Knowledge is Power Ch. 01The crisp mountain air bit at Rithvik’s cheeks as he ascended the final stretch of Mount Kempsig. Each step crunched on loose gravel, a rhythmic counterpoint to his steady heartbeat. He hadn't sought out challenge in this trek; instead, he was in search of solitude. Away from the stifling bureaucracy of academia, away from grant proposals and peer reviews, he could finally feel the past – vibrant and untamed – breathing around him.He pictured tribes huddled around fires in these valleys millennia ago, their stories woven into the very fabric of the stone beneath his boots. Empires risen and fallen, leaving barely a trace except for the echoes he chased through dusty texts. His life’s work was piecing together those fragments, giving voice to those long-silent narratives.The peak arrived sooner than expected, granting him an expansive panorama painted in hues of gold and rose as the sun dipped towards the horizon. It wasn't just a view; it was a revelation. He closed his eyes, letting the fading warmth kiss his face, imagining the rituals performed on this very spot—the pleas to ancient gods, the celebrations of hunts long past. A profound sense of connection washed over him, a quiet hum vibrating in his bones. This wasn’t just observation anymore; it was… immersion.[[Continue]]The sunset was breathtaking, a fiery masterpiece Rithvik lost himself in. Then, something shifted. A subtle alteration at the sun’s center – a pinpoint of incandescent white light that he initially dismissed as a trick of the eye. But it wasn't. The speck pulsed, growing with unnerving speed. He squinted, his curiosity battling a primal unease as the white expanded, consuming more and more of the golden disc.Seconds blurred into an eternity of escalating brilliance. The light ballooned, eclipsing the horizon, then everything. A blinding whiteness erupted, searing behind his eyelids even when squeezed shut. It wasn’t warmth anymore, it was pure, raw energy, a suffocating presence that drowned out all sensation.And then, the ground vanished.A sickening lurch tore through him as he lost purchase, his body tumbling into an abyss of white. There was no wind rushing past, no sense of direction – only the terrifying weightlessness of free fall. The last vestiges of Mount Kempsig, the familiar scent of pine and stone, were swallowed by the overwhelming glare. He braced for impact, but there was nothing to impact with. Only the endless, consuming light and the feeling of weightlessness.The blinding white fractured, dissolving with agonizing slowness. Rithvik flinched violently, his eyes struggling to adjust as fragmented shapes materialized around him. He was falling, not into an endless void, but towards something – a thick, gnarled tree branch that was rushing up to meet him with alarming speed. There wasn’t time to react, to brace, or even to scream.Impact jolted through his frame, a surprisingly cushioned thud as the branch absorbed most of the force. He tumbled onto damp earth, leaves and pine needles clinging to his clothes. The fall hadn’t been the bone – shattering plunge he'd braced for. A wave of relief washed over him, quickly followed by a careful self-assessment. There were bruises on his arms and legs, stinging reminders of his descent, but nothing felt broken.He pushed himself up, wincing slightly as muscles protested. Miraculously, his backpack remained secured to his shoulders, its familiar weight grounding him in reality. He was alive, relatively unscathed… but undeniably somewhere else. The forest surrounding him wasn’t the familiar landscape of Mount Kempsig. This felt older, wilder, and imbued with an unnerving silence that prickled at the back of his neck.The forest pressed in around him – its vegetation was lush and vibrant, but unsettlingly… wrong. Giant ferns unfurled like the wings of prehistoric giants, and thick vines snaked across towering trees he couldn't identify. An unfamiliar scent hung in the air – a cloying sweetness mixed with damp earth and something else, something faintly metallic.He needed answers. He pushed forward, navigating through the dense undergrowth, hoping to find some landmark, a sign of civilization. A narrow trail emerged after a few minutes, barely more than a deer path, but it was enough. He followed it, each step accompanied by the rustle of unseen creatures in the foliage.The trail widened gradually into a muddy track worn smooth by repeated passage. Reaching a small clearing, he paused and scanned his surroundings. To the distance, partially obscured by trees, he saw them – two horses, their coats gleaming darkly, tethered to what looked like a weathered oak. A flicker of hope ignited within him. Someone was nearby.[[Approach the horses and see if there is anyone else]]
[[Be cautious and look for another spot with a better view of the surroundings]]Hope surged through Rithvik, propelling him forward. He practically ran, ignoring the burning in his lungs until he burst into the clearing, breathless and panting. Two figures lounged around a crackling campfire, their faces grim as they ladled stew from wooden bowls. They were clad in roughspun tunics and worn leather – medieval thugs, straight out of a some historic fantasy, yet undeniably real.Despite his apprehension, he had to risk it. He approached cautiously, forcing a polite tone. “Excuse me,” he began, "I… I seem to be lost. Could you perhaps offer some assistance?"Before they could respond, Rithvik heard a muffled cry from his side. His gaze followed the sound, landing on three women, bound tightly to a tree near the horses. Their faces were bruised and streaked with tears, their eyes filled with desperation.The two brutes turned towards him, their expressions hardening as they took in his modern clothing. One spat on the ground.“Wot ye lookin’ at, stranger?” he growled, his voice thick and guttural. “Yer garb… ’tis not o' these lands. Be ye a spy?” He narrowed his eyes, suspicion blazing. "Best be movin' on, afore ye find yerself in trouble. Go now, lest ye wish to share their fate.” The other man hefted a rusty axe, the glint of steel mirroring the menace in his gaze. “Aye, go! An’ mind yer tongue where ye tread."[[Make apologizing gestures and leave for now]]
[[Try to talk with the men and see if they could be of any help]]Caution dictated his approach. Rithvik held back from charging towards the horses, his instincts screaming that this situation wasn’t as simple as a chance encounter. The strangeness of the forest clung to him, a palpable weight in the air. He needed information, but recklessness could be fatal.He moved like a shadow, weaving through the trees, prioritizing stealth over speed. Minutes stretched into an agonizing eternity as he circled the clearing, his eyes searching for any indication of who – or what – occupied this place. Then, he found it: a break in the foliage offered a clear view.There were two men clad in roughspun medieval garb huddled around a crackling campfire. Their faces were weathered and hard, their conversation low and guttural. But it wasn’t them that froze Rithvik’s blood. Tied to a tree just beyond the horses, three women struggled against their bonds. Gags muffled their cries, their eyes wide with fear. The scene was brutal, jarringly out of place in this already surreal landscape. He had to get closer, assess the situation… and figure out how to help them. He edged forward, praying his movements remained undetected.[[Try to sneak up and untie the women without the men noticing]]
[[Check the backpack and see if there is anything useful]]The decision felt reckless, but inaction wasn’t an option. Rithvik focused on the women, silently closing the distance between them. Each step was measured, deliberate, his senses straining for any sign of alarm from the men.As he neared, fragments of their conversation pierced through their unfamiliar accent – a garbled, archaic form of the tongue that barely registered in his linguistic database. He understood enough to realize the horrifying truth: they intended to sell the women into slavery. They were slurping noisily from bowls, oblivious to his approach.He seized the opportunity, moving with swift precision to untie the ropes binding the women. His fingers worked quickly, fumbling slightly in his haste. He estimated the older woman to be in her thirties, her face etched with worry and exhaustion, while the two younger ones seemed to be in their early twenties. They stared at him – wide-eyed, frightened, their mouths moving silently as if attempting to speak around the gags. He offered a reassuring nod, hoping to convey his intentions without words.The stew sloshed in the bowls, and one of the men let out a rough laugh, momentarily distracted enough for Rithvik to continue his work.As he continued working, with his full focus on untiying the ropes bounding the women, he unknowingly stepped on a twig. It snapped. The men’s heads whipped around, their eyes locking onto Rithvik with furious intensity. Abandoning their meager meal, they surged forward, snarling like animals. He had scant seconds to react.His hand instinctively plunged into the side compartment of his backpack, fingers scrabbling for the canister he'd packed as a precaution against wildlife. The bear spray. It was a long shot, but it was all he had. He ripped off the safety latch with a desperate click just as the first man lunged.A swift sidestep and a powerful burst of orange filled the air. A primal roar erupted from both men as the potent spray engulfed their faces. They clawed at their eyes, coughing violently, momentarily incapacitated by the burning pain. It wasn't elegant, but it bought them time.The women seized the opportunity, frantically working to free themselves from the remaining restraints. The older woman, her movements surprisingly swift, rasped a warning: “Not safe… here… must run!” Her voice was weak, but urgent.Rithvik's mind reeled – he had no idea where to go, which direction offered safety in this bewildering forest. Sensing his hesitation, the woman gripped his arm and pulled him towards the dense undergrowth, disappearing into a tangle of vines and shadows. He followed blindly, trusting her instincts, leaving behind the chaos and the agonizing screams of the two very angry men.[[Continue escaping with the women]]A cold dread settled in Rithvik’s gut. This was escalating quickly, dangerously so. He needed to defuse the situation, to buy himself time. “My apologies,” he stammered, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "I truly meant no offense. I… I'm a traveler, just disoriented. A wrong turn, that’s all.” He backed away slowly, attempting a reassuring smile that felt brittle even to him.He retreated, putting as much distance between himself and the brutes as possible. But inaction wasn’t an option. Those women – their silent pleas haunted his every step. He couldn't simply walk away.His mind raced, sifting through possibilities amidst a growing panic. He was an anthropologist, not a warrior. Direct confrontation was out of the question. After what felt like an eternity of frantic thought, two plans began to formulate, each with its own set of risks and uncertainties.[[Find something useful from the backpack]]
[[Try to sneak up and untie the women without the men noticing]]Rithvik attempted diplomacy, his voice laced with forced humility. “I assure you,” he stammered, raising his hands in a placating gesture, "no harm intended. I simply lost my way while trekking… perhaps you could point me towards the nearest village?"His plea fell on deaf ears. The brutes exchanged cruel grins, their eyes glinting with predatory amusement.“Lost, ye say?” sneered the axe-wielding man, taking a menacing step closer. “A fine tale for a spy! Yer fancy clothes and soft hands speak o’ no mountain life.” He spat again, this time landing close to Rithvik's feet. "We ain’t takin' kindly to strangers 'round these parts. Especially ones lookin' at our… property."The other man cackled. “Aye! A bit o’ interrogation might loosen yer tongue, eh? Let's see how tough ye are when we start choppin' off somm pieces.”Their stance was overtly threatening now. The axe man lunged, the rusty blade whistling through the air. Rithvik barely side-stepped the blow, the cold steel grazing his arm. He had to act – now.He remembered the canister of bear spray tucked away in his backpack's side compartment. Adrenaline surged as he yanked it out. Both brutes were closing in, their intentions clear. It was a desperate gamble, but if he used it now, he had to hit them both simultaneously – a concentrated blast of chemical fury aimed at their faces.[[Use the pepper spray while there is still a chance]]The grim reality settled over Rithvik. Approaching these men without preparation would be suicidal. The sight of the bound women confirmed his worst fears – they were not ordinary travellers, but something far more sinister. Slave traders? Bandits? He didn't know, and that uncertainty was terrifying.He frantically rummaged through his backpack, discarding unnecessary items in his desperate search for a weapon. Relief flooded him as his fingers closed around the familiar canister of bear spray. It wasn’t ideal – designed to deter wildlife, not armed men – but it was better than nothing. He ripped off the safety latch, the click echoing unnervingly loud in the quiet forest.Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, Rithvik steeled himself and began his approach. Every muscle tensed, every sense heightened. As he drew closer, the men’s conversation drifted on the breeze – a strangely accented dialect, archaic and guttural. He couldn't decipher specific words, but the tone was harsh, laced with cruelty. They were discussing… something involving one of the captive women.[[Choose to attack and try to rescue the women]]
[[Try the best to keep it calm and make the men understand]]Rithvik stepped into the clearing, hands raised slowly, palms open. He attempted a placating smile, hoping to convey peaceful intent. "Hello?" he called out, carefully modulating his tone. “I… I seem to be lost. Can you help me?”His words were met with stony silence, then a torrent of harsh, guttural response.“’Tis a strange garb ye wear, wanderer,” one man growled, his accent thick and archaic. "'St from the Old Lands, are ye? A spy o' the King perhaps?"The other spat on the ground. “Let ‘im be warned then! No room for fancy folk in these woods.” They had no interest in helping him, they wanted him gone.The first man rose, a crude hunting knife glinting menacingly in his hand. He advanced slowly, eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Best be on yer way afore ye find yerself in trouble, aye?”Panic seized Rithvik’s throat. This wasn’t a misunderstanding; it was a threat. His mind raced, desperately searching for an escape route…then he remembered. The bear spray. He hadn't packed it expecting medieval thugs, but it was his only chance. Digging frantically in the side compartment of his backpack, his fingers closed around the familiar canister. It wasn’t much, but it might buy him enough time to run and perhaps the save the women as well.[[Use the pepper spray while there is still a chance]]It was now or never. He burst from the treeline, adrenaline surging through his veins, bear spray raised.One shot. That’s all he had. The bear spray's range was limited, its effect temporary. To maximize its impact, he needed to incapacitate both men simultaneously. A tight burst aimed at their faces was the only way. He had to be precise, swift, and ruthless.Rithvik took another deep breath, centering himself. The women's terrified eyes met his briefly – a silent plea for help that fueled his resolve. This wasn’t about anthropological curiosity anymore; it was about survival, and their survival depended on him. He calculated the distance, gauged the men’s positions, and prepared to strike. His mind raced through potential escape routes, bracing himself for the inevitable chaos that would follow. It was time.Without a moment’s hesitation, Rithvik launched himself forward. He bellowed a fabricated cry of pain, stumbling theatrically towards the campfire, clutching at his leg. It worked. Both men instantly reacted, abandoning their post to investigate the commotion. As they converged, he unleashed the full force of the bear spray in a concentrated burst.A chorus of curses erupted as the stinging cloud engulfed their faces. They clawed at their eyes, gasping for air, momentarily blinded and incapacitated. This was his chance. He scrambled towards a dagger that had fallen from the hands of one of the men – a crude but effective blade – and began working furiously on the women’s bonds.The ropes fell away with satisfying snaps, freeing them from captivity. The eldest woman, her face etched with worry, rasped out a warning. “Not safe… here… must run!” Her voice was weak, but urgent. Rithvik's mind reeled – he had no idea where to go, which direction offered safety in this bewildering forest. Sensing his hesitation, the woman gripped his arm and pulled him towards the dense undergrowth, disappearing into a tangle of vines and shadows. He followed blindly, trusting her instincts, leaving behind the chaos and the agonizing screams of the two very angry men.[[Continue escaping with the women]]Rithvik knew this was it. Diplomacy had failed; reason hadn’t even been an option. He had no choice but to defend himself – and these women. Taking a deep breath, steeling his nerves, he yanked the safety latch from the bear spray canister.He aimed it towards the men and pulled the trigger. The stream of orange mist erupted with surprising force, engulfing both men in a choking cloud. They roared in agony, clutching at their eyes, momentarily blinded and incapacitated. It was chaotic, messy, but it had worked. He seized the opportunity. Snatching up the dropped dagger – surprisingly well balanced despite its crude appearance – he raced towards the tied women.Working quickly, his hands trembling with adrenaline, he sawed through the ropes binding them. Once free, they collapsed into each other, coughing and weeping. The older woman, her face etched with hardship but radiating a fierce determination, grabbed Rithvik’s arm.“Not safe… here… must run!” Her voice was weak, but urgent.Rithvik's mind reeled – he had no idea where to go, which direction offered safety in this bewildering forest. Sensing his hesitation, the woman gripped his arm and pulled him towards the dense undergrowth, disappearing into a tangle of vines and shadows. He followed blindly, trusting her instincts, leaving behind the chaos and the agonizing screams of the two very angry men.[[Continue escaping with the women]]They ran. A frantic, desperate sprint through the tangled undergrowth, fueled by adrenaline and fear. Rithvik stumbled along blindly, trusting the woman’s lead as she navigated the treacherous terrain. He hoped the bear spray had bought them enough time – that the men would be disoriented, unable to track their escape route through this labyrinthine forest.Minutes blurred into an eternity of pounding footsteps and ragged breaths. They didn't slow, couldn't risk it. The vegetation grew denser with each stride, obscuring the path ahead. Then, a thick vine caught around his ankle, sending him crashing face down onto a bed of razor-sharp bamboo shoots.One pierced his belly, tearing into flesh and muscle like a spear. He gasped for air, clutching at the wound as warm blood blossomed between his fingers. Panic clawed its way up his throat. The women skidded to a halt beside him, their faces contorted with terror. They rushed towards him, their whispers lost in the throbbing ache that consumed his every sense. Then, darkness descended – swift and absolute. He felt himself slipping away, losing consciousness amidst the damp earth and the scent of blood.**To be continued…**Rithvik frantically rummaged through his backpack, desperate for a solution. His fingers brushed against the familiar metal cylinder – the bear spray. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than nothing. A long shot, perhaps, but a chance to disrupt their advantage and create an opening. He gripped the canister tightly, steeling himself for whatever came next.He retraced his steps, his heart hammering against his ribs. The two men had resumed their meal, shoveling stew into their mouths with crude manners. They glanced up as he approached again, their expressions shifting from annoyance to outright hostility.“Ye still standin’ there?” the first man growled, wiping grease from his beard. “Dost ye not understand plain speak? We told ye to be gone! Do ye wish to meet yer maker so soon?" His companion slammed his wooden bowl onto the ground. "We'll no warn ye again. Turn tail afore we take a liking to yer fancy clothes an’ cut ye down where ye stand!”[[Choose to attack and try to rescue the women]]
[[Try the best to keep it calm and make the men understand]]
