Chapter 27
As he stares towards a blurred, cold, grey ceiling comprised of massive stone blocks, Samuel first wonders where in the Hell he was, then ponders why he was no longer screaming his lungs out. He didn’t know exactly how long he had put up with the mind-searing agony as the poisons were being counter-acted by whatever spell had been cast upon him by the little man in black robes… all he could remember was continually crying, begging and pleading for the pain to cease. Not exactly his finest moments of masculinity... but his words went completely un-answered, anyhow… such is the case when you’re locked in a thick-walled room alone…
He was still absolutely exhausted. His body hurt in ways that he’d never before known. His throat was dry and scratched. His eyes itched. His tongue felt thick and furry. His head seemed split-open, half-healed, and then bashed-in once more. But his sight and hearing were slowly coming back to him, at least. Small consolation for the level of Hell that he’d been visiting.
Tilting his head towards the right, he finds a plain stone wall only a few feet away. Panning left, he’s able to look out over a long row of empty wooden cots with thick woollen mattresses rolled up at the foot of each. A hospice? Or… infirmary? Asylum? Had he gone crazed from the pain? Hmm… he didn’t feel insane. Or… was that how it worked? Did madmen believe themselves mentally-balanced? Or did they know that they were delusional?
Narrowing his gaze, only to widen his eyes in order to force them into focus, the long-haired swordsman spies a mass of grey blocks moving towards him… only… topped in brown?
“Oh, good. You’ve awoken. You’ve been asleep for the better part of a day and a half.”
Closing his left eye, as that one seemed to be only adding to the confusion in his vision, the wiry apothecary finds himself staring up at a somewhat-average-looking, cleanly-shaved male in wire-rimmed glasses, brown hair going grey at the temples, and wearing a long grey robe with a single black rope looped over his right shoulder. “Th-“ cutting himself off as a racking cough threatens to tear his aching body apart, it continues on until the other man hands him a large tin cup.
“Go ahead and drink… it’s an apple cider with some pain-relieving powders mixed in.” The bespectacled mage offers a kind smile as his patient greedily gulps the entire contents, then reaches for a large glass pitcher on a small table beside the bed to re-fill the cup. “That good, huh? Well, I suppose after five days without anything to eat or drink, even water would-“
“Where am I?” Samuel takes another glance around at the stones before slurping down another half-cup of spicy cider. “A hospice? Is that… is the Purge over?”
Clearing his throat softly as a pained expression of sympathy plays over his features, the grey-robed caster offers a nod, and eases himself to sit on the edge of the cot. “Yes, it’s over. I’m Patrick Nunenberg, by the way. A mage-physician.”
The long-haired companion stares in horror at the other male, immediately looks to his own chest, finding it covered in a simple brown tunic, then to his half-bare arms. Finding nothing amiss there, he then holds his breath, wiggles all of his toes, and flexes all of the muscles that he can in his un-seen legs. As far as he could tell, there hadn't been any surgeries or other malicious attempts to maim him…
YOU ARE READING
Aegis and Order: First Light
Fantasy"It’s shoulders were wide and powerful. At four metres in height, it was almost as large across as it was tall. The arms of the hulking beast hung nearly all the way to the ground, and were thick with rope-like muscles that bulged with even the sl...
