Oh Goddess, what happened? There is so much pain.

Bastill awoke with a heaving breath in. The aches and pains he felt contrasted with the warmth seeping from his surrounding environment. He became aware of a bright light flickering playfully beyond his lidded eyes. The ragged, shallow breath of a creature fighting for its continued survival permeated the atmosphere. Every piece of him felt like lead. His muscles all felt uncooperative as his attempts to move. His mind was in a constant groggy state.

Bastill could feel himself lying on a hard, unrelenting surface, with his legs and feet held firmly in place. Painfully and ever-so-slowly, he tried prying his heavy eyelids open to peer into the room and get a sense of where he was, but it was to no avail. He continued to lie there. Desperately trying to settle his ragged breath into a steady natural rhythm. With each breath he drew, he would inhale the acrid smell and putrid taste of an overpowering sulfuric smoke.

I just need to calm down; everything will be fine.

After what felt like several grueling years in his painful state of mind, he eventually summoned the strength to open his eyes and peered into his environment. His pupils contracted to a pin’s point as a raging ceremonial fire roared around him, amalgamating into an archaic, demonic pattern. He could not recall ever seeing anything like it before. The shadows of flames danced along curved walls of stone. He turned his head as best he could, attempting to get an idea of where he was.

The room that held the fire was perfectly circular with a singular door leading to goddess knows where. The hard surface he lay on turned out to be a large stone slab centered in the middle of the room; it was surrounded by fire. Right next to the slab of stone was a vicious looking dagger, and several bowls filled to the brim with murky ingredients, all positioned upon a small wooden table. To top it all off, he was naked.

“Shit shit shit, what have I gotten myself into? Everything is not fine. This cannot be happening. This cannot be happening. THIS CANNOT BE HAPPENING!” Bastill started yelling in defiance.

He was sent into a spiraling panic at the various scenarios that he had begun to imagine. Nothing in Bastill’s twenty-one years of living could have mentally prepared him for this, and he somehow knew the worst had yet to come. He struggled against the now apparent heavy, iron-rusted shackles that bound him; however, despite struggling until they bit into his flesh, nothing he did gave him any hope of escape. The last memory he could recall before waking in this hell hole was of him having a bit of fun in the local tavern until his mental faculties took a vacation.

“All I did was have one ale at the tavern,” he began to mutter in a stupor, “Someone must have drugged my drink…”

At that moment Bastill realized that he must have been drugged and brought to this goddess forsaken dismal room. In addition, judging by the abrasions he felt, he was not taken here gently, but dragged over a couple hundred miles of rough terrain. His life had been going so well until this happened. He had just finished his apprenticeship with the Artisan Guild that month. Beginning his apprenticeship at the age of fifteen, he had spent the last six years under the tutelage of his master. He had just moved into the Expert ranking in the Sculpting skill and had finally made it out of the Apprenticeship and on to Journeyman, which required a core skill to be at the Expert level.

Expert was, indeed, very good; however, it still did not propel him into the higher end of society. At most, his status was just enough to give him an official position within the Artisan Guild. He still lacked prestige and power. That was fine with him though. He just cared for the art and the joy that came with the craft.

The Artisan Guild was one of the five main guilds: There was the Merchant Guild, the Adventurer Guild, the Warrior Guild, the Mage Guild, and lastly the Artisan Guild. There were also several lesser guilds. Each guild had different values and focal point. The Merchant Guild was responsible for increased commerce and a grander economy. It contains the most successful businesses, and joining it provides better benefits and alliances among countries. The Adventurer Guild was one the largest importers of rare plants, animals, and equipment. It also received and trained apprentices from the mage and warrior guilds to give them the experience to level up. Killing creatures was one the best ways to gain experience, making the Adventurer Guild the best leveling Guild. The Warrior Guild was responsible for maintaining an army and having guards available for towns and caravans. The Mage Guild brought up some of the most talented youth in the use of spells and mana manipulation. Some were conscripted into the army, others joined and improved other guilds, while the rest spent time researching and teaching. The Artisan Guild specialized in creating a plethora of equipment and the best buildings. Its members were blacksmiths, crafters, alchemists, builders, and more.

Six years of hard painstaking work in perfecting his craft and now on the precipice of being independent, and Bastill was now strapped to a freaking slab of stone in the middle of what looked like a demonic sacrifice. Thoughts were whipping around in his mind as fast as his brain’s synapses could fire. This couldn’t be the end of him... he had so many goals to fulfill still. He was never going to get the opportunity to ask Natasha out on the town, let alone start a family even. He was definitely going to end up dead in the middle of this goddess forsaken stone prison considering how things were looking. Probably sacrificed to some cruel defecating sex goddess worshipped by a crazy cult. He tried taking deep breaths and thinking more positively.

Maybe whoever drugged me and chained me to this slab of stone had good intentions… Not very likely, but maybe it’s all an elaborate and very messed up prank. Okay, okay. Deep breaths. Instead of accepting the inevitable, I will try to get free. And preferably dressed.

Bastill decided the best strategy was to go over his assortment of skills in his Stat Menu to figure out what he had that could help. The Stat Menu held all the information that made up his entire being. Funny how an entire screen could make a whole person. With the starting standard of 10 points in each characteristic, it would show you where you stood in the society and what skills you had innate talent in.

By working hard enough, you could raise them yourself to an extent. For example, if a person worked out often, then their strength would slowly rise, or if someone read frequently, then their intelligence would marginally increase. However, one could also increase their characteristics another way. By increasing level, it became possible to break past the humans’ limits and become stronger, quicker, and smarter. Each level also gave 3 points to add to the characteristics of the leveler’s choosing. Leveling was achieved by gaining experience through killing creatures, successfully leveling up a skill, or even crafting something.

Stat Menu

Level: 10, Race: Human, Name: Bastill, Age: 21, Vocation: Sculptor, Gender: Male

Characteristics

Strength: 17, Constitution: 12, Dexterity: 25, Intelligence: 24, Wisdom: 13, Charisma: 9

Traits

Stone Touch- Due to your talent and diligence your ability working with stone has increased. You have a great understanding of the stone you work and are able to make stone you work on glow with radiance.

Skills

Sculpting: 53, Expert; Stealth: 22, Intermediate; Pick Pocketing: 21, Intermediate; Lock Picking: 18, Novice; Hiding: 23, Intermediate; Knife Mastery: 7, Novice; Trading: 6, Novice; Cooking: 19, Novice; Observing: 29, Intermediate

Bastill was currently at level ten; the average for non-combatants was nine to nineteen, which had him resting on the low end. Having prioritized his dexterity and Intelligence above all else, the two showed as his strongest characteristics. He also had an arrangement of skills from novice to expert. Skills were ranked from Novice to Grandmaster, with six ranks in total. By leveling a skill to twenty it would cease being a novice rank and begin being a Intermediate rank. In this manner, each rank had different levels at which they would progress. Advanced was achieved at forty, Expert at fifty, Master at seventy, and Grandmaster at one-hundred.

Going over his skills, Bastill remembered how rough his start had been. His skillset certainly told a story. Children would typically develop certain kinds of skills from helping out their parents with various chores, such as Gathering. Bastill grew up in an orphanage and didn’t receive any of the normal skills a child would obtain. Instead, he joined a street gang and spent his time thieving, until he turned his life around and started sculpting.

Having never liked that life, Bastille was happy to get out of it. He turned a new page, put that life behind him, and threw his whole being into the work of sculpting. Because of this, sculpting quickly became his biggest passion in life. One of his proudest moments was gaining the Trait Stone Touch, which gave his work an extra radiance that couldn’t be created naturally. Not that it was any help now.

“Crrrk, Bang!”

The sound of the door screeching open and slamming shut startled Bastill out of his thoughts. “Well hello there, darling. Looks like you had a decent nap, eh? Ready for a little experiment? I haven’t ever tried this ritual before, to be honest. I mean, after gathering all the ingredients, along with a sacrifice, a ritual is never easy to just throw together. Took a bit of planning and time if I am being completely honest,” The newcomer said in a feminine voice.

It’s her!

Bits and pieces of forgotten memory started coming back. There had been a flirtacious girl drinking with him at the tavern that night. She must have been the one who had drugged him, and now here she was! She had a beautiful face, with cold, dark blue eyes and lusty, deep brown hair. When she entered the chamber, Bastill began to take in a hint of roses swirling into the sickening, sulfuric smoke. She still had on her tight, revealing, vibrant red dress that she had worn that night. It looked like he was also right about this being some insane sacrifice. At least he had a clear view of the asshat that did all of this to him. “Any chance we can talk this out a bit?” Bastill asked, barely restraining himself.

“Sorry, no can do,” she said offhandedly, while mixing some foul smelling components near him.

Bastill realized that, whatever her plan might be, it was going to be set into motion soon. He doubted that she would be willing to talk it out, but it was worth a shot. After all, don’t villains love explaining their plans in detail, allowing the hero enough time to save the day? His only tactic now was to stall for more time. With more time, he would be able to come up with an actual plan. “Hey, why don’t we trade names at least? I’m Bastill. Maybe tell me why you are doing this? Even better, how about you get me some clothes,” he said while letting some of his vitriolic feelings leak into his voice.

The nameless woman was quickly moving through the ritual. At this point, the flames started to blaze more fiercely. The smell of sulfur grew overwhelming. Her movements quickened. She came over to him and started drawing erratic symbols across his body. “Sorry, I’m a bit busy right now. Talk to you later though, sweetie,” she said, nonchalantly grabbing the knife and plunging it into his heart.

The last thought to go through his head was:

That… Bitch...