Jacob Ashling, in the Cabin, with the Candlestick

Jacob sat there for a minute staring at the knife, then at the body, then at his own hand.

Wait…

This wasn't his hand!

He twitched his fingers, confirming that while it wasn't his hand, it was sure as hell attached to his body.

He turned his palm over, noticing it was rougher than his own.

Callouses had formed on it, the result of hard labour no doubt. It was also (although he didn't love admitting it) manlier than his hand.

It was musclebound and built for work, as was the arm attached to it.

He looked down at his body, inspecting it with his eyes and hands as he sat up from his slumped position.

Although he didn't know what his face looked like it appeared he had a beard, or at least a stubble. His build was also larger than he was used to, it also had more muscle than his. He also couldn't tell properly due to his clothing, but he could faintly feel scars placed haphazardly across his form.

That brought him to another point.

His clothing.

He appeared to be wearing greyish-green leather armour, a tunic at least since his pants seemed to be too lightweight to offer any real protection.

What was interesting about his tunic was the multiple tears, not jagged ripped tears that come from catching the material on a branch or something. The cuts were cleaner, like that of a knife.

The blood had stained it deeply, not just the blood from the body but his own.

Curiously, he was unwounded.

He wasn't too worried as from what he could tell of the cuts none were lethal, more light slashes than stab wounds.

But the question remained.

What the hell had happened here, and more importantly, why did he wake up in this body?

Back in the mansion he had been himself, so why had this realm decided to host him within the body of a murderer?

Jacob was still hopeful that he wasn't responsible for the death of the man.

But it was becoming more and more likely that the original owner of this body was.

This led him to another realisation.

He had awoken at the scene of a crime with a dead man right next to him, so he had pushed it to the back of his mind until now.

He hadn't even really thought of the implication.

Could there be other humans in this realm?

Ones he could talk to?

If so, it would be a massive boon!

Well maybe not massive considering he might immediately become a wanted man, but still!

Back in the mansion he had only briefly communicated with people who didn't want to kill him, well in actuality the demon didn't want him dead since it was trying to use him to escape.

Regardless, if he could talk to others about the realm, he could gain so much useful information that could very well be pivotal to his survival.

Not to mention the other potential benefits. Mainly the fact that he could recruit allies.

'Right' Jacob thought to himself as he stood up.

'First things first, where am I?'

He engaged all his senses as he observed his surroundings.

From what he could tell he was in a wooden room.

Not like the mansion, it was more primal. A very rustic sort of feel if he had to be honest. He made a quick conclusion that he was in something like a log cabin.

It was a small room, from what he could tell the entire structure of the building could be taken up in that single room. A bed, desk and table were all outfitted in the simple wooden structure.

Unlike the mansion, the place he was in was well-lit.

That might be a bit of an exaggeration. It was more like sunlight coming through clouds on a rainy day, but compared to the mansion it was well-lit.

That same sunlight streamed in from the simple glass window, tinted slightly blue.

The room also housed a Rumford fireplace, the only stone part of the structure as far as he could see.

A bag and its contents were strewn across the floor, he'd leave that for last.

The desk was mostly bare, a single half-written note was placed near the centre. That's where the more… explicit, side of the cabin started to come into view.

the bottom corner of the note was coloured red with blood as a small pool had amassed on the desk.

But that wasn't the only place that displayed remnants of his crime.

The whole room was in disarray, the table was knocked over, scattering the contents of two bags onto the ground.

Blood was splattered intermittently throughout the room. Dents and cuts were positioned occasionally on the walls, made by the murder weapon no doubt.

The most harrowing part of the whole thing was the bloodied handprint on the window. It dyed a portion of the god rays a shade of red that felt all too at home in the room.

He took a brief look outside, only to discover a massive deep blue lake.

It sent a chill up his spine.

He didn't know why.

 The lake had no discernible features that would give a bad impression. Even analysis didn't reveal anything messing with his perception.

The backdrop of the lake was a forest, in every direction from what he could see.

Large trees block a clear sightline to the horizon but otherwise, the forest seemed… normal.

So why did it give him the same chill the lake did?

He shook his head, he had time to deal with the outside later. For now, he had to read what was in the letter, it might give him a clue about what had happened.

He walked over to the desk and examined the letter, finding it to be written in English.

Until he noticed the letters shifting slightly in place like they were a projection rather than reality.

A quick prompt to analysis confirmed his suspicions. The language written wasn't actually English but had been translated by something to help him. The same had happened in the mansion but without analysis automatically adjusting his eyesight to see through basic illusions he wasn't able to notice.

***Dear Archivist Cog Fredricks Vanheim.

I hope this letter finds you in good health, I am writing this letter to assure you of our progress in the faction truce summit here at Wyrdmere Lake.

So far, the Wildkin faction has moved within our expectations, asking for better Mentisahrrow harvesting rights and the lands that accompany them.

The Forestborn however have strayed from our original expectations, rather than seeking to trade with us for access to our technology and knowledge they continually ask for privileges that they know we cannot give. My opinion is that they no longer want to trade as much with our faction and are using these ridiculous claims as an excuse.

Although I do not currently know why that is the case I have refused their efforts so far and managed to maintain our current relationship.

The summit will last for another two days, and I will report further once I have arrived home, this letter is a simple courtesy to you before I speak with the rest of the council as I believe you have the best chance at understanding the Forestborn faction's motives.

I will take up no more of your valuable time as I know your research is a strenuous affair.

Regards, Diplomatic Cog Jacob Ashling***

Needless to say, Jacob was a little surprised to see his name at the bottom of the paper, as well as the number of terms he had no idea about.

He understood the context of many of them, such as the factions of Wildkin and Forestborn. He could gather that they were groups other than his own. He could also tell that the word Wyrdmere referred to his current location. The titles they were addressed by were a little odd, but he got the gist of their roles from them. Diplomatic Cog seemed to be self-explanatory, it was most likely the reason that the other Jacob was here. The Archivist cog however seemed a little more complicated as the letter mentioned research.

As for the word Mentisahrrow. He had no idea.

What the hell was that?

Based on the mention of land and harvesting he assumed it must be a mineral, food, construction material, or another helpful resource.

It couldn't be completely vital since his original body owner seemed okay with giving it to another faction.

It also seemed the faction his original host was part of was more advanced technologically than the others.

Frustration was evident on his face at the dozens of new questions that arose after reading the letter. But despite his frustration the letter had allowed him to learn a lot.

He was taking a guess and saying he was the original writer of the letter.

His logic was that if the words could be automatically translated then maybe his name was automatically swapped out for his host bodies by the same logic.

So, he was something called the diplomatic cog. He wagered that had some level of power regarding maintaining relations with other factions. He didn't know how much power, or how large any of the factions were, but at least he wasn't a peasant boy who could be made to disappear at any time.

He also knew that there were others at his level, called Cogs. All of which were a part of a council.

If he was lucky, they were the leaders of the faction. Of course, that much attention on him could easily backfire since he had no idea who he was, what he was doing, or why he was doing it.

But hey, glass half full right?

Apart from the letter, he also managed to glean some information from a few other sources.

The first piece of information came from the windows of the cabin.

They were imperfect and gave off a difficult-to-notice blue tint.

This let Jacob know that the time period he was in was at least before the 20th century. Glassmaking techniques from before then tended to leave trace amounts of other minerals which often led to slightly tinted or imperfect glass.

There was also the fireplace, he had noted it to be a Rumford fireplace. These were invented in the 18th century.

Although he doubted that this place had the same history as Earth since it was an entirely different realm, he could roughly date the technological age they were in based on these two points of interest.

Since he could also see no electrical lighting, he assumed that they were somewhere just before the Industrial Revolution. Or at the start of it, when electricidal powered lights were only used in the largest cities.

Jacob stood in the centre of the room for a moment, pondering his next move before turning his attention to the bag that had been thrown on the ground and the body of his potential murder victim.

The bag had a few things of interest to him. The majority of it was taken up with basic supplies. Things like rations, a survival knife, a Firestarter made of flint and steel, a change of clothing, and a waterskin.

But he did find three unusual items, well semi-unusual. There were no magic stones of power or ancient textbooks like in a proper fantasy setting. But what he found did contrast oddly with the rest of the bag's contents.

The first was an interesting fruit, it was like a bundle of blueberries. Unlike actual blueberries, they were actually blue and seemed to almost have a glowing liquid in each of them, like miniature lava lamps.

Next was what appeared to be a packet of cigarettes, unlike any he had seen before. They had no brand, a simple paper-like box was used to contain about a dozen of the smokes, one of which had already been taken.

The cigarettes were also different to what he knew from Earth. The side for smoking was marked with a blue stain that seemed to permeate through the fabric rather than the clear-cut colour difference of earth cigarettes. The content also appeared to be blue in colour rather than the brown of a normal cigarette. The only reason could tell was that the product was hand-rolled.

Putting the odd smokes aside he took a look at the final item, the one he was most excited about.

A pistol.

And an odd one at that.

The gun in question appeared to be a simple magazine-loaded weapon, but it also had a small canister acting as a reservoir for some form of liquid.

Unlike the magazine which slotted into the handle, the canister one was placed on the upper right side of the gun, attached closer to the barrel.

A further look through the pack he found two spare magazines and another two spare canisters of the liquid.

He wasn't sure what exactly the use of the canisters was, but he figured it was safe to assume that it was necessary for the gun to function. He also guessed that it wasn't a coincidence that the number of canisters he had was equal to the number of magazines, he probably had to swap them out at the same time.

He attached the guns holster to the area under his left arm, it took a bit of fiddling but with analysis's help he managed it.

His experience in the mansion had deeply engraved the need for pockets and other on-person storage means.

Which was why he also attached the survival knife and corresponding sheath to his belt.

He pocketed the smokes and took the gun in hand, deciding to place the fruit back on the table for the time being.

There was one thing left to search.

The body.

He gagged a little as he got closer.

It was the first time he had been so close to a body.

He actually counted himself lucky it was fresh. He had no idea how he would have reacted if it had been rotting.

Whoever the person was before, they were now a corpse.

Jacob didn't know the man he was before he died but he closed his eyes for a moment and wished him peace.

A meaningless gesture. Yes.

But he still felt the need to do it.

The man was bulky, not like Jacobs's new body. This man had developed muscles with the intent of causing damage, even in death his figure gave off a feeling of intimidation.

On the ring finger of the body's left hand was a simple gold-coloured ring with the pattern of a cog. Within the cog was a symbol of a shield and sword.

Jacob felt around his left hand and discovered a similar ring, but with a pattern of two hands shaking.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that the man and Jacob both probably held similar positions. The man was most likely in charge of security or the army while Jacob was effectively a diplomat.

At a guess, he'd say that his co-worker may have even been his security detail.

He took a closer look at the man. Unlike Jacob the man had only one wound, directly to the chest, a stab wound to the heart.

Jacob wasn't an expert, but he could come up with a simple series of events.

The man, for whatever reason, attacked Jacob and led him to a battle that he would eventually win. But somehow Jacob's host had managed to get a lucky shot off and killed his attacker before succumbing to his many wounds himself.

Jacob was still crouching over the body when he heard a jarring noise.

*Knock, knock, knock*

"Cog Jacob! Cog Michael! Please respond! We are under attack!"