f0Ri5
patreon
Damned If I Do, Damned If I Don't (Chapter 6)
🕑 Added 2023-06-18 16:18:00 +0000 UTC-------------------
Bundled in my blankets, I reflected on today’s events—it was a habit I picked up over the years. For an hour or so, I would comb over every single thing that happened to me, trying to if see I’d missed anything important.
Partly, it was because I had no clue what happened on Azeroth before Warcraft 3. Honestly, even that game’s events were a blur, having only done a single playthrough when I was a kid. It was incredibly depressing—one would’ve thought I’d at least get some kind of enhanced memory to help me out, but there was nothing like that.
Though, even if I had played the previous games, well… so what? Something that did manage to stick in my head from Warcraft 3 was how that raven guy-… The hell was his name again? I’m pretty sure it started with a ‘M’, but fuck me if I can remember it. Anyway, the point is, wasn’t he some insanely strong mage on top of being a prophet? And everyone except Thrall basically told him to take his prophecies and shove them up his ass.
I’m getting off topic. What I’m trying to say is, I don’t really revise my day to spark some inspiration regarding long-forgotten lore. Instead, I think it would make sense if I quoted Roosevelt: ‘It’s not often that a man can make opportunities for himself. But he can put himself in such a shape that, when or if opportunities come, he is ready.’
Powerless as I was, the only thing I could do was keep an eye out for anything that could swing things in my favor. Unfortunately, today was just as plain and uneventful as all those who came before.
After I’d tossed and turned for a while, doing little aside from wrinkling my night-clothes and blankets, I drifted off into a fitful sleep.
-----------------------
At some point during the night, I woke up blearily. After a hard day’s work, I’d drunk a cup or two of water to quench my thirst—seemingly more liquid than my small body could handle.
Rolling on to my side, I got my hands under me, getting up with a groan. My limbs felt like they were made of lead, not surprising given that was what I’d been lugging around all day. Tomorrow, I’d certainly have to wash thoroughly in cold water, otherwise I’d be sore for the rest of the week.
The shed door creaked as I opened it, cold air flooding my little room from outside. Shivering in the chill, I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to preserve a bit of warmth.
It was dark outside—darker than I expected. The day had been clear, but looking toward the sky, I saw a wall of clouds rolling in from the east. They shimmered faintly, illuminated by the stars behind them and the pale crescent-moon.
Though I’d struggled to fall asleep earlier, I was extremely tired now, wanting nothing more than to finish my business before getting back to bed. However, I couldn’t just use the outdoor privy—it wasn’t meant for that kind of thing. No, I needed to find a shrub, tree or nice patch of grass not too close to the house.
It needed to be said that, although monsters and bandits were a problem, they usually didn’t draw this close to town. Wild animals were the biggest threat, coming to kill livestock or uproot vegetable gardens. However, the ducks and pigs were quiet, assuring me that all was well.
I fumbled around in the dark until I found a spot near our bramble fence. Then, after clumsily untying the front of my pants, I watered one of Lily’s chestnut trees, providing it with some nitrate for the upcoming growth-season. When I was done, I turned and promptly tripped over a root, rock or something similar…
…even after all these years, I struggle retelling this part of my story. The me of that time was just a civilian, someone who’d worked as a sales-rep in his past life and a farmhand in his next. I simply had no way to understand or even contextualize the fear, terror and pain I was about to experience.
Looking back at my situation - or from a third person’s perspective - it’s not hard to point out things I did wrong. After all, while I didn’t know the specifics, I knew all hell would break lose eventually. The town I lived in was the biggest clue—I mean, I didn’t remember there being a town named ‘Westbrook’, but as a Horde player, that discrepancy could simply be chalked up to ignorance.
I wish I’d put two-and-two together earlier, but even if I had, I’m afraid the situation might not have changed at all.
There’s so much I could say regarding this issue, but even then, I might not be able to persuade others or even myself. I can only say that I’d scrutinized that part of my life, as well as everything leading up to it many times over, but ignorant and powerless as I was, there just didn’t seem to be anything I could do.
Anyway, I’ve stalled for long enough. Whether my inaction was justified or not no longer mattered. The past couldn’t be changed, not by me.
As I toppled over, heading face-first toward the ground, a massive force struck my back. I felt myself actually being flung forward before something slipped in under my ribs, piercing my flesh. An indescribable pain blossomed there, turning my vision red.
I’m not exactly proud of the scream that tore from my throat, but perhaps it was better that way. In any case, the agony was so overwhelming that I completely lost all sense and reason. I wasn’t the least bit capable of managing my reaction.
Hitting the ground like a sack of bricks, my hands instinctively went to my waist, fumbling for whatever had injured me. They were immediately covered in something wet, warm and sticky—blood. My clothes, skin and even the ground under me was completely drenched, like I was a punctured wineskin, spilling its contents onto the soil.
A long, stretched-out whine exited my throat as I inadvertently nudged the wooden shaft sticking out of my back. I could feel it stirring inside of me, the arrowhead grinding against my hipbone.
The sense of invasiveness was truly horrid in a way that was difficult to describe. Since that time, I’d been cut, stabbed and shot with firearms, but the feeling of an arrow, blade or spear shifting around inside me, wreaking havoc with the slightest movement, was something I never got used to.
A prickling heat rose from my wound, throbbing rhythmically like a second heart. Despite this unnatural warmth, my skin was covered in drops of cold sweat, causing my clothes to stick to me. The rapid blood-loss made my limbs grow chilly and numb.
Bleeding out on the damp soil, I had no idea what I was supposed to do. Panic gripped my thoughts, but even if I had been clear-minded, well… not only was my ten-year-old body critically injured, but I had no means to save myself, nor was their any way to retaliate against my then-hidden assailant.
The clouds shifted, allowing a sliver of moonlight through. The silvery beams filtered through the trees’ leaves, drawing stark shadows on the ground. My eyes, flitting around erratically in my skull, spotted a hunched figure in the darkness.
Thinking back, it’s almost inconceivable that I spotted it, concealed and camouflaged as it was. Perhaps my senses were enhanced by my approaching death, I don’t know. Regardless, what I saw was a creature every inhabitant of Westbrook had heard countless stories of—a jungle troll.
It crouched in the overgrowth, bowed and taut like a predator about to pounce. It was like nothing I’d ever seen, gangly and sinewy, stuck full of bone shards and fetishes like some kind of savage pincushion. Though it was bowed, I could judge its size—far taller than a man, perhaps seven feet standing up.
It’s worth noting that, over the years, my head had been stuffed full of terrible tales about trolls. To my shame, I’d never taken them that seriously. I mean, there were so outlandish, discussing human sacrifice to their evil gods, keeping people like cattle for harvesting blood, skinning women alive and hunting children for their tender flesh.
The mental images those stories conjured were so outlandish that I struggled to reconcile them with the trolls I knew—shamanistic warriors, but ultimately honorable and maybe even a little goofy with their Jamaican accents and colorful mohawks. In the end, I chalked up the discrepancy to ignorant farmers exaggerating and demonizing things they didn’t understand.
However, as I lay there dying, my eyes feverishly fixed on the monster hidden in the forest, I had no choice but to accept that I was wrong. With it’s distorted facial features and tight skin, almost seeming a size too small for its bony frame, it was like something out of a nightmare.
“Arne…!”
Suddenly, a deep, masculine voice sounded from somewhere behind be, coming from the direction of our homestead. Nearly delirious with pain, I didn’t even notice Jed’s approach.
My eyes widened frantically, realizing that my scream must’ve alerted my family. However, instead of feeling relieved, I was struck with a sense of dread, knowing what would happen if any of them approached me.
“…troll…poison…arrow…”
I tried warning them, but hot, itchy pain crawled into my chest, robbing me of strength. With the troll hidden in the forest, they would be shot full of arrows before getting to me. Most alarmingly, as my eyes flicked between the troll’s position and the main house, I lost sight of the creature.
However, instead of warding him away, my breathless, incoherent shout only clued Jed in on where I was. I could hear his heavy footsteps thudding toward my location, drawing closer and closer until he suddenly emerged from behind a cluster of chestnut trees, clutching something in his hands.
The moment he appeared, there was an airy, wooshing sound above my head, a thin shadow flashing over me. Hidden in the forest, the troll had fired an arrow! In my panicked state, I couldn’t help wonder if it was using me as bait.
As swift as a swooping eagle, it whistled through the air. The sound was enough to make someone’s hair stand on end.
However, despite not knowing the troll’s position - on top of being unable to see the arrow in the darkness - Jed avoided being hit. I don’t know whether I was delirious from blood-loss, or he was just that fast, but before I could even blink, he was standing over me, a long, single-edged blade clutched in one hand.
“…poison…bleeding…go to…Lily and Erik…”
A metallic taste filling my mouth, I tried getting Jed to leave. It might have seemed strange that I was refusing rescue or perhaps acting the hero, but I knew my condition better than anyone else. Having died once before, the sensation of my lifeforce slipping away was unmistakable.
Not only was I convinced of the arrow being poisoned, the amount of blood I was shedding was simply too much for my ten-year-old body to sustain. Even if Jed managed to rescue me, there was no way to patch me up. The arrow couldn’t be removed lest I bleed out, but if it wasn’t removed, I’d die from poison.
However, Jed didn’t even listen to my protests, snatching me up from the ground with a single arm.
Involuntarily, an agonized groan slipped from between my lips, the pressure on my wound causing an intense flare of pain. Out of pure desperation, I dug my fingers into my father’s burly shoulders, unwilling to let him make the biggest mistake of his life.
“No…! More trolls…the house…Lily and Erik…!”
Tears and mucus staining my face, I forced out the words from between clenched teeth. Though I hadn’t seen them, I knew with ninety-nine percent certainty that I was correct. There was just no way a single troll had come all this way north out of the jungle by itself.
In the dim moonlight, I saw Jed’s expression change, likely realizing just how much trouble we were in.
-------------
Comments
f0Ri5
sorry i couldn't write something that's for you, maybe read the free chapters now and then, something could change. part of the reason why i made him like this is because people were commenting and private messaging on my other stuff that they wanted a 'nicer' protagonist and I though, why not give it a shot.
Boyo
I can understand that, but the MC is an adult transmigrator from a presumably modern era. Even if he learned to tolerate his situation because he knew he didn't have a choice, the sort of affection he regularly displays just doesn't make sense to me. Your response to my message earlier makes sense to me. After 10 years the MC probably wouldn't be constantly raging. However, you continue to make it clear throughout these later chapters that he genuinely cares (one might even say loves) for his distant and mildly abusive family (without even a whiff of resentment). As a modern adult with a family in a past life (presumably), I just don't see it. Maybe my disbelief is just a personal frustration, but I don't think I will be continuing with this one. Your writing skills and style continue to be immaculate, but the narrative of this story just doesn't do it for me. Best of luck in the future :)
f0Ri5
The way I'm trying to portray it is that, while they don't show the same consideration as a modern family, they are good compared to what you'd find in that time period. People really were different back then. I mean, people used to kill their kids if they couldn't take care of them, shit like that. Even sacrificing their kids to all kinds of gods for blessings. This was very common among the Carthaginians, which is one of the reasons why the greeks and romans dispised them, as well as ba'al worshippers in biblical times.
Boyo
I’m still confused about why he cares so much about his awful family. The MC has a severe case of Stockholm syndrome.
Big ToFu
Well, that's happening......
