The cold, wet stone floor greeted my face as I awoke from a particularly horrible slumber.

“Really, that was a close one Rye. You ought to take better care of yourself.”

Shut up.

Images of people I didn’t recognize flooded my mind, played over the darkness like a series of rushed paintings. There was a woman, wearing nice clothes and smelling like butter. Two boys, a younger and an older one, running around in circles, laughing. A group of people, mostly men and some women, clad in whites, yellows and reds. They were sitting on rows of beds, eating something that smelled like home. I was starving, I was parched, and I was developing a serious headache.

I want to sleep. In a bed. Everything hurts.

“Don’t pretend you croaked now. I know you’re awake.”

Shut up. Please.

Ugh, why am I still here? Everything is dark, wasn’t I supposed to be in my bed, drenched in sweat, maybe yelling “Oh nooo, don’t kill me” before realizing that the dream was already over?

I tried to move my left arm, but failed.

Ow. I think I’m lying on it. Uncomfortably.

“Heh. Bet you feel like shit. Poison can do that to you. Emphasis on can.”

Yes. Yes, I do feel like shit, as a matter of fact. Thanks, disembodied voice in the darkness, for pointing out the obvious when I can still feel the raging inferno of pain that is my right arm.

“I can change that. Guide you. Make you feel better. Make you be better. Make you feel like a god. All you need to do is listen and trust me.”

Blasphemy.

Slowly, I turned my head. There, sitting on the splayed-out arm on my right, was a toad. The toad, the same toad I had launched into the abyss earlier this… day? Morning? It was back, looking very round. Puffed up.

Oh, wait, is it even the same toad? It looks like the same one to me. It can talk as well. Ergo, it has to be.

One of its toes wrapped around my finger. I could barely feel it, through the gloves, leather, metal, and blood loss. Also the poison. There was most likely some poison involved, seeing how I still couldn’t move the arm it was sitting on a single inch. I recoiled a bit. The feeling of having this slimy, gooey creature sitting on the back of my hand was something I could go without.

Revulsion.

Other thoughts, think of other things, me. Who am I? Or rather, who was I?

I couldn’t remember my name and, as far as I was aware, I didn’t have it written all over me like a vandalized shanty-town alleyway. The toad called me Rye, but it was a toad. Toads couldn’t possibly be trusted, slimy as they were. What could a toad possibly know about me, about anything at all?

It does seem quite confident, though. Actually, what does it know? It’s promising me relief and healing. Power. But it’s just a toad. A fat, slippery-smooth toad. Where would that supposed power even come from? Suspicious.

“G...et…off.” I said.

I can talk. I can talk!

Sure, it felt like slowly tickling a razorblade up and down my throat, but that didn’t matter, because I. Could. Talk! I instantly felt better about this disgusting creature sitting on my mangled arm. A tiny bit better. It was still very slimy.

“Well, well, look who’s up and doing swell. Good for you, that means you didn't waste your chance of a lifetime”. That creepy smile, face lined with human molars, crept up its entire frontal body again.

“A…way…go.”

The more I looked at it, the more I felt revulsion turn to panic. Like a small, nibbling animal at first, I felt the dread fill me from my body from my heart outwards.

Who is this frog, why does it know so much, what is this toad? Where am I, why can’t I wake up for real, is this a dream? Can it please be a dream? I want out, get off me, no, get away from me!

“C’mon, it’s real simple, just one single sentence. Promise me something that is yours. Draw it out, present it to me. An offering of your own will, a powerful sacrifice, something I covet above all.”

The frog inched closer, crawling down my arm. Its front legs, I noticed now that it had long, long, and thick fingers. Five of them, and like a human, the toad had thumbs.

“We will be gods together. A pact, to be reborn. One magical boon and you can be so much more.”

When it reached my elbow, I felt its voice rather than heard it, creeping into my head.

“All I need is that one thing. Give it to me. Half of that little soul of yours.”

No.

I pushed myself up as every joint, metal and bone, creaked. It hurt, hell, I barely felt anything in my right side beside the flaring pain. I did it anyways. This toad was not normal. This, this thing, was not some benevolent little helper or guide to the afterlife. The toad flopped to the floor with a heavy, wet splat.

I know there is only one thing that bargains with the sacred soul and tears it from the cycle of life and death.

A demon.

I squashed it under my foot. I stomped on it, again and again.

“N–AAAAH!” it screamed, like nothing I'd ever heard before.

Then I kicked it. It sailed away into the darkness, again.

But the noise it made. The noise. A mixture of high-pitched animalistic squealing and the sounds of a human, dying. It felt human, the cracking of tooth against tooth. It was in my head. The sounds of squelching and cracking, screaming and breaths for air. I wasn’t going to forget that sound anytime soon.

Just as quickly as I stood up, I was on my knees again, trying to throw up. Nothing came, not even a bit of spittle. I felt my arm grow wet again. Something needed to be done about that.

One thing at a time. A toothy toad suggesting bargains that involved the soul? My sacred soul? No. Never. It’s dead now. Or gone. And it was just a single toad. An evil toad, a soul stealing, slippery, molar-faced one, but still a toad. I can kill it again if it returns.

My right arm was wet and crispy with blood and dissolving fabric. There was something around my neck, over the armor, which turned out to be an equally decayed scarf.

Good, I can use this.

I bound it around my elbow, where the bristly thing had pierced right between the plate on my lower arm and the one on my upper arm. I should know their names, but I only knew that the lower one was called a vambrace and, well, I had the nagging feeling that if I didn’t even remember my own name, I’d probably not be remembering a lot of other less important things as well.

With only one working arm, just looping it around and around my wound was turned out to be unusually challenging. Good thing I favored my left. I had to hold a piece of the cloth between my teeth until it was done. Finishing it off with a hard tug – a bit too hard, as I let out a hoarse groan of pain– I was, well, not exactly happy with the state of my arm. Sure, I didn’t have a shield to wield, but not having use of one arm was usually a death sentence.

Good thing I’m dreaming then. Haha. This nightmare is a bit too persistent for my tastes.

Still, two arms were better than one and one arm was better than none. My right felt exposed, maybe it would heal some time in the future. Later. Now, I had to do something. Get moving. But where to?

My stomach grumbled.

Ah, right. Starving bad.

I looked around, but I could barely see vague shapes a foot out from where I stood. Besides rock and the occasional wet gleam, there was nothing. Which to me just meant that each choice of direction was equally valid because no matter where I went, I had an equal amount of ‘no clue at all’ as to where it would lead me.

Right. With that idea in mind, I choose… left.

And I staggered forth into the unending dark.

Whatever jumped me earlier was not alone.

There was a rustling sound at first, to my right. I turned, holding up my sword. It was a sword that was more than uncomfortable to wield in one hand due to its length and girth. That length meant a lot of weight and, between that, only using my left arm and my body feeling drained to the point that walking had become a conscious effort, it felt like holding a cinder block at the end of a stick.

Still, I hefted it on to my shoulder. Whatever was in the shadows wouldn’t find me unprepared this time. As I stood almost perfectly still – minus the slight wobble – something approached from beyond my range of dim perception.

It was a fuzzy thing, moving with the sound of rustling underbrush. It was the size of my head and I felt that it might be the same kind of creature as the one before. I took a moment to aim, carefully. Then, I let my sword loose, swinging in a straight downward strike at where the creature was. Had been, rather, as my sword bit into the ground half a foot to the left of it.

Dammit. Godsdammit, I can barely lift this damn hunk of metal, let alone control how I swing it.

The creature rustled and scuttled back into the darkness. But it didn’t keep far from me. I felt my body tense up, lowering into a crouching stance that spelled absolute murder for my thighs. As I pulled my sword from the soft patch of ground, a thought struck me. Could it see me? Going by the rustling noise, it was close, but not close enough that I could see it. It was watching me. Waiting for…something.

I turned towards the rustling sound, and it got closer. I took a step back, joints in armor and body creaking. The rustling grew more frantic. Another step, more rustling.

Creak, rustle, creak, rustle.

I stood still and so did the creature. It couldn’t see me. But it could follow me because it could hear me. It was blind, I was willing to bet on that. An idea started taking shape in my mind. A very stupid idea.

I slowly leaned down, making the absolute least amount of noise possible, and extended my sword past where I could see into the shadows. It was like poking around in a rabbit’s den, except I would hopefully not get bloody bites all over my hand. After stretching as far as I felt myself able, I let the sword droop and scratched the ground with the tip. Back and forth, in a methodical swish-swish-swish.

It didn’t take long until I felt additional weight land on the end of my blade. I pulled it closer, slowly again, until I could see its tip. The twiggy creature was holding on to the end of it, making little motions that I could feel through the sword, adjustments to its unexpected position.

Good.

I lifted both the sword and the creature up, until both were higher than my head. Then, with all my might, I slammed it into the ground. I couldn’t miss the creature if it was on my weapon when I hit the ground with it. A flawless plan, dastardly, devious, cunning–

Smoosh.

Wait, that worked? Well, going by the wet crunching sound, it did.

I sagged down into a sitting position, and despite the pains in my muscles, head, throat and chest, I felt refreshed. Like I’d done something good for the world.

Making the world a better place, one bug at a time. I’m sure no one would miss whatever that was.

With no other sounds betraying movement from my immediate surroundings, I went to inspect the creature’s corpse. I had to; my stomach was screaming that I shove it all in my mouth immediately, no matter what it was. Which was weird, because I was dreaming, but this dream had a lot of weird in it already. I didn’t think too much about it.

I did eat it, but I had the presence of mind to remove whatever twiggy armor and hairy limbs grew stiffly from its body. There were eight legs and some hair, too. Bristles, like a horsehair comb. I removed most of them, before I couldn’t resist the demands of my body and took a big bite.

Crunch.

It felt gooey, with little, slightly more rigid plates in between. It tasted awful, sour and foul, and like the best meal I’d ever had. Every bite only served to reinforce how damn hungry I was. Consistency didn’t matter anymore, taste didn’t matter, hell, It didn’t even matter that I initially thought this was some form of insect.

A crab? A spider, maybe? A pretty big one.

As I said, it didn’t matter, and I shoved it all into my mouth, jaw growing sore, struggling to swallow without chewing thoroughly.

It seems I’m lacking spit. And sweat.

I hadn’t sweat a single drop, although I did feel a sort of base uncleanliness throughout my body.

No idea for how long I had been sleeping fully clothed and armored, after all. A sack-like organ popped, and a froth of slippery round pellets swashed around inside my mouth.

Don’t think about what you just bit down on. Just… swallow and continue on.

Those had to be eggs.

Urgh.

Still the best meal in ages.

Once I finished my meal, I stood up and moved on. With little reference to go on, I just had to hope that I wasn’t wandering in circles. Everywhere I went, there was just dark, dark, muddy ground and rocks, more darkness and, on one occasion, a treacherously ankle-deep hole.

Damn all ankle-deep holes!

I certainly couldn’t afford to trip and fall, just to be ambushed by bristly bugs, rabid wolves, or whatever else lurked in these parts. Everything still hurt and after the exertion of the last fight, my lack of blood and water was becoming an issue as a dizziness set in and my massive headache continued.

I need to find water. And a different weapon.

I swallowed. Despite my slimy snack, my throat was once again raspy and dry.

A kingdom for an ale.

Maybe I’d find a gushing stream right around the corner, water crystal clear and cold. A pond would do, too, even I’d prefer not to drink from tepid waters. It was a risk for sure.

If I find a puddle, I will slurp it dry.

Sadly, as I walked and walked, only the wet slurping of mud against my boots hinted at any source of humidity. I could maybe dig into it a bit, wait for water to form inside the hollowed-out space and then drink.

Actually, that wasn’t that bad of an idea. Why shouldn’t that work? I immediately searched for a less loamy and rocky spot of dirt. A dirty spot, a soft place with mud and nothing else. That took a while, as every place I searched for within a few feet was just a thin layer of hard rock or cobblestone.

A road? Eh, water first.

I found my muddy place and began excavating a hole. It was intensely satisfying, as if digging holes was the thing I was born to do.

Everyone should try it. Feel your hand pierce the earth, move it, see the hole, instant gratification! Repeat. It doesn’t matter that I only have one arm, I was born to dig holes, no questions asked.

In between digging, whenever enough murky water collected inside of it, I scooped it up and quickly brought it to my mouth. Muddy water, mixed with rocks and possibly worms. Still the best drink in ages.

Who needs ale when you have muck water seasoned with just a mildly immediate sense of dehydration?

Anyways, I was making swift progress and imbibing the increasing sogginess leaking from the earth the further down I went, when I finally hit something I couldn’t scoop out with my hands. It was hard but didn’t feel like a rock. It was a coarse bump, and as I tried to dig around it, there just seemed to be more of it.

I couldn’t dig the hole any deeper now, just wider. And that didn’t seem like a good use of my time, because this thing at the bottom of it was a root. A root meant trees. And trees meant fruit. Or nuts. Sometimes. Maybe.

Indeed, as I walked around left and right, forward and back – my footsteps in the mud helping me find my way back to my watering hole – I stumbled upon it. A scraggly arm, branches thin, poked into my small bubble of awareness. They belonged to a larger plant, a tree that had somehow grown in this complete and utter darkness.

Well, the way it was looking, it might as well have grown before the darkness set in, then shriveled up and died. It barely stood one and a half me’s tall, with only the one branch still sticking from its sorry trunk.

Well, I’m not gonna sit around debating dream logic. Also, no fruits. Or nuts.

I felt a pang of sadness. Sure, I didn’t think there possibly could have been a fruit bearing tree in these sorry circumstances, but still,a slight bit of hope left me.

Maybe if I imagine it real hard, a fruit will magically appear? Dream logic, go!

But nothing happened.

It was then I noticed something else sitting beside the tree. “It’s a rock” I thought at first, but the shape seemed off. I climbed on over to it, seeing that it was somewhat rectangular and hollow on the inside. I looked closer and once I was holding scraps of strings and wood in my hands, I recognized it. This was where I had been sleeping.

What an odd size for a bed. A bit cramped. A bit uncomfortable. The toad came to mind again, smiling in the darkness, taunting me that it was probably still alive, against all odds. I made sure there was nothing of the sort around as I circled the oddly shaped rock bed. It lay on a pile of other rocks and dirt at a slight angle, perfectly smooth edges, corners and surfaces.

A weird bed. Who carefully hews them out of hard rock and then doesn’t even find the decency of including a mattress? My comfort sure didn’t seem like a priority for whoever made this. It’s cramped, even for me, with a smaller than average build.

I almost stumbled on a step laid into the ground, before noticing that it wasn’t a step at all. It was another slab of stone. I couldn’t see from one end to the other entirely, but judging by my very accurate guesstimations, it was roughly the same size as my former resting place. A lid.

I didn’t feel so good after that. A glint of moisture hinted at shallow rivets along the surface. Indentures. Carvings. An unwelcome realization set in and immediately, I pushed it to the back of my mind.

I had to make sure.

Slowly, carefully, I leaned on my good arm and crept closer towards the slightly reflecting droplets of light. Lines. Lines and dots. A sign, language, written words. I could read it.

Here lyeth

brave sward of oure sonne,

Elia Rye-th,

let hire body be wheldoin,

withinne oure gods.

Secondth herveis moon,

seuenth century of the ayge of wan.