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STATUS MENU
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Name: Arthur of Harrowfield
Class: Farmer
Heritage: Valyrian / Stormlands
Age: 16
Level: 4
Unallocated Stat Points: 2
Title(s): [None]
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COMBAT ATTRIBUTES
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Strength: 16
Dexterity: 5
Constitution: 17 (+25%)
Intelligence: 3
Perception: 3
Luck: 3
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TRAITS
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[Comely]
You've got the kind of face that gets you smiled at, flirted with, and forgiven for things you probably should not be.
[Sword Prodigy]
You wield a blade like it belongs in your hand—faster learning speed, tighter reflexes, and better execution with swords.
[Sharp Ears]
Your hearing is unnaturally acute. You can detect faint sounds, whispers, and movement even from across the room.
[Blood of Valyria]
Your veins run silver and fire. Whether by birth or by bed, the Old Blood knows its own. Grants heightened affinity with magic, dragons, and Valyrian relics. Also makes you just a little more unhinged than you'd like to admit.
[Dexterous]
Your hands and fingers are exceptionally nimble. Tasks requiring precision, balance, and control are performed with greater ease. You are less likely to fumble, and you can learn skills involving fine motor work—such as swordplay, crafting, or stealth—with increased speed and efficiency.
[Gift]
You may transfer one of your traits or skills to another individual. The recipient will receive a weaker version, but the skill or trait will be permanently removed from you. No duplication is possible.
[Linguist]
You possess an instinctive grasp of language. You can understand and communicate in any spoken tongue once exposed to it, even those long thought extinct. You also possess a natural affinity for learning magical languages.
[Inventive Genius]
You gain the instinctive ability to imagine, design, and improve tools, weapons, structures, and mechanisms far beyond the understanding of your time. Your mind naturally sees flaws and solutions. You feel a compulsion to tinker, adapt, and create. Every item you hold, every structure you see whispers possibilities of how to make it better.
[Demon Back]
The secret to overwhelming strength lies in the back. When the body is pushed past its limits, your muscles lock into a terrifying alignment that resembles the form of a demon. Strikes delivered in this state carry far greater force, and your strength briefly surpasses human limits.
⚠ Overuse places extreme strain on the body and risks permanent injury.
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SKILLS
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[Observe]
[Carpentry] (Apprentice)
[Conditioning] (25/100) [+25% Constitution]
└─ Recovery (Sub-skill)
[Novacaine] (5/100)
[Cooking] (10/100) (Novice)
[Tracker] (8/100) (Legendary)
[Axe Mastery] (49/100) (Novice)
[Carnal Knowledge] (65/100) (Adept)
[Shibukawa-ryū Jujutsu] (22/100) (Novice)
[Lumbering] (55/100) (Novice)
[Falling Star Style] (7/100) (Apprentice)
[Herbal Insight] (Unique)
[Horse Riding] (10/100) (Novice)
[Poison Resistance] (0/100) (Journeyman)
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"What the..." Arthur muttered, his voice hoarse, the words slurring as the room tilted again.
He looked around as his vision cleared. The room swam into focus, heavy velvet curtains drawn against the daylight, a single lantern casting shadows over the disheveled bed. Three women lay tangled in the sheets beside him, their naked bodies sprawled in different poses, their skin flushed and marked with faint bruises from the previous night. They were pretty in a way, though their faces lined with the faint creases, clearly marking they were at least in their thirties, full lips parted in their sleep, their ample breeasts sagging slightly against the limens. One had dark curls fanned across the pillow, another was a honey blonde.
'Who the fuck are they?' Arthur thought, his mind reeling. Did he sleep with whores last night? How much did he drink to forget something like that?
He shifted, trying to sit up, but his elbow buckled against the mattress and he tumbled off the bed, hitting the floorboards with a thud that jarred his bones. Pain flared through his head, but he pushed himself up, surprised at how steady his legs felt beneath him. He glanced down at his body. His arms looked thicker, veins standing out against forearms corded with muscle he didn't remember building, his chest broader though still lean. 'This couldn't have happened in one night. What the hell happened? How did I gain so many stats in so little time?' He thought to himself.
He scanned the room for his clothes, his heart pounding as panic clawed at his chest. Nothing looked familiar, no tunic, no breeches, no boots. He found a pile of garments on a chair, skimpy things that barely qualified as clothes: a thin silk loincloth, a sheer vest that would hang open like a whore's legs. His stomach turned. He dressed quickly in the loincloth and stood straight.
Suddenly footsteps approached from the hall and the door swung open, and a woman entered. She was in her early twenties at most, and was quite pretty. Black hair cascaded in loose waves to her waist, framing a face with high cheekbones and full, painted lips. Her eyes were green as summer leaves, and her body moved with sway under a gown of emerald silk that clung to her curves, the neckline plunging to reveal the swell of her breasts.
"Arthur," she purred, her voice like honey as she set a silver tray on the side table, a flagon of wine and a small vial. "You're up already? I thought you'd sleep the day away after last night." She sauntered toward him, her hips swaying, and pressed her body against his, her hands roaming his chest, fingers tracing the new lines of muscle. She kissed him deeply, her lips parting to invite his tongue, moaning softly into his mouth as she rubbed her breasts against him.
Arthur froze, stunned by the intimacy, the heat of her body overwhelming his senses. Her touch ignited something primal, his cock stirring despite the fog in his head, but revulsion followed fast. He pushed her away, his hands firm on her shoulders, breaking the kiss with a gasp.
She frowned, her green eyes narrowing, a pout forming on her full lips. "Arthur, what's wrong? Do you need more of your medicine?" She turned to the tray as she dropped a handful of red crystals into a cup of wine, stirring until they dissolved into a swirling dark red liquid. "Go on," she said, offering it to him with a coaxing smile. "It's Red Sleep, your favorite. It'll make everything feel better."
Arthur backed away a step, his heart racing, the scent of the wine didn't smell right. "Who are you?" he demanded. "Where's Willem? And Lunk... how did I get up here?"
She blinked, a slight panic flickering across her face, but she pressed the cup closer, her other hand reaching for his arm. "Drink it, Arthur. You'll feel right as rain. Willem's fine, he brought you here, remember? Just take a sip..."
He slapped the cup from her hand, the wine splashing across the floor in a dark stain, the goblet clattering against the wall. She yelped, stumbling back, her eyes wide with shock and fear. "You bastard!" she cried, whirling for the door, her gown tangling around her legs.
Arthur lunged, his hand closing around her wrist, yanking her backward with a strength that surprised even him. She spun into him, and he pinned her against the wall, his forearm across her chest, his other hand clamping over her mouth to stifle her scream. Her body thrashed, her breasts heaving against his arm, her eyes bulging with terror as she clawed at his hand. He didn't like hurting women but something deep in his gut screamed wrongness, a violation that clawed at his mind. "Tell me what's going on," he growled, his face inches from hers. "Where are my friends? Why am I up here? Who were those women in the bed?"
She froze, her struggles weakening as she met his eyes, the fire in them making her whimper against his palm. Tears welled, spilling down her cheeks, and when he eased his hand just enough, she gasped, "Please... don't hurt me. I won't scream, I swear. Just... let me go."
Arthur's grip loosened slightly, his hand still over her mouth, but he nodded. "I won't. But I want the truth. Now!"
She hesitated, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her breasts straining against the silk as she swallowed hard. When she saw the angry look in his eyes, the desperation in hers broke. "Fine... fine, I'll tell you. Willem... he has an arrangement with Madame Lysa. He finds pretty boys who won't be missed, travelers, runaways, farm folk like you, and brings them here. Gets a few gold dragons for each one. Lysa breaks them in, trains them to... to work. The nobles pay well for fresh pretty faces."
Arthur's stomach churned, rage bubbling up like bile, his fingers tightening on her arm. "How did you keep me here?" he growled in a low rumble that made her flinch.
She swallowed again, tears streaming freely now. "Your drink was spiked the night you got here. Something in the ale that makes you foggy. After that... Red Sleep. The crystals in the wine. It keeps you tame, makes you forget, makes you... eager. Lysa doses the ones she keeps long-term. You were trained for weeks... taught to please, to perform. Started working the high rooms. The noble ladies love a pretty thing like you."
Arthur's vision tunneled, disgust roiling in his gut like a storm. "The women... behind me?"
"Lady Stokeworth, Lady Darklyn and Lady Bracken," she whispered, her voice still trembling. "They paid extra for you last night."
"How long?" Arthur said quietly, the words barely audible, his hand dropping from her mouth as the horror sank in.
"What?" she asked, her breath hitching.
"How long have I been here?" he repeated in a deadly calm voice.
She looked away, her body shaking. "Nearly two moons."
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[QUEST COMPLETED] WELCOME TO KING'S LANDING
Description:
You awoke from a night you don't remember, your body marked by strange growth and new strength. Poison ran through your veins, yet you endured. You uncovered what happened and survived your first true test in the capital.
Objective:
– Find out what happened to you. ✅
Bonus Objectives:
– Identify the exact poison or method used ✅
Rewards:
– +25 XP
– Otherworld Token
Failure:
– Serfdom
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The rage that had been building erupted inside him like a forge exploding, white-hot and blinding. Arthur's hand shot out, slamming her head back against the wall with a crack. She went limp, her eyes rolling up as she slumped unconscious in his grasp, a thin trickle of blood from her temple staining the silk.
He let her slide to the floor, his chest heaving, breaths coming in short, furious gasps. Betrayal clawed at him—Willem, the friendly trader, selling him like livestock. Panic followed, the lost weeks crashing down, the "training," the nights blurred into faceless bodies, the noble women using him like a toy. Disgust roiled in his gut, the feel of their hands on his skin a phantom itch he couldn't scratch away, the violation sinking deep like poison.
But all of that was wiped away by one thought, crashing through the storm in his mind like a battering ram.
Mira!
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[NEW QUEST RECEIVED] WHERE IS MIRA?
Description:
You have uncovered the truth of Willem's betrayal. Weeks of your life were stolen, your body sold and drugged, but one thought burns above all else—Mira. Where is she? Did they take her too? You must find her before it is too late.
Objective:
– Locate Mira's whereabouts
Bonus Objectives:
– Discover Willem's current location
– Eliminate Willem or Madame Lysa
Rewards:
– +1 Perception
– +150 XP
Bonus Reward 1:
– Otherworld Token
Bonus Reward 2:
– Random Skill Book
Failure:
– Mira is sold into slavery.
– Permanent loss of Sister.
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Arthur snatched up the skimpy garments from the chair, the silk loincloth and sheer vest hanging limp in his hands like some whore's castoffs. His fingers fumbled with the ties, the fabric clinging to his sweat-slicked thighs as he knotted it hastily. Panic clawed at his throat, "Mira. Gods, Mira. Where was she?" The brothel, the women, the "training" it crashed over him in waves, disgust roiling in his gut like sour wine, but fury burned hotter. He had to find her. Killing Madame Lysa could wait; the bitch would get hers, but Mira came first.
He bolted for the door, yanking it open with a force that made the hinges groan, his bare feet slapping against the floorboards as he plunged into the corridor. Arthur collided with a serving girl carrying a tray of goblets, wine splashing across his chest, the metal clattering to the floor. "Watch it!" she shrieked, but he shoved past, his shoulder clipping a fat merchant rising from a couch, the man's breeches still around his ankles. The merchant cursed, tumbling back into a tangle of limbs with his companion, a buxom redhead who yelped as they all went down in a heap.
"Get off me, you oaf!" the merchant bellowed, but Arthur was already gone, barreling down the stairs, taking them three at a time, his hand gripping the rail so hard the wood creaked under his fingers. He leaped the last five, landing with a thud that jarred his knees, and sprinted toward the common room, his breath coming in ragged bursts.
"Arthur's loose again!" a whore shouted from the landing above in a shrill and panicked voife. Heads turned, another girl scrambling for her shift, a client fumbling for his belt as whispers rippled outward.
Arthur frowned at the words "again" but he didn't stop, his mind a storm of rage and fear. The common room loomed ahead, lanterns casting golden pools on velvet cushions and low tables strewn with half-empty flagons. He burst through, knocking over a stool that clattered into a group of patrons, ale sloshing across laps and drawing curses. "Out of my way!" he snarled, shoving past a leering lordling who reached for him with a drunken grab, the man's fingers grazing Arthur's arm before Arthur elbowed him aside, sending him sprawling into a table that toppled with a crash of wood and glass.
The door to the street was just ahead, but a massive figure blocked it. A guard built like a siege tower, his arms thick as tree trunks, a cudgel in one meaty fist. Madame Lysa stood behind him her full lips curled in a snarl. "Back to your room, Arthur," Lysa snapped, her voice laced with false sweetness, though it cracked at the edges. "Stop this nonsense. You're causing trouble for nothing."
Arthur skidded to a halt, his chest heaving, pure rage flooding his veins like fire. He stared at her, the woman who'd stolen months of his life, and the world narrowed to her face. "Where's Mira?" he growled, stepping forward despite the guard's bulk. "My wife...where the fuck is she?"
Lysa blinked, surprise flickering across her features. He should have been loopy still, glazed from the Red Sleep dosed into his wine the night before, pliant and eager like always. But his eyes were clear and filled with rage, and a chill ran down her spine. "Your... wife? Oh that little farm girl of yours..." she echoed, her composure slipping for a heartbeat before she recovered, waving a hand at the guard. "Deal with him, Garrick. But don't mark him, he's worth too much to lose that pretty face."
The guard lumbered forward, his cudgel rising, a smirk twisting his scarred lip. "Back upstairs, boy," he rumbled, swinging the club threateningly toward Arthur's shoulder.
Arthur moved on instinct, rage fueling him like a forge bellows. He caught the guard's wrist mid-swing, his fingers locking like iron, and twisted with Shibukawa-ryū, using the man's own momentum against him. The guard's eyes widened as his arm bent back, his bulk lurching forward, and Arthur stepped aside, grabbing the man's throat with his free hand. He pivoted his hips, channeling the leverage through his core, and slammed Garrick down onto the floorboards with a force that cracked the wood beneath them, the impact echoing like a thunderclap.
The guard gasped, the air driven from his lungs, but Arthur didn't stop. He straddled the man's chest, his fists raining down in a frenzy, each punch landing with a wet smack against Garrick's face. Blood sprayed from the guard's nose, his lip splitting open, his eyes swelling shut as Arthur screamed, the sound raw and primal, tearing from his throat like a beast.
Garrick's head lolled, his body going limp under the barrage, blood pooling on the floor in dark rivulets.
Arthur stopped, his chest heaving, knuckles split and bloody, and looked up at Lysa. She stood frozen, her fan limp in her hand, her face drained of color. He rose slowly, wiping his hands on his skimpy vest, and walked toward her. "The same happens to you if you don't tell me where my wife is," he said, pointing his bloodied fist at her chest. "Now."
Lysa backed up a step, her composure cracking as she glanced at the groaning guard on the floor. She tried to summon her usual steel, lifting her chin, but intimidation laced her words. "I... I don't know where she is. Willem only brings me the boys, the pretty ones for the ladies. The girls... The girls go to... other houses. I swear it on my life."
Arthur leaned in closer, his breath hot on her face, his fist still raised. "If you're lying, I'm coming back for you. And I'll burn this place to the ground with you in it."
She nodded frantically, tears welling in her eyes. "I swear it on the old gods and the new! Just Please go!"
Arthur turned without another word, shoving through the door into the night, the cool air hitting his sweat-slicked skin like a slap. The streets blurred as he ran, his bare feet pounding the cobblestones, the skimpy clothes flapping against his body. Panic and rage warred in his chest, but Mira... Mira was all that mattered. The inn, the Quill and Tankard, it couldn't be far.
He had to get to her, had to make sure she was safe.
(AN: Welcome to Kings landing boys where no one is your friend and everyone is out to fuck you over. Quite literally in Arthur's case. Drugged up and taken advantage of for a few months by noble women I'd say he got off lightly, but that's not going to make things any better for Willem that's for sure.)
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