"The Dark Lord's forces are always gathering," the old man slurred from the other side of the table.
Mark, Sebille and Tusky were having dinner in a very nice inn, talking with some of the local people. Sebille—being a princess—was quite picky, but Mark and Tusky were eating with gusto. A lot of dishes were similar to those in the real world—which didn't really make sense in Fantasiaia, because the ingredients were supposed to be different.
But, at least this way the players who preferred familiar flavors would eat more. It was a good business plan, well worth the inconsistency in world-building.
"This Dark Lord sounds like an evil guy," Mark observed.
The drunk old man looked at him with wide eyes. "How'd'ya know that, yang man? Ya a mind reader or sumthin'?"
"No, I just know his like," Mark said. "I've got some experience dealing with them."
[
"I do!" Mark insisted. "I've played tons of video games!"
Well... he had a point there.
[
"So what's up with this Dark Lord, old man?" Mark asked. "Do you have details?"
"Nuthin' much. Popped up few weeks ago, called himself Dark Lord. He's gotta skeleton army, so he's gotta be evil!"
"This is convenient," Tusky spoke up. "We were in great need of bad guys to fight. Me and my husbando will crush them all!"
She then prodded Sebille, who was in the middle of rolling her eyes.
"And I will burn them all!" Sebille said with fake enthusiasm.
"Heh. You can't burn skeletons, silly girl!" the orc lady said, flashing her fangs with a wide smile.
"Well, then I'll set this Dark Lord on fire instead!"
"You can't do that if we crush him first!"
(Actually, she could light the corpse on fire, but let's not get into these technicalities.)
"Ah, you're right," Sebille said, trying to appear to be sad. "Then I'm just going to go shopping instead."
"Wh— What?! How does that help?"
"It doesn't, but it's something I like to do."
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
"Aaaaaand let's get back to the Dark Lord," Mark interrupted their bickering. He preferred facing hordes of evil instead of Sebille's shopping list. "Tell me old man, do you know where this Dark Lord currently is?"
"Huh? Oh! Ya know, just be at the southern gate at 8:00 PM. The Dark Lord'll arrive 'round that time."
"Huh, nice," Mark said, then shook his head. "I mean, how horrible!"
"Mark, it's almost already past 7 o'clock," Tusky exclaimed. "We should hurry to the gate!"
"That's right," Mark said, looking at his watch. "Thanks for the info, old man. We gotta go save the city!"
"See ya later!"
Mark and the girls rushed out of the tavern, and headed in the left direction. It was the right direction to the gate.
"Why do we have to do this?" Sebille asked, ignoring the narrator's lame attempts at wordplay.
"What kind of protagonist would I be if I didn't fight evil?" Mark asked. "But you don't have to come, Sebille. It could be dangerous, and I'd hate to see you get hurt."
"Really?" Sebille asked, excited. "It's really okay if I sit this one out?"
Mark nodded. "Yes, just—"
Sebille disappeared in a boutique instantly.
"—make sure to meet up with us when this is over," Mark finished, frowning.
"Don't worry," Tusky said, then hugged Mark possessively. "I'm sure she'll find us eventually. She isn't part of the main cast for nothing!"
As the two of them continued on their way to the gate, Mark suddenly spotted something in the middle of the street. As they got closer, it turned out that the item was a microphone.
"What's this doing here?" Tusky asked as Marked picked up the microphone.
"I have no idea," Mark said, "But let's put it away. It will surely come useful later on."
That was true. When a main character finds an item like this seemingly randomly, the readers can be sure that it will be good for something in the future.
A few minutes later, Mark and Tusky marched through the city gate. Although there were walls surrounding Boring, the city didn't stop there. Many NPC-s (the ones who drew the short end of the stick) were camping outside, forming the slums of the city.
Most of the people were acting really strangely here. They tried to look busy, but it seemed like they were waiting for something. Most of then were checking out the time periodically, looking at the bell tower with the huge clock, or glancing at their mobile phones from time to time. They tried to hide it, but Mark's keen eyes saw that they were anticipating something.
Just when Mark was about to ask one of them, the bell began to ring, signalling that it was 8 PM. Suddenly a man began shouting loudly from the outskirts of the slums.
"IT'S THE DARK LORD! THE DARK LORD FINALLY REACHED THE CITY!"
Some of the people began to scream, though not too enthusiastically. They waved their hands above their heads, running up and down in panic. One of the beggars finished eating his sausage leisurely, then wiped his hands and began to shout as well. It was a really weak performance. Whoever hired these actors should be fired, really.
"Now listen to me buddy," the beggar said, shaking a fist to the sky, "Just try to sit here every day, waiting for the Dark Lord to appear at 8PM! Do this over and over, every single day, and we'll see how enthusiastic you'll be with your acting!!! You ain't paying us enough, you shitbag dickweeds!"
The poor beggar (who was obviously mad and deranged... poor guy) didn't look where he ran as he was shouting, and collided head-first into the city's wall. It must have hurt. Ouch.
The rest of the people eventually ran away, either inside the city walls, or to the right- or left side where the map ended. Only Mark and Tusky were left standing in the deserted slums.
"You see it?" Tusky asked. "The Dark Lord?"
"Not yet," Mark replied. "But I feel... another presence. It's something else. Coming from the city."
The two of them turned to look at the gates. Someone was coming through it. Someone much worse than the Dark Lord. Mark could feel it in his bones, and he shivered. He turned to look at the figure emerging from the shadows of the city wall. It was a—
CLIFFHANGER!