They locked him in rusty chains. The wounds from their slashes turned to scars over time, and new ones appeared as they accomplished more great feats. He is powerless... {I am so sorry for stealing the spotlight} Altair thought over and over. The pain he feels makes him believe he deserved it. They kept true to their word and kept him just strong enough to watch them rule the world as they pleased. The pain they brought... he felt as if he could have prevented it all from happening. They would bring more guests to punish him. He felt it, and he felt as if he had deserved it, but he didn't wish for it to turn out this way.
One night, after 50 years of torture, they all came back. All five of them, though they were all drunk. He could see their faces washed up in alcohol, but their faces turned to joy while still being drunk. They did nothing but laugh as he sat there in chains while they whipped him and scarred his flesh. Soon, his world started to go blank as the stone-cold floor and the chains that once held him turned red. He heard the tank yell at the healer, who was wearing a white robe stained green from her vomit, to heal me... she was too wasted, but she tried. They all soon sobered up as his consciousness faded. Very soon, they all started to yell at the healer, not in sadness but in anger that she couldn't heal me.
And that's how I died. Well, that was my first death. Once a respected hero, tortured to death by his old party members. Cliché, right?
So, that's how I woke up in a body that was unscarred, with the rusty chains that used to hold me no longer on my flesh. I looked down and saw a stranger's leg in a bear trap. As I did, I gained the body's old owner's memories. There was nothing special; he grew up in the forest alone and stayed alone until he died while hunting a monster as big as a black bear. As I finished gaining memories, I looked down at my new foot in the original owner's bear trap... How embarrassing.
As I released my new foot from the bear trap, I stood up and looked down at my new body. It was a young man's body, lean and slightly built but agile, with heavy black hair as dark as the night sky and clear calluses. As I looked further down, I saw the trap my leg was in; it was covered in deep dark red. As I peered back at my new leg, I noticed the wound from the trap. My leg was a somewhat purplish color. My face scrunched up as I fell, grasping my leg. The pain was unbearable. I looked around in the shades of brown and green of the forest, searching for something or someone to stop the pain. My head pulsed as a memory from the old owner of the body surfaced. He had a bottle filled with an eye-catching red liquid at his hut, a potion that could help stop the pain. I remembered this. I reached out to a long stick just barely within my reach. Grabbing it and standing up, I used the stick for support and wobbled back to the man's hut, which was a mere grass field away. But as I wobbled back, it felt as if I was walking with a hound chewing up one of my ankles. When I made it to the old owner's hut, I searched and searched for that bottle filled with the ruby red liquid. After moving books and clothes around, I found it. Without hesitation, I opened the bottle and poured the substance on my leg. As the pain subsided, I fell onto my new bed and passed out.