The Calm - 2

As night descended, its shroud of darkness blanketed the scene, concealing the trio of musketeers engrossed in their secret discussions. Nearby, the two remaining captives lay oblivious to the complex dynamics unfolding among their captors. The next day, a palpable tension hung in the air, apparent to those astute enough to read the room, unlike the younger members who prattled on aimlessly.

Under the guidance of Crim, their chosen leader in name, they embarked on a perilous journey deeper into the heart of the mountain, their nerves rattled by the distant rumblings of menacing creatures. 

Surprisingly, the youngest member among them, the hero of their group, found an unexpected inner calm. He had meticulously plotted their course over the past four days, finally experiencing a sense of serenity that had eluded him since their capture.

As he dangled his legs over the precipice, much like the valiant hero in their midst, the Poisoner and the Burly companion each spun their own webs of contemplation, lost in the realms of their imagination, unable to fathom the uncertain path that lay ahead.

While their captivity had been relatively brief, their spirits remained unbroken, in stark contrast to the family and the woodcarver who had tasted the bitterness of life's harsh realities.

You could feel the two calm people in the room fluttering their eyes on the duo.

  These two groups were like innocent children compared to the others the youngest members such as the woodcarver had beared eye witness too, untouched by the world's callousness. Crim, the youngest among the adults, saw himself as the most mature, convinced that the others were mere constructs of a game's code, fictitious personas, NPCs.

To the young man, this was a straightforward game that had consumed sleepless nights as he tried to master it. With subtle adjustments, the sensory experiences became more lifelike, further distorting their already surreal existence. The hero's stomach growled with the intensity of a thousand lions, alerting the group. He dashed towards a bush heavy with purple berries, catching the Poisoner's attention. Hastily, the Poisoner followed to prevent any mishaps.

He snatched the berry away from the kid, putting away the berry before stopping the young kid from picking on more.

He grasped the young hero's arm and uttered, "Don't touch those; they're herd berries."

The young man cocked his head, unfamiliar with the term, as he had received no education about such things. In actuality, he had received no education about anything.

Of course the kid didn't know, who else would wanna be a hero other than a total idiot beyond saving? That had been the basic premise of Crim's thoughts.

The poisoner continued regaining his calm.

"They're highly poisonous berries," the Poisoner elucidated, "Legend has it that a hero used a few of them to vanquish a fearsome monster that terrorized villages. A single bite could fell an ordinary, powerless citizen, so steer clear; your skin might burn as though it was a villain's scare."

The kid's mother gave a simple wheeze into her hand, amused by the expression expressed by her offspring.

At the mention of the word 'villain,' the young hero withdrew. The Burly companion teased the Poisoner, remarking on his talent for handling children, eliciting an awkward smile from the Poisoner. The family intervened to prevent an argument, and the Muscular companion, carrying the weakened one, offered a simple "thank you."

Crim and the Woodcarver observed the peculiar exchange with neutral expressions, masking their true feelings. The young man was cognizant of his social shortcomings. The art of interaction was a skill he knew he would have to master eventually, but today was not that day.

It made him glad enough to take a seat on the grass. He sipped his imaginary drink and ate his popcorn.

He signaled to the group to proceed towards what appeared to be the exit of the forest. Just then, the cacophonous roars of approaching giants, guided by echolocation, reached their ears. Crim couldn't help but wish that the monsters were deaf, given the circumstances.

The giant roamed around, recoiling down every tree in its path while screeching like a cat in front of a cucumber, basically the sounds of a tortured man. The dents left in the forest left less and less places to hide before the monster wiped away the entirety of the bushes and the trees.

The Burly companion recoiled, his voice quivering like a frightened kitten, while the young hero attempted to soothe him. Crim weighed their options and proposed they ascend the mountain path, the lesser of two daunting choices. This was not a video game although similar; the consequences had to be existant.

"We should take the mountain," he advised, though the others responded in confusion. They followed, led by the astute Woodcarver, who observed the situation closely. Despite the slaves' grumbling about their aching feet on the rocky terrain, the group pressed on.

However, as they ascended, the path grew increasingly perilous, with sudden rockfalls, steeper inclines, and narrower footholds. Crim's choice weighed heavily on him as they inched closer to the summit. The younger members' stomachs churned, and the Poisoner, who suffered from a fear of heights, masked his anxiety with a series of jests and fictional tales.

There was a growing sense of unease among the group, but most chose to keep their concerns to themselves, storing them away for later, perhaps when anger could be better unleashed.

Their journey continued until they encountered their first major obstacle - an imposing wall that stood defiantly in their path. It seemed utterly impenetrable, devoid of any visible cracks or openings to exploit. As the group pondered this insurmountable barrier, despair began to cast its shadow over some of them, while others engaged in heated arguments about the best course of action.

Amidst the growing tension, Crim stood out with his unwavering composure. Surveying their surroundings, he realized that the seemingly impassable rock wall was not as indestructible as it appeared. With a deliberate touch and closer examination, he discovered a vulnerability in the rock face. As the others despaired, Crim maintained his calm and, using a broken sword methodically etched handholds into the stone.

The effort felt like carving through butter as the rock yielded to Crim's determination. Step by step, he continued his painstaking progress, keeping three limbs anchored to the emerging handholds and crafting an improvised ladder with the fourth. Each movement brought them closer to overcoming the obstacle.

However, just as hope began to rekindle, a sudden, chilling sound echoed from behind. It was a heart-wrenching realization - the Muscular companion had lost his grip on the weakened one, and their fellow traveler had perished.

While the rest grieved, Crim could only think that sacrifices had been necessary and it would be the crippleds fault if there were any complaints.