What is it you really want, a Soulmate or just a Perfect Warrior?

Where Allie puts together some answers (and creates more questions for herself) and has a weird moment about there being a boat... underground

~~~~~~

*BLLLLAAAARRRRPPP*

Uuggghh, too early for this shit...

“Come on people, time to move out.” I didn’t notice yesterday just how grating Häming’s voice is.

*BLLLLAAAARRRRPPP*

“Okay, okay, I’m up, you can smegging quit it with the air horn!”

A new voice, with a beautiful, natural sounding musical twang to it calls out from the main tunnel, “Hurry up please, the Commander doesn’t like sitting waiting underground.”

“Alice! Markys! Get up and help load the boat.” Is he an ex-drill sergeant or the ilk?

Wait... Boat?!? We’re in an underground tunnel, where did a smegging boat come from. Ow, ow, ow, crick in my neck... sleeping on bare rock wasn’t the smartest idea I’ve ever had. Markys looks as bad as I feel, and the other three look fine, other than the proper hacky looks they’re shooting at us (for sleeping through all the carrying?)

It feels a bit embarrassing carrying one of the smaller bags, given how many we actually have, and by a bit, I mean my face is probably brighter than those shitty glow-sticks(jars/flasks/whatevers). Huh, HUD turned itself off, good; divn’t want that overlay all the time... but light amplification seems proper useful right bout now.

*BLLLLAAAARRRRPPP*

Wow, I must have been proper tired last night... how the smeg did I not notice that this tunnel got so wide. It’s two meters tall and four wide and has side paths on both sides of the strea... Okay... there really is a boat on the stream... and three Hobbits/Gnomes/Kender/whatever in fancy uniforms carrying what look like flintlock muskets stood around it. The leader(? looks like it, he's got the most braid on him, HUD’s calling him Sararic Wavestomper) seems annoyed and irritated (which sounds comical with his beautifully tuned voice), “That the last of it? Good, we’re not waiting any longer.”

“Yes Lieutenant, that’s the last of it, we aren’t putting you out of your way are we?”... I think I need to take some quiet time to reflect on why I find this princeling so unbearably cute, like seriously how does he make sass seem proper manly.

“N-no your highness, certainly not. It’s just that we were expecting four people and a minimum of luggage, not five and a boat full. We are going to have to pull the boat through the shallows, and it’s a long way back to any of the channels that are open enough for the motor.” And I’m starting to wake up enough to notice things, like that the boat is a wood effect material (fibreglass maybe?), and that one of the other Halflings (Isenfast Proudgrip) is wearing a pair of proper 90’s style light up trainers, and that the boat has a smegging outboard motor perched on the back.

“Well we shall take it in turns to pull then, that seems the sensible solution, yes?”

“Ye-yes your highness. We should probably get started, who’ll take the first shift?” Poor bastard doesn’t seem prepared to handle royalty, especially not reasonable royalty.

A quick look at my phone (that has no signal) puts us at 3 in the morning... 4 hours sleep? That’s not right... probably ganna get shite off of Häming if I head right back to kip in the boat though... “I’ll take first shift on the left side, gizz’us the rope.” The third shortstack (one Adeleloc Deepcutter, got a nasty scar right round his throat) leans over the boat, holds the rope out with one hand and makes a move for my goth-mo fingerless glove/sleeve/thingies... and I have to pull back. “I divn’t care who you think you are, any of youse try touching me gloves again, I’ll rip your smeggin face off and rub sherbet into your face meats, ya’ get me.”

Too much? He’s looking pretty worried... okay, didn’t expect him to pull a blackboard of all things out of his doublet(? I suck with medieval mens clothing)...

-soft gloves no help with rope-

-have leather pair may fit-

-willing to lend-

“uh, yeah, that’d be great thanks. Divn’t need to take these off though,” the great thing about open finger hole gloves is, pop the thumb out, and you get free hands without having to take them off, “see, out the way. And um, sorry for gannin mental, it’s just...” He gets this weird look on his face, apologetic and understanding, and it feels genuine, not like a therapist fucking with empathy trick.

-I understand-

*BLLLLAAAARRRRPPP*

“That’s getting really smegging old.” Everyone (but Sararic) is nodding in agreement, probably trying to ignore my... outburst...

“No cannon fire with it, probably just merchant idiots getting too close being warned off. Now can we please get moving, it was a 3 hour trip up here, I’d like for it not to be much longer getting back.”

“If you marines handle keeping it off the rocks, I’ll do the right side, let the boys get a bit more sleep.”

“Do I have time for a bite o’ brekie before we start?” not giving them the chance to refuse, I know I’ve got 2 sections of chocolate covered Kendal mint cake in my pocket, that’ll do for a kick-start while the boys get in.

~~~~~~

Pulling the boat in near silence (with just occasional comments from the marines as to obstacles) for an hour, gives me plenty of (effectively) alone time to think about everything that I’ve seen and has been said.

Point the first: They summoned me here with a spell meant to draw ‘great warriors’ right out of combat. Theses warriors attack anyone in sight immediately, probably due to their blood being up, the immense pain of the transition, and being dragged away.

Point number two: I was playing games with Carla when it got me, and I am really good at them, so I was technically a ‘great warrior’ in the midst of combat.

Point C: I have a HUD inside my eyes, an as yet unexplored new fighting trance ability thing, and a totally... revised physique. So presumably, the magic they were using got confused as to meatspace and cyberspace.

Point iv: There is a prophesy, that requires either specifically me, or someone with a skill set and personality like mine to fulfil.

Point echo: There is other stuff that looks like it has arrived here from my world or other worlds like mine, enough that this upper crust lot’s only comment on my gear was probably about the fit of my tanktop and combats, not about their existence in and of themselves.

Supposition A: Something about one of the games I was playing gives me an ability that is necessary to fulfil this prophesy

Hypothesis the second: There is some piece of advanced technology that my knowledge is necessary to deal with for the prophesy

Speculation iii: This is all an hallucination, and I’m actually strapped up in a bed in hospital, with Ben and maybe Carla curled up at the foot of it.

Conclusion: Go along with things, at least until I get the lay of the land, and some privacy to see just what’s up with my new form.

Authors note: I had hoped to get further in this chapter, get into some of the details of the prophesy (and actually make it too the ship) but I didn't expect that getting on the boat would take so much time to write.

I'm kinda writing by the seat of me kegs here, trying to write at decent amount each week to try and be productive and get myself out of the lazy rut I've gotten stuck in. I have part of a plan, lets just see where it goes shall we

ps: I am totally happy to get constructive criticism, not ganna take it as a personal attack.