Chapter 1.1: The Darkness
“Ok, now let’s try moving. Start small, with the fingers.” He moved his fingers around and continued to feel more of the wet stone that he was now convinced he was lying on. Once the fingers moved, the rest of the body came alive slowly, as if gaining momentum, like an engine slowly coming to life, the gears spinning slower but ever faster, spurring the mechanism into locomotion.
His muscles were sore, but he was moving, and he was alive. “Let’s try sitting up”. With great effort he leaned and exerted pressure with his elbows, raised his knees and tried to stand up. Though he was sore all over, he was not fatigued, and there was no pain. Rationalizing that he was perfectly fine, he tried again with all his might.
And then he was up. And breathing heavily. He was ALIVE! He strained his eyes in the darkness and looked around. There was darkness as far as the eye could see. In this place, the darkness reigned eternal. But even in the darkness, there was light. Ever so faint, there were traces of the light. Just enough of it for him to make out slight details. The stone floor that he lay on. Boxes surrounded him, and there were more things in the darkness.
Several objects lay near him around the boxes. In the dark, it was a little harder to make out the faint outlines, but they were real objects. He moves his hands as if to touch the objects, the first real movements he has made in what seemed like an eternity. He felt like a newborn, the entire world was new to him. Born in darkness he was, like a babe in the mother’s womb. Or was he king in an otherworldly tomb?
He was moving now, albeit slow, he crawled around in desperation, trying to make sense of his surroundings. His hands felt several objects, some of it he could make out – a glove, a helmet, a dagger. Did they belong to him? There were several more. Nay, these artifacts, whatever they were, they belonged to more than one person. He brought himself to his feet and paused. He realized he could see the ceiling. It was high, but could not have been more than 30 feet above him. The ceiling was stone. The same stone that he had been standing on. He looked at the floor. The floor that was wet with what he had initially believed to be his blood. It looked more like water now to his eyes. He sighed. That was a relief. He was not dying, and there were no mortal wounds on his person.
He proceeded to look around. Since he was upright, it seems that his legs still served him. He was master of his body once more. He was able to move at will and survey his surroundings. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dark, more details came to surface. The stones were man-made he decided. They were not the kind of stones that one saw in nature. The floor was set in several stones in a pattern too deliberate to occur naturally. Instinctively, he dusted himself. His hand felt a mishmash of textures, cloth, chain links, leather, and cold steel. His chest was covered in a linked iron material. Leather straps secured it in place. His arms were covered in chain link. He realized he was geared for battle, and that the armor he was wearing had been well worn, as if he had just fought in a large war. The cloth was tattered everywhere, some of the leather straps were torn, and the iron on the plates were scratched from what he could feel in the darkness.