firmly onto the javelin, and with one swift motion, rip it out of your side. A scream catches in your throat. Blood rises to your lips from how hard you fight to not black out.

Excruciating pain intermingles with the smoke and blood pouring out from the wound. Though your robes are black, enough fluid gushes from the injury to discolor and spread over the drenched fabric. Your vision swims. The waterway is only going to accelerate the bleeding. Flesh's blessing won't last forever.

Javelin still in hand, you turn to the demon. Just as it's about to strike down, you swallow a wave of blood. From the splintered and torn sinew of your legs, to the agony in your side, you put everything you have into the attack— and hurl the javelin at its face.

The creature's demonic half is too unintelligent to see your attack coming. Its own momentum worsens the inevitable. There's a sickening crunch as the javelin pierces its carapace. Shock robs the demon of any sound or response.

Another crackle and break echoes down the corridor as your weapon exits. Orgoth clings onto the demon with his good arm as it bucks and screams in agony. Black ichor gushes from the gaping exit and entry wound.

Your whistle rebounds far down the waterway as you fall to one knee, clutching onto your side. Ray comes leaping out of the water, soaked to the bone. He doesn't care for anything other than the battle, and charges without prompting towards Orgoth. While your boy perilously runs up the length of the demon, the world shifts sideways. Just as your vision begins to fade, you see your faithful mastiff soar through the air— and rip into the orc.

Orgoth howls in pain, and tumbles down the side of the demon with Ray still fixed onto his neck. The humanoid portion of the demon seems so badly injured that she can't protect her rider. The frantic stampede stops once Orgoth is off of her body, and all legs move the monster back down the waterway. A trail of darkened gore is left through the foam and sludge, as the demon slinks back from whence she came.

Water kicks up around the orc and your dog as they are locked in fatal combat. You stagger over to them, as smoke stops pouring out from your wound. Sharp, piercing pain shoots through you, and the blood is spreading. No longer able to run, you catch up to Ray and Orgoth only after their battle has been resolved.

Your mastiff has completely subdued the orc. Orgoth struggles not to drown as he's pinned on the floor of the flooded passage.

This orc might have information. I've killed over less, but it is my duty to be Merciful.

You look down at the orc with disgust. The female demon is still dragging herself down the waterway. You could probably still catch up to her.

The pain in your side is becoming more intense by the second. It was difficult to tell in the heat of the battle— but now that your blood is cooling, you know that you should be dead. Were it not for Flesh's blessing, an injury this deep should have claimed you in minutes. The orc is barely putting up a fight, trying not to drown or have his neck bitten clean off by Ray.

Your boy is used to taking commands from you when you're in too much pain to speak. You whistle twice to call him off. He still snarls with extreme prejudice at the orc as Orgoth bolts upright, coughing up mouthfuls of filthy water. "Stay down, Orgoth." A rush of blood pours from your wound with each syllable. The pain and injury is compounded with each step as you limp over to the warchief.

He's spluttering still— but for good measure, you make a long, low whistle. Ray leaps on top of Orgoth, and growls aggressively in his face. The mastiff's powerful jaws are a hair's breadth away from the orc's nose. "He won't kill you if you don't attack us—" You caution, before collapsing in the water.

With the last ounce of strength left in you, you roll over and prop your body on top of your backpack. A prayer is muttered in thanks to Flesh for granting you so much, before even reaching for any herbs or bandages. You wouldn't be alive if it weren't for His blessing. It may have been a self-imposed suicide mission to enter the ruins, but you aren't ready to die just yet.

Tears come to your eyes as the last of Flesh's blessing leaves you. Your long and thin limbs are aching from exertion. The additional muscle fades, while you strain to take out a few pouches from your backpack. Most are drenched in water. "Ruined..." The animal skins and waterproofing wasn't nearly enough to protect your gear from the elements. There's a single tincture that is unspoiled.

Without a second's hesitation, you swallow the entire contents of the bottle. It's terribly bitter, but you know it will help the pain and ease the bleeding. The war chief's injury is substantial too, yet he shows no sign of pain. You glance over at him every few minutes. Stopping the flow of your own blood occupies your attention too much to pay him any mind. Ray savagely growls each and every time the enemy does more than blink.

Eventually, the orc seems to wind down from the fight. Ray's growling slows, while you fasten a long strip of bandages around your waist. It's tied over your filthy robes, as you're too hurt and tired to make a proper dressing. You'll have to fix it later. The javelin was barbed, but it didn't have any poison on it. You have to wonder how many other humans have encountered this orc for him to have immediately mistaken you for a demon.

"Orgoth, right?" Wincing again from the effort of speaking stops you from making a scene. Every word feels like it redoubles the pain.

"So! You're intelligent enough to recognize the name of the GREATEST warrior to have ever lived—!"

Ray growls with such ferocity when he speaks, the orc immediately pipes down again. More wincing. Gods. Your side is killing you. "If you— if you swear to not hurt me or my dog, I'll call him off. I don't— I'm not— I'm not a demon."

You're struggling to speak, but it's worth the effort. You can't have this maniac doing something to Ray while you rest. It would be impossible to invoke again when you're this spent.

Orgoth stares you down. Every scar and pockmark. The deep bags under your impossibly wide and bright green eyes. The break that never healed across the bridge of your nose. It might as well be another knife cutting you, and you instinctively look away. Turning your scarred and gaunt face aside likely does nothing for the slick gore through the mop of your hair or the way that your robes hang off of your skeletal frame.

Please stop looking at me.

​

The orc laughs. Ray barks hard in the war chief's face, but he shouts over the noise. "Ah, a human after all! I see! Your dog seems to even have more confidence than you do! You can't possibly be a demon! Ahaha!"

His words cut deeper than the look did. You keep your eyes away from the orc, struggling to not let your emotions overwhelm you. This is extremely dangerous. You need to get a hold of yourself. You aren't a child anymore.

He's right.

"I'm—" You cringe. "I'm not perfect." It's impossible to avoid clutching your side and gasping as you get back to your feet. Ray barks right in the orc's face, with a helpful show of aggression. He won't attack unless you give the word. You smile slightly. "He's been my companion and supported me when no one else could. He's probably saved— he's probably saved more lives than you've taken, Orgoth."

Your eyes remain downcast. In the five years you spent as a Father of the Church of Mercy, Ray's served with you for almost all of them. You owe him your life. He barks, and you don't quite catch the full extent of the orc's reaction. You're deeply uncomfortable talking at length, save for conversations about the Gods. You doubt this orc even knows of Mercy. He's not replying.

Just move. Do something.

You grab your backpack, and start walking hesitantly towards the side of the waterway. A dry ledge is a fine place to slump down against. Looking through your possessions, you set out the water-logged items, and wring out what you can. Fortunately, your journal is mostly dry. Far past the orc, you can see the lurching figure of the centipede demon. She's barely able to move, yet is still crawling away. A black stream of blood— possibly poison— pools around her. It's a good thing the water is flowing away from you. It's fascinating that an orc was even able to tame such a creature.

Your curiosity wins out over creeping insecurity. You did come here for a reason. "Ray. Hang back." Your dog backs his face away from Orgoth, but remains standing just beside him. The orc looks to you in surprise. In a low voice you ask, "how did you manage to tame the demon?"

He's immediately relieved to have something to brag about. "It was a simple matter!" Ray jumps in alarm at the increase in volume, but dutifully stays put. "I found her in this strange place, starving half to death! I can't possibly eat all of the creatures I've killed down here— so I brought the girl a few gifts! Ahahaha!" The orc gives you a wink. "She warmed up to me faster than a halfling to a hot meal! Once she knew I could pull my weight, we made a little agreement! She would help me—" The killer's voice loses its manic energy. "—and I'd not kill her."

With a look over his shoulder, the orc's substantial frame sinks slightly. "It's a great dishonor, you know. You've disgraced my ancestral weapon, wounded my finest ally, and gravely injured me!" He smiles at you with weird sincerity. It's incredibly unnerving to see a mass of battle-scars, blood and muscle acting this way.

Are all orcs like this?

You've been told all your life that they're bloodthirsty killers. Practically mindless animals. He continues with that odd smile on his face. "I didn't come down here to die, yet you've struck me with mortal blows! You see why I mistook you for a demon, no?"

​

You cringe again, and look down at your journal. Despite your injury, your notes are crisp and your handwriting is steady. Likely from a lifetime of restraining your body and emotions. It doesn't make a difference when what the orc's saying makes so little sense.

Did he only have to treat the demon with respect?

"You tried to kill me." Your voice remains even, but your eyes are lit with anger.

"I tried to defend myself! When was the last time you saw yourself? Or even ate anything?! I've seen elves with more meat on them than you! Do you have any idea what else is down here?! I couldn't take any chances!!"

Ray growls at the orc as his voice increases in pitch and volume. Orgoth closes his mouth, but remains agitated. You can feel a pressure building in your head just from the strain of talking to the war chief.

It's proving more stressful to deal with him trying to talk to you than trying to kill you.

As the rations air out to dry, you wordlessly examine them further. They're a little soft around the edges, but are definitely still edible. You grab two, a handful of medicinal herbs, an armful of more makeshift bandages, and walk over to Orgoth. A hard look meets you, as you approach with the food in hand. You give an entire portion to Ray first, who wolfs it down without even chewing. "Good boy. Stay." You pat him on the head and kneel down, careful not to get the bandages wrapped around your torso wet once again.

"It's no wonder you're a shadow of a man— giving your pet the biggest share!" The orc gives you a smile, seemingly unaware of how bothered you are by the teasing.

With extreme reluctance, you break the remaining ration in half and take a bite. It's dry and made purely for efficiency— not for taste. You stare down Orgoth with the driest look imaginable as you slowly chew. He gives you a big grin in return. "Listen." The wind has been taken completely out of your sails. "I need to rest, and— and you need to recover too. I'm no demon. I'm a man of the Gods."

You scrutinize his face as you say this, looking for any sort of disbelief or reaction. Anything at all. He stares at you blankly.

"I've been trained in healing—"

The explanation is uproariously cut short. "A medicine man!"

He leans over and almost grabs you by the shoulder. Ray instantly leaps onto him, growling and barking hysterically.

You put a hand to your temples. Pressure mounts from the damn headaches. The quiet command is made while closing your eyes for a moment. The dark might stave off the incoming pain. "Down, Ray."

It's actually quiet for a moment.

When you open your eyes, Orgoth is staring at you again. You finally lose your patience. "Stop doing that."

"What? Did our battle leave a mark on you deeper than I can see?! THE MIGHT OF ORGOTH—"

"Stop—!" You mutter, and draw in on yourself as the pain builds. "Be quiet—"

The orc actually seems to have listened.

Maybe he does know of Mercy.

For several minutes, you listen only to the sound of rushing water. The centipede demon has stopped moving down the waterway. Either she's bled out, is hiding, or even may be licking her wounds.

You reluctantly open your eyes to see that Orgoth is intently examining a wall across from you. His eyes dart back towards you every few seconds, as if you can't see him. You sigh, and extend the other half of the ration. "Here." Waving the brick of food at him pulls at the damage on your side. "That bite on your shoulder is going to pass beyond my care if you let it get any fouler. If you want my help—" As Orgoth extends a hand to take the ration, you draw your arm back slightly. "—I need your word. Your bond. Swear to me. Swear on everything you hold dear. Swear to me that you won't bring any harm to me or Ray."

The orc's pointed ears perk up. "Willbreaker—!" He winces at the exclamation, and quickly brings down the volume of his voice. "Willbreaker. My axe. I'd swear to you on it, but...

"We'll clean it."

"And your name! I don't even know who I'm swearing to."

"Father Richard Anscham— and you know Ray."

"Father? AHAHA, I haven't called anyone that in— at least 40 years!"

"It's a title. I'm the head of my order, it's... like a... holy... tribe." You recoil into yourself at the comparison, but it's the best you can come up with— given your limited knowledge of Orcs and their culture. You assert, "it's a great honor."

He grimaces, with a nod. "Very well, Father Richard Anscham. I'll swear it to you on my first wife. Dura Soulstorm bore me 16 healthy sons! Each one stronger than the last!"

You listen with as much patience as you can muster, while trying to conceal your mounting agony.

Orgoth swears to you on each one of his first 16 sons...

Each one of their many tribes...

And each one of their sons...

...that he will not harm you or Ray. You're about ready to collapse by the time he finishes.

"...Father? Are you alright?"

"No."

You slide forward, face-first. The orc— wounded as he is— catches you as you nearly fall into the filthy streams coursing through the waterway. "Alright, come on, medicine man."

If you weren't struggling to not shout out in pain, you'd think there was concern in his voice.

The world goes dark, as you feel yourself being lifted back towards the rest of your gear. A strange thought occurs to you, before you fade from consciousness:

You can't remember the last time you actually touched someone.​