Fjorgyn: A Rebel Rises

by RJ Castiglione

  “What should I do for a week?”

  “Whatever you want. You can’t wander too far. You can only go one-hundred feet from here or your resurrection point at any time.”

  This was a concept I was familiar with. While I could will myself back and forth between my death-site and the nearest graveyard, I could go no further. Usually, I waited around to be resurrected. But then I suppose there is no resurrection here in the real Fjorgyn.

  Clifford collected my body and my possessions, slinging my light corpse over his shoulders. This was one benefit of being only five feet tall. I followed him as he walked the slow line back to the entrance of the cave, but could go no further than fifty feet beyond the trial chamber. I hit a silent barrier. My only choice was to watch my friend disappear into the fog.

  I didn’t want to stay here. Not only because it was lonely and desolate; it was also home to a powerful being who I had pissed off with a single word. I willed myself back to the estate. The world around me vanished into darkness. Wind encircled me as though I were in the eye of a tornado. Moments later, I was standing in the fountain outside of Clifford’s estate. The silver fog took on a darker hue here, casting the entire spirit realm in a purple haze.

  I could hear the muffled voices of others nearby—my friends going about their preparations for our great escape, oblivious to my demise. A handful of guards were patrolling the perimeter of the estate. Neeta and Junta were running around, Neeta holding up the hem of her dress, holding a giant bushel of freshly picked herbs. Their laughing was muffled, a faint echo of the world I was now removed from.

  I continued to observe them. Neeta would spin in circles while Junta would run off, pick some herbs, and run back in a perpetual game of fetch.

  “The first thing I’ll have to do when I resurrect is to start on those potions,” I said to Vindur. The lemur had already settled on my shoulder, his ringed tail wrapping around my neck like a boa constrictor. His body was rigid with tension. He didn’t want to be here. And I didn’t want to send him away.

  Hours had passed. The spirit world grew darker. More specifically, the sun had set leaving the barrier around Elatha without its daytime opaqueness.

  The gates to the estate slowly creaked open, revealing a despondent Clifford still carrying my body. Once inside, he set me down at the foot of the fountain. I crouched down to get a closer look at him. I have only known the man for a few weeks, yet his face told the story of one who had lost a dear friend. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy. Tears still flowed freely. My blood had soaked his armor and undershirt. His despair made sense. Relationships in Fjorgyn functioned differently compared to Earth. On earth, friends were often forged out of mutual convenience. I doubted my friends mourned my death. My company would offer grief counseling, for sure. No one would go. My family would be anguished. I mulled over my dire thoughts. They would have a wake and a funeral. Everyone would come. At the post-funeral gathering, people would eat cold food, drink alcohol, and talk about experiences they shared with me, Michael Semione. A few would stand in the corner; those who were compelled to come but never really knew a damn thing about me.

  Now I was crying. Not because of Clifford or my multiple deaths. I missed my family. I missed my mother and father. They were always loving, kind, and supportive. They broke themselves in life to make sure my sisters and I wanted for nothing, treating me with a particular care as both the baby of the family and the only son. I missed my middle sister. We were always close. Even when we went to college, I chose a school in the same city as her. And I missed my oldest sister, too. She and I were not as close, but I loved her all the same. It was the beginning of autumn when I died. I was glad for that. The fall was always my favorite time of year. The energy of the summer would fade, and pool parties would be replaced with evening bonfires and hot apple cider.

  By this point, the guards had helped their master carry my body behind the estate. I tried to follow only to hit the edge of the fog around me. It was too far. I chose instead to settle down by the fountain, remaining there with Vindur trembling on my shoulder, drifting in and out of a numb and empty meditative state, broken periodically by echoes of my friends and their despair. I didn’t hear Neeta cry. I was grateful for this. Perhaps she was too young to understand what happened. Or maybe she cried in silence.

  Hours passed. The crying had ceased. The lights dimmed in the estate. The only exception was the light to Clifford’s bedroom. It shone through the darkness and death-haze like a lighthouse on a rocky shore during a midnight storm.

  Words escaped me after I willed myself into his room. Half the room was blocked by the dense fog of my the spirit shroud. The other half revealed Clifford collapsed into a deep sleep. The path from his door to his bed was strewn with discarded clothes and muddy tracks. He laid fully disrobed on his sheets, now soiled with dirt and blood. His face was buried in a pillow. Others would have been embarrassed or ashamed to catch him in such a state: dirty with his ass exposed. I didn’t care. I knelt beside his bed, resting my chin on his padded sheets, my face a foot from his. I saw guilt and sadness mirrored back at me.

  I couldn’t help but admire the man. He was the most interesting person I had met. I realized that he could become my best friend or, perhaps, something even more.

  “Vindur, can you show yourself to him? Can you tell him I’m fine?”

  The lemur shook his head. He could control who saw him, but only in the realm I currently occupied.

  “I’ll make it up to him, then. He’ll understand. My temporary death is a small price to pay for his life.”

  I knelt by his bed for hours hoping my presence would somehow offer him comfort. It didn’t. He woke up with a start multiple times only to cry himself to sleep again. When this happened, I could see the blood pulsing in the veins in his neck, exacerbated by the entire ordeal. He woke up one final time, looking both at me and through me. Abandoning sleep, Clifford dragged himself out of bed, wrapped a sheet around himself and left the room where I couldn’t follow.

  Chapter 10

  “I can’t do it, Vindur! I can’t take it anymore. I’m going insane!”

  “Perhaps you can meditate again?”

  “No. I’ve been meditating all week. It doesn’t help. I need to… I need to do something!”

  I had resigned myself to walking laps around the fountain having spent the entire week so far observing others. Guards would rotate their shifts. Neeta and Junta would gather herbs. Junta was still running around and laughing like before. His sister, however, stood there in silence, perhaps upset that I wasn’t around.

  I was glad to see that deliveries had arrived: herbs and vials for potion making. They hadn’t lost hope. They wanted to continue with the plan.

  Some other masters came to talk to Clifford. I had hoped they were on our side. A few of them left their slaves with him. Baridorne came a few times to collect the deliveries. I saw no sign of Moga, Cilden, or Rose.

  I spent nights exploring the rooms of the estate within reach. The library was available. I read whatever books Clifford left open. I could not turn the pages, so it didn’t take long. The lower level dining room and lounge were often empty. The only constant companionship aside from Vindur was a sleeping Clifford. As the days crawled by, his sleep became more restful. His earlier grief had faded into a general morose. When he was awake, he was gloomy. When he was asleep, he was gloomy and nude—his preferred method of sleeping.

  I was at last on my last day of time-out. I insulted Mannana under my breath for his torturous curse. A few times throughout the week I had begged Balama for release. There was never an answer. And so I meditated. And paced. And watched Neeta and Clifford. And paced. And meditated. And paced some more. I also learned that I could calm myself down by massaging the tips of my new elf ears. All the while, Vindur sat on the edge of the fountain, still as a statue. I saw him develop a faint smile after my last lap around the fountain.

  “Well? What is it?” The lemur didn’t respond, alth
ough his small round ears did seem to twitch ever so slightly.

  “Why can’t you do something? Can’t you get me out of th-“

  Before I could finish the sentence, the silver/purple light of the spirit realm began to close in on me. The shroud surrounding me shrunk like a balloon having its air expelled. I thrashed at the encroaching barrier in a futile attempt to push it off. That didn’t stop it from encasing me and forming to my body. It was soft at first, then hardened into a translucent carapace. When it couldn’t mold around me anymore, it began to vibrate. The shaking penetrated my entire body. I closed my eyes to block the feeling that they would shake out of my skull. The vibrating stopped, leaving me encased in my crystal prison. When I was just about to abandon hope, I heard a loud crack, like a giant tree split in two. The world went dark and then became bright again. I found myself standing in front of the fountain with the silver light gone. Only the dark and purple haze remained. And I was naked. Again. What was wrong with this world? Why did it eat clothing like a clothes dryer eats socks?

  “Fuck you, Mannana! You perverted bastard!” I was so pleased with cursing the god of death that I hadn’t taken stock of my rebirth. The spirit realm had retreated. It ejected me back into the living world. I could once again see behind the house. I could see the trees over the front wall. And I saw my friends standing in the doorway to the estate with their mouths agape.

  “Uncle Mike!” Neeta stepped out from behind her mother in an unsuccessful attempt to celebrate my return. Rose had grabbed her shoulders and pulled her back.

  At this point, Clifford had circled the fountain, sword at the ready. “Who are you, demon?”

  With one hand protecting my modesty and the other raised in defense, I backed away from Clifford. “It’s me! I’m Mike. I’m your frie-“

  “My friend died! Saving my life! I carried him back. We buried him! You are not him.”

  By this point, Cilden had mirrored his master, circling the opposite end of the fountain to trap me. The guards at the gate had also drawn their swords. There was only one thing I could do. I wasn’t about to let them skewer me again and earn another week trapped in spiritual detention.

  “Vindur, can you?”

  The lemur made himself known to Clifford. The site of him was enough for my friend. He threw his sword to the side letting it clink and skid across the cobblestone plaza. He lunged at me and caught me in the strongest bear hug I had felt in any of my lifetimes, more forceful and enveloping than even Baridorne’s.

  “Clifford,” I coughed. “I can’t breathe.”

  The man was overjoyed, lifting me off my feet and spinning me around in unabated celebration.

  “My friend! It is you!” He motioned to the others. “It’s alright. It’s him!”

  On earth, most cultures have protocols for nudity and personal space. This cultural trait did not exist in Fjorgyn. Cilden and Rose both offered me a welcoming embrace. Neeta had sat on my foot and clutched my leg, tears flowing down her little face in ecstatic abandon. When they had let me go, Baridorne clapped me on the back leaving a giant, red handprint on my skin. Even Moga, the coldest among us, wore a smile, although that didn’t prevent him from lazily leaning against the alabaster pillar at the front door.

  When they were done rejoicing my return, they gave me some room. I stood there with my cheeks on fire and my hands cupping my manhood.

  “I am thrilled to be back. I’d be more thrilled with some clothes, though.” They all laughed at me, making jokes about having ‘seen it all before.' Cilden had to pry Neeta from my leg to allow Clifford to lead me into the house.

  He brought me into his bedroom. I had never been there before—at least not while I was alive. Closing the door, he turned to me, wearing both kindness and confusion on his face.

  “Now, my friend, you owe me some answers. First, let’s start with what this is all about,” he said as he shook his hand through my hair.

  He walked me over to a mirror next to his bed, leaving me for a moment to search the contents of a nearby wardrobe.

  Looking in the mirror, I saw my now apparent transformation. I couldn’t help but think about how much I have changed in the last month. I woke up from death as a human in my old earth body. I then endured a magical plastic surgery so severe it would make Michael Jackson jealous. My skin had gone from tan to gray and now to a plain white. My hair had gone from a vibrant and glowing brown to a dull tan to its current silver blue. It wasn’t all bad. When I had woken up, I was as soft as a baby. Although I was still squishy, my hands were now calloused; my muscles were more toned. I even felt taller. I brought up my notifications:

  Know this!. You have spent an extended amount of time in the spirit world. Your race has been modified from ‘Dark Elf’ to ‘Spirit Elf’. You are now more in tune with the spiritual and magical energies of the world. +10% to all damage and healing done. -10% to all magical damage taken. +10% increase to all physical damage taken.

  Congratulations! You have learned a new spell! Spirit Trek. Once per week, you may summon a portal to bring you and your party from your current location to your resurrection site. You are currently bound to resurrect at the estate of Clifford Grey II. This is a fixed ability and cannot increase in skill. This is a permanent ability. You cannot lose it when changing races.

  Interface

  Secret name: Slanaitheoir (savior)

  Character name: Michael Dian-Cecht

  Race: Spirit Elf

  Age: 27

  Class: Undefined

  Talent: Undefined

  Level 5 (511xp to next level)

  Health: 148

  Mana: 144

  Stamina: 148

  Fatigue: 0%

  Armor: -10 (you’re naked, jackass)

  Strength: 12

  Intelligence: 13

  Wisdom: 13

  Constitution: 16

  Agility: 12

  Luck: 5

  Alignment: Chaotic Good (+1)

  Racial Traits: +5% to herbalism, +5% to nature-based healing and damage spells, +5% to mana regeneration

  Profession: Undefined

  Company: Undefined

  Modifiers: +10% movement speed, Spirit Elf (+10% to all damage and healing done. -10% to all magical damage taken. +10% increase to all physical damage taken)

  I was so fixated on my physical appearance that I hadn’t noticed my collar was gone. Although it was forced on me for only three weeks, I could still feel the itch of it on my neck, the rough leather of it scratching and chafing of my skin. I swiped my fingers across my neck where the collar had once been, sliding them down my trapezius and deltoid until I felt the rough and scarred skin of the slave brand.

  “I know what you’re thinking.” Vindur broke the silence, now visible to only me again. “It’s a magical mark. It will remain with you so long as the magic remains intact. Once the magic is spent, you can resurrect again, and it will be gone.”

  “I know. If you don’t mind, I’d rather not die just to erase it. The mark is a part of me now. It is a part of my experience here. Everyone else will have to keep the scars for the rest of their lives. And I would like to as well.”

  I made a promise that day to be more careful and to never put myself in a situation where all of my friends wouldn’t come out alive. It was a fool's promise, I know. But like my brand, it is one that I will try to keep.

  Clifford had finished with his search and walked back across the room, his hands carrying a bundle of my possessions. He sat on the bed and offered them to me.

  Staff of Force Push. Quality: Professional. Class: Rare. Damage: 17-23 DPS. Can be broken by stronger weapons. Stats: +30 MP, Sends shockwave upon striking target to push enemies back. Can disrupt spellcasting. Charges: 72/100.

  Homespun Cotton Shirt. Quality: Good. Class: Common. Armor: Light(2). Can be destroyed by weapons.

  Rough Leather Chest piece. Quality: Good. Class: Uncommon. Armor: Light(15). Stats: +10 HP

  Homespun Pants. Quality: Good. Clas
s: Uncommon. Armor: Light(10). Stats: +20 MP

  Leather boots. Quality: Good. Class: Uncommon. Armor: Light(5). Stats: +10% movement speed

  Leather bracers. Quality: Good. Class: Uncommon. Armor: Light(5). Stats: +10 HP

  Ring of Lesser Magical Insight. Quality: Good. Class: Uncommon. +25mp.

  Necklace of Healer’s Might. Quality: Good. Class: Uncommon. Increases healing and damage of all spells by 1%.

  Slave collar (broken): Mark of the Slave, -3 to all attributes. Cannot be broken by common means.

  I was glad to have it all back. Even more, Rose and Clifford had apparently washed and mended my clothing. They were good as new. And I was glad to have clothes again. I was tired of walking around with nothing but my inventory bag to hide my junk. I added the broken collar, staff, and armor to my inventory and slid into my pants and shirt. Putting on the ring and necklace, I took a seat next to Clifford. It was a bit strange sitting next to him. He was much taller than me. His torso was also larger and wider. Where his feet touched the floor, mine dangled off the side of the bed. Although he was not older than me, I looked the part of the child.

  “I’m sorry, Michael.” I could hear the hesitation in his voice. “I forgot to warn you and you died. But.” He paused to wipe a tear away. “But you sacrificed yourself to save me. I don’t even think my father would do that. You didn’t even hesitate.”

  “I didn’t need to.”

  I turned to look at him and saw the familiar look of a man examining his interface. He was reading my character sheet to learn more.

  “Apparently it wasn’t all for nothing. I’m no longer a dark elf. Yay.” I waved my hands in the air in a shallow and sarcastic expression of celebration.

  “I owe you some answers, don’t I?”

  “You don’t have to if you’re not ready.”