There's a minor section at the top which is about 're-experiencing' sensations. I need feedback specifically about the latter portion of the top half (though any feedback is welcome) to make sure that it makes sense and doesn't throw the scene off.
***
The room went silent when Luke walked in. He tried to smile, and his mouth partially responded, but it felt like his body wasn’t fully capable of expressing emotions very well: he imagined it came off as a little grin. “Hi there. This where I can get a drink?” he asked the staring crowd.
The space itself was simple and plainly adorned: wooden walls and roof, just like the rest of the buildings, but much longer than the others, with a bar, oaken casks mounted behind it on racks, and tables with chairs set up all around.
A person slammed their tankard on the table with a thud. “You’re not welcome—”
“Oh shut it!” Garran said. He was sitting on a barstool, and his leg was back. He stood up and walked over to Luke. “This man saved my gods-given life. So show him some fucking respect.”
“How’d you get your leg back?” Luke asked.
Garran grinned at that. “Well, same way you got your guts back, I’d imagine.” He clapped Luke on the shoulder. “Come! Sit! Ignore these assholes.”
“Hear hear!” Another man shouted from a corner seat. Glancing over, Luke saw that it was the man he had saved with the guards—Thorm. “I was told this guy led my rescue, and saw him carry Captain Amara back. The guy’s a hero!”
About a third of the folk who were present just turned to their cups and conversations, with an eye cast toward Luke as they muttered amongst themselves. A third departed, with scowls and disgust writ across their visages. The rest, the remaining third, were like Garran and Thorm: welcoming and inviting.
Luke joined Garran in the walk over to the bar. “Thanks. It’s good to see I’m appreciated. Still, how did you get your leg back?”
Garran hiked his leg upon the barstool and pulled his pants up, and Luke could see the discoloration of pink, newly mended flesh on a skin-level wound, and the more tanned coloration further up where the original stump had been. “Melkin is a fine healer, thank The Blooming Hand.”
Interesting, Luke thought as he sat down, and grabbed the handle of a stein put in front of him by the barkeep, who seemed like he was in the disinterested group of citizens. Magic can heal even grievous injuries like that. It must be exhausting. But, not wholly unexpected. Fantasy games of all types have resurrection magic. Luke frowned for a split-second. Though that would be meddling with souls, wouldn’t it? And The Last Warden was explicit in his warning about that.
“Something wrong?” Garran asked.
Luke looked at him. “Ah, sorry, no. Just thinking.” He picked up the stein and looked at it, and wasn’t lying when he said, “I don’t know…I just don’t know if I can enjoy food or drink. I don’t need—”
Garran slammed his palm on the counter. “Barkeep!”
“You know my name,” the surly, portly man behind the bar replied.
“Right, Darren. Any more chicken?”
“Got bread and butter with some honey,” the man replied.
“Sounds tasty,” Luke said. He lifted the stein to his lips and took a sip. He was able to taste the heady notes of what he suspected was some type of ale, as the hoppy flavor was the most prominent. The liquid went down smooth, and he felt it settle in his stomach. In fact, he was acutely aware of it being there, sloshing around.
“Well?” Thorm asked as he came over and leaned on the bar.
“I can taste it,” Luke said, feeling relief wash over him. He could still experience some joys in life. “No clue if I can get drunk, though.”
Garran grabbed his own stein. “Then drink up! Let’s see if the Undead hero can get drunk!”
That caused a bit of a cheer and soon enough Luke had a good ten people around him, encouraging him to chug away. He was very aware of the liquid pooling up in his stomach, and his mind was completely clear.
I don’t think I can process food and drink, he thought as he slammed down another stein and felt his stomach bulge out over his belt. But at least I can enjoy it.
Luke chuckled. “Sorry, looks like I can’t get drunk.”
A few coins changed hands with shouts of triumph and curses of fortune. Luke excused himself outside for a moment, heading around to the side of the building and away from the front entrance, and heaved. To his surprise, there was no bile: the ale came up and both looked and smelled identical to how it had originally gone down. Once he had cleared out all of his guts, he lifted his shirt and looked down to find smooth abdominal muscles again.
That cements it, Luke thought as he pulled his shirt down and went back inside. I can drink, but just can’t keep it down. It has to come up.
Food came next, and he wasn’t able to taste the bread really, but the honey came through, though dull and muted.
Now to test.
Luke was there for a few hours, trying little bites of various spices from the kitchen. On a bet from a drunken pair of townsfolk, he took a bite of the hottest pepper they had, and to Luke, it only smarted a bit.
He had been able to confirm through those tests, and other types of drinks, that while he could taste, he could not actually consume eat or drink, since his body didn’t need it. And, only strong flavors came through.
Similar to my sense of pain, Luke thought. I can’t feel it as much, so that means all other senses are dulled. Oddly enough, my sight, hearing, and smell are still okay—I think. I actually don’t know with the sense of smell. That warrants testing.
He had gathered the data he wanted, extrapolated out the likely answers, and condensed the knowledge down to commit to memory.
A few hours into the night, the tavern kicked everyone out, and Luke supported Garran as he guided the very drunk trapper to his home. Thorm was with them, also drunk, and he slapped Luke on the back. “You…thank—hic…thank you.”
“For?”
“Saving…m…me.” The man leaned over and lost his stomach, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Best get back…m’wife.” He sauntered off.
Garran’s house was just like the rest: a simple cabin with a raised porch. Luke helped him to the door, and said farewell, but as he turned to leave, Garran put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re probably tired of hearing it, but thanks.”
Luke turned to the man and tried his best to smile, but again, his lips didn’t fully rise up to where he expected them to from the gesture. Remembering to take a breath to respond, he said, “I’m just happy to be able to make a difference.”
“I’ll tell the Dawnguard that when they arrive.”
Luke headed back to his temporary lodging and laid down in the bed. He didn’t need to sleep, and instead stared at the ceiling. He had one more test to try, to see if this body and his Undead Creature state was capable of experiencing pleasure. But, his body didn’t respond. He was able to find his fortitude, but couldn’t finish the deed.
Well, he thought as he turned over and stared at the wall, at least I can please the ladies—if any one of them were attracted to a pale-white warrior.
***
There was a knock at Luke’s door and he got up to answer. To his surprise, Melkin and Garran were both there. Garran looked very hung-over, and Melkin had several books under her arm. “May we come in?”
“Please,” Luke said as he gestured for them to enter. Grabbing the bath tub and flipping it over for a seat, he sat on that while the others took the desk chair and bed. “What can I do for you?”
Garran coughed and wiped his brow. “You’re an other-worlder, aren’t you?”
Well, Luke thought, they both suspected it. No point in trying to lie.
He nodded and said, “Yes. But, I haven’t been advertising the fact.”
“And you shouldn’t,” Melkin added. “Other-worlders are not necessarily rare, but uncommon enough. Perhaps one in ten-thousand of you. Some get here through arcane means, some through divine pact, and others through some method with a weird name starting with the letter ‘I’”
“Isekai?” Luke asked.
“That sounds correct.”
Interesting, Luke thought. So I’m not the only one. Just maybe one of the few in a corpse.
Garran said, “Normally when one arrives, things change. Not huge changes, but important enough.”
Melkin nodded and handed Luke the three books. “We both are the only ones, I think, who know this about you. I swear myself to silence—”
“As do I,” Garran added.
Melkin continued, “—and it doesn’t sound like you chose to come here and arrive in a corpse.”
Luke chuckled at that, but it sounded hollow, and he remembered to breathe in. “You’ve got that right.”
“Well…the least I can do is make sure you are well-acquainted with our world.” She tapped the books in his hands. “Do not keep them, please, as some of the local mothers use them in their lessons. But, for a few days, you can peruse them.” She stood up and dipped her head. “Expect the Dawnbringers, and a…well, trial is the wrong word. Investigation would be a better fit.”
Luke set the books down and clasped his hands. “I’m assuming with some level of divine lie-detection active? Or an Art, perhaps? Magically empowered?”
“Most likely.”
Garran sighed. “It’ll be fine. Just be honest and nothing bad will happen.”
Luke glanced at him. “And if they learn I am an other-worlder?”
Melkin grimaced at that. “Let us hope they do not discover that. If a truth-telling Art is used, it can only detect lies. Half-truths, or partial truths, should be just fine. For instance—”
Luke waved her off. “I’ve dealt with courts before, and I’ve been grilled before.”
“They cooked you?” Garran asked.
Luke laughed at that. The first actual laugh he’d had since arriving. “Fuck no. It’s a term for when someone…damn, I guess idioms are going to get me in trouble here.”
Melkin nodded. “One of the books is a language primer. Lucky for you, it seems that other-worlders are given the means to communicate in both written and spoken form fluently.”
“Are there multiple languages?” Luke asked.
“Just Trax’s Tongue,” she replied. She then tapped the books. “Read. Learn.” She stood and headed to the door. “Come along, Garran. Our public relations campaign continues. There’s still a good number of people who don’t trust our new friend, here.”
Garran slapped his knees and stood up with a groan. “See you later, Luke. Tavern tonight? I’ve got a way to make some coin by betting on you eating some crazy shit.”
“I’m up for experimenting,” Luke replied. “As long as I get a cut.”
Garran chuckled at that and got the door for Melkin, then followed her out and closed it behind her.
Luke immediately took the books, set them on the table, then grabbed his notebook and cracked the first tome open.
In total, the three books equated to language lore, general world mechanics, and the basics of magic. The last one made Luke’s eyes go wide, and while he desperately wanted to go into it, he knew that the others would be better to tackle first.
The language book was, easily enough, just a variety of lessons on how to teach children and youth the tongue that Luke was just able to speak. There were some phrases in there, and alphabet equivalents of “A for apple” which he glanced through.
After that book, which took him just an hour, he cracked into the world mechanics book…and spent days in the cabin reading that.
Arteshtrak was a flat world, with an endlessly expanding edge in all directions. The first continent became known as the Empire of Traxilon, and was considered the strongest military, political, and economic power in the world. The gods made sure the world’s physics worked and were very similar to Earth, despite the flat world. The sun went south to north, then was rumored to go around the flat underside. It effectively ensured that there were no time zones—everywhere ran on the same day-night cycle. The moon went east to west, and was equal in size to the sun.
At the edges was an infinite, grey void where the land would be, and the skies above were just as everywhere else, but endless. When a prominent explorer went to watch the sunset and rise, he had noted—and thus it was transcribed in this basic textbook—that the celestial bodies sank through the grey expanse. But, anything entering that vast nothing at the ‘land’ level, it ceased to be.
The deity did warn me about The Infinite, Luke thought as he jotted notes down.
As the land constantly expanded, new…expansions would be added. Luke equated them to expansions in a massively-multiplayer-online-game, like World of Warcraft. Sometimes, it was just a little section of land. Sometimes, it was an entire continent. In most instances, they were empty frontiers ready to be conquered, claimed, and settled. But in some cases civilizations were along for the ride.
Luke kept scribbling his notes and thought, full on societies, cities, capitals—the whole deal—just dropped into the world. Scanning over an entry, he observed, they also are already acclimated.
There were several theories presented in the book as to how this was possible, but the one Luke chose to go with as the most likely was that the gods had other realms to create new expansions, and then dropped them in when they felt like it.
In either instance, the continent that Luke found himself on wasn’t named. He would have to go to a larger city to learn more about the wider world, and didn’t want to bother the priestess.
Lastly he cracked into the tome on the basics of magic, but to his shock, the pages were filled with scribbled gibberish. What gives? he thought. It’s not like the Necromancer’s notes, which I could read but just didn’t mean anything…I can’t read this at all.
He shrugged and kept flipping. Eventually, he found a section which he could understand. But, just like the Necromancer’s notes, while he could read the worlds, they were nonsense. He couldn’t make heads or tails of it.
The voice of The Last Warden shook his mind in its deep, masculine tone.
[VITAE is your means of magic.]
“Does that mean I can’t learn from other sources?” Luke asked.
No voice replied.
“Thanks a lot,” Luke mumbled. Then, an idea hit him. What if he tried to pull up his HUD while looking at the book? He did just that, and the words and gibberish turned into the same readout for Arts and Aspects that he recognized from when they popped up in his vision during his first few Quests granting them. Immediately, he set to noting them all down.
But he had no clue how to use them. Standing up, holding his notebook in one hand, he read the entry for an Art hailing from a Power Type called Final Rite. But, even though he held his hand up, felt the warmth stirring inside him that indicated the flow of mana…the Art didn’t work. It wasn’t like the other Arts he had access to already, like Pale Flame Bolt, which just required a thought to manifest.
“How do I learn this through my VITAE system?” Luke asked.
No voice replied.
Fine then, he thought as he set the book down to dry and stretched, feeling dozens of bones pop and crack. I’ll just have to figure that out through testing…somehow. For now—
He flipped back through the book and found that he could only read the Death-related Power Types through his VITAE HUD. The rest of them were still gibberish. It cemented in his mind that a person could only use magic of the type that correlated to the deity who had laid claim to their soul.
The implication being that a fire magic user could never use ice magic, and vice-versa: people were set into what they could do, as long as there was overlap.
Luke set to jotting down the different Death Power Type combinations, and sat back as he looked at his work:
Blunt + Death — Corpsebreaker
Pierce + Death — Gravespear
Slash + Death — Deathrend
Heat + Death — Pale Flame
Cold + Death — Gravefrost
Spark + Death — Corpsebolt
Caustic + Death — Rotmelt
Toxin + Death — Corpsevenom
Force + Death — Marrowsteel
Holy + Death — Final Rite
Life + Death — Gravebloom
Soul + Death — Soulgrave
Mind + Death — Dreadrot
Curse + Death — Doomrot
Void + Death — Oblivion Grave
Very nice, he thought. And I can, presumably, use Arts or have Aspects associated to all of these types. I’ve already got access to four…but one required a deity Quest. He circled Gravebloom. So the three I started with access to, I would imagine I can keep getting more of without deity Quests. For all I know, I could do the same with the rest. Glancing at his other pages, he mentally added, I just need to figure out how to turn the written magic into an Art I can use through VITAE.
There was a knock at the door, and getting up to answer, he was surprised to see the large smith’s son standing there. “Pardon,” he grumbled, glaring at Luke. “Mum says you need to come to the forge. Gear’s good.”
“Be right there,” Luke replied. He followed the large young adult out and headed across the town to the smithy. The blacksmith, Yesna, was finishing laying out armor, and looked over as Luke approached. “I was called for?” Luke asked.
“Aye,” she replied. “It’s all ready. Just need to put it on you and make any final adjustments.”
Luke looked over the gear. It was split up into three layers: a thick, cloth pair of pants and shirt, which cinched together with a belt of the same material. Next was a similar setup of chainmail and pants, which had latches on the bottom of the shirt and top of the pants, that would hook into the belt. Last was a split-skirt of scale mail which would cover both of the legs, and a coat of the same material. The scale mail was a deep, forest green.
To his surprise, the chain shirt had a coif on top, which looked like it could be pulled up for head protection. Grabbing it, he said, “I thought if you had something on your head, you couldn’t use magic?”
“Aye,” she replied as she wiped her hands on a cloth and gestured for him to begin dressing out in the cloth underlayer, which he did. “You mentioned it, so I figured I’d include it. You’ll have to pull it down before using any Arts, but it’ll protect you.”
“Wait a second,” Luke said as he stopped mid-belt-cinch. “I saw people wearing hoods—”
“For the weather or warmth,” the woman replied. “Gotta take it off to do magic. Now, stop fussing about, and get the rest on.”
Makes sense, Luke thought as he finished putting on the equipment and let her fuss about with measurements, making marks with a bright, white chalk, and then jotting notes for the alterations to ensure a perfect fit of each layer. I’ll be able to wear a helmet, or my mask with the chainmail hood, but have to remove both before any fighting. Thankfully, I doubt I’ll be using my Arts in towns, which is where I’d be wearing the mask, mostly. No need to wear it on the road once I start traveling.
After she had taken the measurements, she had him remove the outfit. “Give me until the day’s end to make the alterations,” Yesna said. “In the meantime” —she grabbed a sheathed blade and handed it to Luke— “here’s this.”
The grip was comfortable and fit his hand perfectly, and Luke drew the blade. It looked like plain, worked steel, but the edge was sharp, the heft was right, and he could easily put both hands on the hilt without issue. It even had a bit of a molding along the grip, to make a one-handed hold just as comfortable as a two-handed one. “It is perfect,” he said as he slid the blade home with a rasp-thunk.
Yesna put a hand to her chin. “I must say, in the daylight, you just look like a pale, creepy guy. Armored up? And with something covering the skin on your face? I don’t think I’d be able to tell you’re Undead. Not until up close, at least.”
“Why’s that?” Luke asked.
“I just get goosebumps near you, is all. Probably the nature of Death.”
Good to know, Luke thought. But the question is—
“How close? Mind testing with me for a second? This is all new to me, too.” The woman acquiesed, and Luke was able to figure out that once he was within a foot of someone, they would experience goosebumps which faded the longer he was within close proximity. “Thank you,” he said.
“Of course. Now, off with you! I have alterations to make. I’ll bring the finished kit to your cabin when it’s done.”
Luke was about to reply, but he felt someone tugging on his shirt, and glancing back and down, saw that one of the old woodcarver’s grandchildren had snuck up on him. The younger of the two, and he was holding a mask. The boy held it up. “Here you go, mister Undead, sir!”
Luke took the mask from the boy. “Thank you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a few silver pieces, handing four to him. “One for you and your brother, and two for your grandfather.”
The boy grinned and darted away with his prize.
The smith frowned and said, “Oh, I see how it is. Pay everyone but the smith.”
Luke looked at her. “I’ve got more—”
She punched his shoulder. “I’m joking. My treat for helping out my cousin.”
Right. She’s related to Captain Amara.
Luke looked at the simple, unadorned, carved mask. The older man didn’t do anything close to what Luke wanted: it was just a plain, flat, smooth face with eye sockets and nothing else. Metal studs, which had been flattened, thankfully, held a cloth strap in place. Putting it on, he looked at the smith. “Well? How does it look?”
“Rather boring.”
***
After a few more days of consolidating notes, getting another notebook, checking over gear and equipment, Luke suited up in his new armor and prepared to face the coming Dawnguard. It was the fourth Cinday of Myrren, and he was more than ready to plead his case, get some official support for his Undead Outpost project, and start making his mark on the world—using his power to change it for the better.
Fully kitted out he looked at himself in the mirror, mask in his hand. The armor and sword on his hip made him look the full part of a fantasy knight, right out of a video game. It clinked and made metallic clicks as he moved, and when he put on the mask, a simple, one, it gave him a very plain appearance.
Wish I had a more fancy mask, Luke thought. Would’ve loved to have the design I had sketched out. But, that old guy wasn’t my biggest fan.
He grabbed the backpack and slipped that on, then looked at himself once more. The picture of a roaming adventurer, with all the gear needed strapped on and ready for use. All he was missing was a cape, but he didn’t really want one of those, as it seemed like an easy weakness to exploit.
Turning and departing the cabin, he headed to the main gates, but was stopped by Captain Amara and two other guards. “Undead,” she said plainly, crossbow slung on her shoulder. “They want to meet you in the temple.”
“They’re already here?” Luke asked.
Amara nodded and looked at her companions. “Let’s go.” She turned and promptly trotted away, and Luke followed, anticipating the through questioning that he was about to endure, which could end in his death if he didn’t play his cards correctly.
I’ve done what I can to help people and try to convince them I’ve got honest intentions, Luke thought. Now it’s up to my charisma.
Charisma…he would’ve laughed to himself if there was any air in his lungs at the moment.
He didn’t have an ounce of people skills.