Jor awoke with a gasp, taking in the much needed, precious, air. He scrambled up to his feet, checking his body for any grievous wounds. None, just like before. No, maybe not like before. His clothes and skin were caked in his own blood, and cleaning them off was going to be a bitch and a half. His thoughts drifted to that old man. He did something. It had to be the only explanation. And the bird. There was a connection between them. Just what it was, he had no idea. The only clue would be his racial trait, which left him with nothing but assumptions and theories, which would lead him nowhere. He checked his surroundings, watching for the undead to come leaping at him to finish the job. None came, so far. Which was good, because it let Jor run the opposite direction of where the undead came from. The cavern was a lightless world, and he wondered for just a moment, how he was able to see into the black depths. A trivial detail to concern over, what with the murderous undead wanting to chop his head off. He found a crevice to climb over a fair distance away, and into a small cave holed into the wall several dozen feet above. His hands were scraped and bloodied, but it only pushed him further to find safety. He needed to think. Hell, he needed time. The important things, like food and shelter, was something he had to figure out how to acquire. And he didn't think he was going to get any of the former around here. Which reminded him, his stomach was grumbling something fierce. Dammit! Of all times... The small cave snaked its way for miles, and he had to stop to rest several times before he continued on his journey. Where it led, he had no idea. The only certainty he knew of, was that he had to get away. There were things in the dark that terrified him, and all he wanted was to get away. It took an hour before the exit widened into an opening, and Jor made sure to get on his belly, before crawling toward the edge of the cliff. Miles below, shafts of white natural sunlight bathed the underground ancient city. His eyes followed the source of the light, where the massive entrance sat, adjacent to a grand castle. And further inward, toward the stone ruins of a small city, the undead roamed listlessly in their hundreds of thousands. It filled him with a sense of terrible awe, and dread. His gritted his teeth in disbelief. After all this time, all this work, and the damned cave only led him further toward the very heart of his trouble. There was no way he could get past a city of undead. A simple dumb skeleton killed him, so what chances did he have against an army? Absolutely none. They looked like a colony of ants, ready to rip him apart at the first signs of trouble. So, with a frustrated sigh, and regret, he crawled back to the safety of the dark. The way back was, of course, easier, and it took less time. He had to plan, and if that stupid stats gave him anything, it was that the potential for getting stronger was a possibility. Speaking of which... Jor concentrated on the stats, and it popped up immediately into existence. This time, though, something had changed.

Jörmungandr Shesha

Level 1

Class - N/A Strength - 0 - 4% Endurance - 0 - 8% Intelligence - 0 - 2%

Willpower - 0 - 14% Vitality - 0 - 45% Racial Trait - The Heart of the Phoenix So, it was possible to raise stats without leveling up. Did that mean he had to get into more fights, in order to increase his percentage for a stat gain? And, did any training help in increasing his stats? There were plenty of questions that needed to be answered, but none that came to him. When he got back, he found a roaming undead, wandering about like some kind of zombie. It was missing its left arm, and the other arm held a sword. The weapon was unusual, where the blade was carefully carved with some pictographs he didn't recognize the language of, and it certainly didn't belong to the ancient Egyptian language. It was also broken in half. What should have been a longsword, was now a short sword. Still, it was a weapon, and he had no doubt he needed one now. He carefully maneuvered himself until he was right atop it. Crawling was hard, especially if he had to conceal any sound he made. Jor wondered if the undead could even hear anything, considering it was nothing more than bones, with flesh decomposed long ago. Still, best not leave it to chance to fuck things up. Considering his luck, he wouldn't be surprised if Murphy's Law decided to rear his ugly head. Jor quickly ducked his head with a stifled groan, when the undead stopped to turn to look his way. Its red eyes was searching, considering. Then, it turned its head away. Taking to his feet, he leaped off the edge as soundlessly as possible upon the undead. His booted feet caved into its ribs, and damaging a small part of its spine, crushing the undead into the ground with a clatter of bones. The weapon had clattered off to the side, and Jor fell heavily. The fall bruised him more than it did the undead. It was only his quick reaction that allowed him to jump on top of the zombie to get into a better position. Then, he punched the skull repeatedly, while holding onto its only arm. The weapon had clattered off to the side the second, and now that it was without arms, Jor did what he did best. He smashed his fist into its face, and he didn't let up as he kept hammering away. The undead struggled, snapping its jaws to get to his flesh. Jor was in a better position, with his knees pinning its chest to the ground. It had surprisingly durable bones, but it didn't stop line of cracks spider-webbed across its nasal bone, making the hole where the nose should be, slightly bigger. Jor cursed in pain and rage, even as the sharp edges of the skull bone cut into his fist. Despite the cuts and the bloodied hand, the only thing he could do was lash out, as all his frustration and fear came out in violence. Those pair of red eyes balefully glared at him, and they dimmed just slightly before he completely caved in its skull. The pain came, as the adrenaline slowly wore off. Jor lay there, by the body of the undead. Its eyes were long gone, and it seemed a miserable existence if he could free it from existing in such a bleak life. Un-life. Or something. Jor stumbled to his feet and picked up the broken sword. It didn't look special, but it might have been in the prime of its life. The edge was still slightly sharp, and there was no way in hell he was going to allow himself to get cut by it. The last thing he needed was tetanus, stuck somewhere in the middle of a fantasy land.