The green covers of his bed were soft and comfortable, so he curled up into a tight ball enjoying the warmth of the room; happy to be safe again. He opened his eyes and looked around the den. Flames were dancing in the fireplace, keeping the den alight and casting shadows across the wooden floor and stone walls. An empty bowl was resting on the table beside the bed. It had previously contained some delicious mushroom soup. He licked his lips savouring its taste, not noticing he had spilt some and stained his green shirt.
Next to his chest in the corner, a stand donned his shining golden armour. When it was time for his mission, he would be ready. Sighing, he rolled onto his back spreading out his arms and legs, stretching his tired limbs. His attention was drawn to the single wooden panel in the roof with a ladder hanging down from it. That trapdoor was the only way in or out of the den. His paranoid mind didn't allow him to not be looking at it or listening out for movement above. He laid on the bed for a while, thinking over the events of the past few days. Finding an abandoned village, defeating zombies in the cave, fighting for his life in the dark forest and then returning home.
He sat bolt upright at that last thought, scanning the room for his new sword. He couldn't see it. Slipping out of bed he sluggishly made his way over to his chest, his body suddenly aching all over. He flipped open the lid and sighed, content with his find. He reached in and pulled out his sword, its golden blade glowing as bright as the sun. He paused, staring at the weapon. This was his sword. No his sword was iron, wasn't it.
Suddenly his wrists began to burn and he gritted his teeth so hard he thought they would shatter. Then simultaneously every object in the room started glowing. Giving off a bright light and slowly engulfing his vision. He squeezed his eyes shut blocking out the light and clasped his head tightly with his shaking hands, his sword hitting the ground with a clang.
Focus eluded him. A storm of contradictions in his mind. His sword was iron, no it was gold. He had left the forest and gotten home. He could see a grey face looking down at him. It was talking to him, mouthing out words that were lost to the storm in his mind. His head was spinning with questions. Where had he seen that light before? Had he lost his enchanted sword? When had he even learned how to use it? He was breathing fast and sweating profusely, almost like he was having a panic attack. Then in an instant everything went quiet and dark, like the world around him had vanished.
-
He steadily opened his eyes. He felt groggy and cold and his body ached all over. He coughed a few times, almost retching in the process. His wrists were stinging and he wanted to know why. He was upright, his arms stretched over his head and bound together at the wrists. Well that explained the pain. He also realised his feet weren't touching the floor.
Stretching his toes down he felt he was maybe an inch or two above the ground, and he was able to get just enough traction to steady himself. He groaned, assessing his surroundings. He was chained to the ceiling of a circular stone room with a cobbled floor and mossy walls. It wasn't a large room, its diameter maybe a few meters. A heavy oak door was set into an archway opposite him and a bucket lay on its side, discarded against the wall. It was obvious what this was. A prison cell.
He shook his head and tried to focus; piecing together the last things he remembered. He had fought his way through the dark forest, been found and tied up by two strange looking people and then... nothing. Had they imprisoned him? Why? What had he done to deserve that?
His ears pricked up as he heard footsteps from the other side of the door. He listened closely and could tell they were getting louder, closer. Two pairs of boots marching across cobblestones. And he guessed whatever was coming wouldn't be friendly. He attempted to pull his hands free of the chains but to no avail. The chains clinked at his useless escape attempt, his feet swiping at the floor for grip. The footsteps stopped outside his cell, pulling his attention back to the door.
After a long moment, it slowly creaked open revealing a grey faced man with a large head and thick black eyebrows. He stood with his hands clasped behind him, pulling his back straight and giving off an air of authority like some sort of military leader. He wore the same style armour as the men from before but his had golden threads woven into the arms and chest. Then he met his eyes, or to be more accurate, his one eye. This man wore a black eyepatch and a face that looked like it was permanently frowning. His lips drew to a line. He walked slowly into the cell, never taking his eye off the man in chains. Then stopping in the centre of the room, he spoke.
"Well Stephen, seems you're finally awake." His voice was deep and he spoke slowly. Seeming to calculate every word as he said it. "I certainly hope two days sleep was refreshing for you." He said with a hint of anger in his voice.
Stephen? That was his name. Wait of course that was his name, how had he forgotten that? He filed the thought away, forcing himself to focus on his current situation.
"Where am I?" Stephen wheezed out. He hadn't realized how dry his mouth was until he had tried to speak. "What did you do to me? And who are you?"
The man glared at Stephen, offering no reply, he simply stepped forward unclasping his hands. Then swung and punched Stephen in the face. A crack rang in Stephen's mind as his face was smacked to the side, his toes scraping at the ground to stop him swinging like a hanging punching bag. Then gritting his teeth, he turned back to the man with the eyepatch. He had stepped back and once again clasped his hands behind him but he was still glaring at Stephen and the message was clear. Do NOT ask questions.
"Don't pretend you don't know what's happening," the man said. "You must have been well aware of the risks of attacking my tower. Now tell me who gave you the information and where are they hiding?
"Your... tower?" Stephen stammered.
The man's expression grew colder. Then he stepped forward and struck him again. Stephen grimaced in pain and turned back to him.
"I will not entertain this farce all day," the man spat. "We have captured another, someone we suspect is your ally. If you will not give me the information I require, I will have him brought here and beaten in front of you!" he said sternly.
Stephen shivered. He opened his mouth to respond but quickly shut it again. He didn't know what to say. He had no idea what this man was talking about and he wasn't going to give him an excuse to hit him again.
"Very well, if that's the way you want it," the man said, clearly annoyed his threat hadn't worked as intended. "Crale!" He announced loudly. A moment later, another grey faced man popped his head around the door.
"Yes Boss!" said Crale.
"Tell Stompier to bring the other prisoner here," ordered the Boss.
"You mean the guy we found outside the dark forest?" Crale asked.
"Is there another prisoner I would be referring to?" asked the Boss, annoyed.
"No, sorry Boss!" Crale said quickly, clearly realizing he had said something stupid. "I would but he is still in the wagon," Crale gulped. "It started raining on our way back and you know how Stompier feels about the rain." He spoke nervously, obviously not wishing to annoy his boss any further. "I will fetch the prisoner for you Boss!" he added quickly having realized that was an option, then disappeared into the corridor. His echoing footsteps suggesting he was running or at least jogging to complete his task.
The Boss sighed and muttered something under his breath. Stephen couldn't make out all of it but was sure he heard the word 'nuisance'. Hearing more footsteps from the corridor, the Boss turned to see who it was. Another grey faced man entered the cell. It wasn't Crale, he was alone and he didn't seem nearly as jumpy. This man wore no armour and had a pair of glasses perched on his nose.
"Ah Mikeus." The Boss greeted him with a pleasant tone. "Have you some good news for me?"
"Yes indeed Mason," Mikeus replied with a smile. "I have the new report from Faulty Mine that just came in. Thought you'd like to know. I won't discuss details here," he said glancing at Stephen, "But I think you'll be very happy with the results."
"Excellent!" Mason said. He sounded happy but his face gave no indication that his mood had changed. "Go to my study and wait for me there," he commanded. "I have a little issue to take care of first."
"Very good Boss," Mikeus said nodding and promptly left, his footsteps echoing down the corridor. A moment of awkward silence later, Stephen heard more footsteps coming from outside the cell along with the sound of something being dragged along the cobbles. Crale entered backwards through the door and Stephen was unable to see who or what Crale had dragged in.
"I searched him thoroughly on the way back Boss," Crale said. "He didn't have much on him, just some seeds and old leather boots. But he was carrying an enchanted sword so I had it sent to the armoury." Crale said, sounding very pleased with himself.
"Yes, yes, very good Crale," Mason said rolling his eye. "Just lay him down in front of our other... guest".
"Yes Boss!" Crale said, dragging the other prisoner into the room and laying him at Stephen's feet. Stephen scanned the body. The person wasn't moving so he was probably unconscious. He had short brown hair, a squared jawline. He was wearing a blue shirt and purple trousers that were splattered with dirt. He was bruised and... Stephen's eyes went wide. Mason noticing this, took the opportunity to mock his captive.
"So you do know this man!" he said with a gleeful tone but somehow still frowning. "Now tell me what I want to know or I will beat him too".
Stephen barely registered the threat. His mind was spinning. Pieces of information connecting in his brain. A man had been captured by these grey faced men. Who was found outside the dark forest. His only possessions being seeds, old leather boots and an enchanted sword. And who was wearing a blue shirt and purple trousers stained with dirt. But, that was... him! Laying on the ground in front of... himself. Glancing down at his own clothing, his eyes widened again, threatening to burst from his face. He was wearing blue trousers torn in several places and a plain green shirt with a stain on his chest. Seeing the stain his nose twitched, smelling something familiar.
"If you don't start talking, I'll start kicking!" snapped Mason. Stephen opened his mouth again but only mindless stammering flopped out. This didn't make any sense. He was here, chained up, staring at himself who was also tied up. His hands and feet bound together with rope. Mason suddenly stepped forward and planted a firm kick in the man's stomach. Stephen winced involuntarily. The man on the floor displaying no visible reaction to the attack.
"You're trying my patience!" Mason said. And again struck the man on the floor with his boot. And again. Then twice more. "Now talk!" he yelled.
"I know nothing!" Stephen coughed out. Which was true on two accounts. He had no idea what 'tower' this Boss Mason was referring to, or how he was watching himself getting beaten in front of himself.
Mason studied him with a serious eye. Stephen looked down to avoid meeting the Boss' stare. Maybe being submissive would help prove his point. After a long moment Mason composed himself and spoke.
"Maybe it was too soon to interrogate you. A few more hours of hanging there should loosen you up." He turned to look at Crale who had been standing against the wall, keeping quiet. "Crale, I have reports to look over. Guard this cell. No one except me is to enter! Do not speak to either prisoner and do not give them any food or water!" He snapped his head back toward Stephen. "No matter how much they beg." With that he turned, hands clasped behind him and left. Crale moved over to the unconscious man on the floor and looked him over.
"Weird." Crale said. "He's been out since we picked him up."
"When did you pick him up?" Stephen asked slowly.
"Um, Boss said not to talk to you." Crale said without looking at him.
"Come on," Stephen said softly "It's not like I'm asking you to let me out. I just want to make sure that I'm... " He caught himself, realizing what he was about to say, then coughed and continued. "I want to make sure that he is ok."
"He'll be fine, now shut up and don't bother shouting after I close the door. I'm not gonna open it until Boss gets back." Without looking at Stephen, he stood and walked out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him with a thud.
Stephen breathed slowly, taking in all that just happened. He was imprisoned by a group of grey faced men with large heads, who were accusing him of attacking their tower, whatever that meant. And had Mason said he had been sleeping for two whole days. Why was that bugging him? Crale said it was raining and if he focused, keeping his eyes closed, he could hear it if only faintly. It was heavy rain, a continuous cascade of water droplets. He must be underground if he couldn't hear it that easily. And this rain was why the other man, Stompier, hadn't come inside yet. Was he that scared of the rain? Strange. But they were the ones who captured the man laying on the ground before him. But from Crale's descriptions of events and the man's inventory, that should have been him. Unless by some amazing coincidence this man had been found in exactly the same scenario. No that man was wearing the clothes Stephen had been wearing and now Stephen was dressed differently. And this Mason guy knew his name, even though he had forgotten it... somehow.
"Hey are you ok?" Stephen said to the man at his feet. He didn't know what else to say. The man didn't reply. Stephen spoke again, louder. "What's your name?" Again, nothing. Somehow he hadn't expected a reply, but was hopeful. Hesitantly Stephen reached out with one foot and poked the man in the back. "Hey." He almost shouted the word, just to see if the man would stir in his sleep. Then something banged on the door of his cell.
"Hey! I told you to shut up!" Crale's muffled voice came from the other side of the door.
Stephen exasperated. Then let his head hang, losing the strength to hold it up. He stared at the dirty cobbled floor as he swung slightly on his chains. He yawned loudly, but that reminded him of something. Mason said he had been sleeping for two days. Two days. He thought the words over and over again searching for the meaning to the timeframe his mind was nagging him to find. But he was beginning to shut down, the lack of food and water making him drowsy. He yawned again, fighting to keep his eyes open. He had to figure this out. He had to. Darkness fell as his eyelids closed and sleep overcame him.