The smell of bacon, or something very close to it, greeted Ian’s nose as he rose from the makeshift bed of cushions. Vale was still asleep with her head resting on Mal’s back. The great wolf lifted his head as Ian got to his feet. On his way up Ian gave Mal a vigorous scratching behind his ears. He made his way back to the bathroom and donned his stained, but dry, floofy shirt. One again assembling his pirate attire.
“Morning,” Ban said as Ian came back out and leaned on the breakfast bar. There was a fire going on a stove top, though Ian couldn’t determine its source. No wood or apparent gas controls; it was simply there.
“You have bacon here?” Ian asked as he parked himself next to the kitchen counter. A contented sigh escaped his lips as he allowed the familiar smell wash over him.
“Of course we have bacon. This is Paragore, not the Abyss,” Ban slid the greasy strips of meat onto a plate and handed it to Ian, along with a mug of steaming black liquid. “I suppose you wouldn’t expect us to have Jara Ink either?” He threw on several more slices for himself and savored his beverage.
Ian took his breakfast to the table and sniffed at the cup of Jara Ink before taking a tentative sip. “Oh, coffee, I missed you so much! I might survive this world yet.”
“Jara Ink,” Ban corrected.
Ian ignored him, too pleased by the knowledge that even in the direst of circumstances coffee and bacon were still on the menu. Of course, this also made him wonder about the nature of coffee and bacon if it could transcend worldly boundaries. But he had long ago learned not to question the origin of delicious foods, that had also been the day he Googled the vanilla flavoring of his favorite ice cream.
Vale got up, stretching and yawning as Ian returned to the main room. She pulled herself away from Mal, who immediately stood and shook himself off. The elf moved into the kitchen and poured herself a mug of Jara Ink and found a spot to sip it near the table. Her mind was elsewhere.
Last night a disturbing dream, or perhaps it was a vision, had plagued her sleep. In the dream, she had seen the end of everything. Ian was glowing purple and floating above the world. Beneath him, Paragore was in ruins and a massive shadow spread across everything. The only light shone down in the symbol of the Harlequin Court. She would speak to The Seer about this as soon as she could. He would know what to make of her dream, but it would have to wait until she completed her mission and returned Ian home.
“So, we are heading to the Bazaar to collect a mage, then traveling back to the Ironwood to investigate the cave?” She asked while refilling her cup. Despite having woken minutes ago she was already far more alert than Ian. Her morning stimulant was an indulgence, rather than Ian’s gulping necessity. She then sniffed at a strip of bacon before passing it to Mal, whose tail thumped with gratitude. She opted to eat a handful of assorted seeds from her pack instead.
“That would be the best plan of action, though we are not recruiting a mage from one of the guilds,” Ban said as he finished cleaning up in the kitchen, then he joined the others. “There is no telling how deep the Court’s influence runs in this city. Hence the Bazaar.”
Ian took a swallow of the hot Jara Ink and nonchalantly slipped a few more strips of bacon to Mal. At least the little old things like corruption never change, he thought bitterly. Though it did give him something familiar to wrap his brain around, to begin working towards a solution.
“Okay then, we’ve got ourselves a plan,” Ian spoke up. “We’re hoping your friend will be able to help us with his magical detection skills? And perhaps he can cloud me from the Court’s sight as well, or maybe there’s an item we can pick up to do that? Not to mention I am going to need a change of clothing.”
Ian decided his nerd knowledge couldn’t all be worthless, and he was tired of feeling that way himself. The silver experiment hadn’t paid off last night, so that was one myth down and only a few thousand to go. If he was going to be in a game of Demons and Delving it was high time that he started playing. And he knew that the best way to accomplish any adventure was to ask questions.
Vale and Ban turned to him at the same time with looks of surprise.
“What?” Ian asked, regarding them coolly, “I am a reasonably intelligent man. I have been a little off-center since being thrown into a completely different world, but you’d be having a much harder time on Earth.” Ian held up a hand before they could ask, ticking off his fingers. “To sum up your experience on Earth, imprisonment, endless questioning, and possibly dissection. It would not be pleasant.”
“Charming,” Vale remarked, her tone laced with sarcasm.
Over the course of breakfast, they created a plan for their trip to the Bizarre Bazaar, a massive market on this side of town. Ban insisted they could find anything inside the market. Which Ian highly doubted considering his shopping list consisted of 9mm caliber bullets, a machine gun or seven, and possibly a hand grenade or two.
As they readied to go, Vale fed Mal the last of the bacon, promising the wolf a proper meal later. He was already back to his usual energetic self, tail thumping furiously as he ate. They set off into the mid-morning sun on alert for any signs of trouble. Ban had loaned Ian one of his shirts before they left. A blood-stained white shirt was something people tended to notice. When Ian stepped out into the light with his midriff exposed and the fabric billowing behind him in the breeze, he was pretty certain that he was still going to turn a few heads. He didn’t voice a complaint, but everything in his body language spoke to his unhappiness at the ordeal.
A brisk walk from the safe house and they reached the entryway to the Bizarre Bazaar. A gray stone wall ringed the entire space to keep the market from spilling over into the city proper. The entrance was an impressive archway crafted from polished obsidian, extending wide enough for a herd of cattle to pass through. A true catastrophe of colors hung across the arch in a banner. Reds ran into greens which ran into pinks which ran into golds. The words Bizarre Bazaar were scarcely visible through all the busy coloring. They filtered in with the rest of the crowd to find an endless sea of tents and people.
“This place never closes,” Ban explained. “Unlike most markets, this place is always crammed full of merchants, customers, and entertainment. It’s why the King decreed this to be the first all day, all night market.”
Vendors purchased or rented plots to set up a wide array of shops. Streets weaved between and around the tents and stalls. Ian imagined the nightmare of illegal deals that must go on in such a busy space. Lights danced from the many tents and the sound of music carried on the air, giving Ian the feeling of a state fair. It certainly was an inviting sight.
Ban leaned over and poked Ian. “Remember what we talked about at breakfast. Buy nothing, sign nothing, agree to nothing. The deals, verbal or otherwise, made here are binding. Now let’s go, Ian, you are with me. Valethalassa, I trust you can manage yourself?”
She shot him a quick glance of acknowledgment and agreed to meet back at the entrance in two hours. She needed to find a replacement bow and restock some of her gear for the journey into the wilderness. She still did not trust Ban implicitly, but she trusted him enough to look after Ian while she took care of her own business. Being in the Order of Brass went a long way with her opinion of the minotaur.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
She was aware that Ian was staring at her as she departed. She knew she had become something of a security blanket for him in this strange new place. Waiting until it would be embarrassing for him, she waved over her shoulder. The chuckle from Ban was enough to let her know Ian had definitely still been staring. She allowed her thoughts to drift to the strange man who had stumbled into her life and allowed herself a secret smile. He’s a lot of trouble, but I suppose he isn’t all bad, she thought.
A few steps behind her Mal padded hastily along, trying to shrink himself down. He was hunching his shoulders and lowering his tail, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible to the other shoppers.
Ban and Ian took off down the crowded street in the opposite direction. It was chaos incarnate. Everywhere Ian looked people were buying and selling imaginable, and quite a few unimaginable, things. On top of that, there was no rhyme or reason to the layout at all. A fruit vendor was hawking berries next to a clockmaker, who in turn was next to a shifty peddler selling exotic birds. Birds that were talking, singing, and otherwise putting on a show to attract customers. Ian found his feet moving towards the bird stall before a firm hand clamped on his shoulder.
“Careful Ian,” Ban said, pointing towards a bird whose feathers were shifting colors in an intricate repeated pattern, “That is a Hypnokeet. Watch it for too long and you’ll buy the vendor’s entire stall.” Ban tugged Ian away, breaking his line of sight to the bird. Ian blinked and shook his head as Ban freed him from the effects of the hypnotically swirling feathers.
Ban guided them toward the back of the Bazaar. Ian had no idea how Ban knew where he was going in this maze of sight, sound, and smell. A massive lumbering form walked out onto the street, forcing Ian to duck around it. He made to shout out a warning and froze. Flashes of his fight in the warehouse flooded his mind as his heart pounded in his chest.
After receiving several shoves and shouts for him to move, he realized that the rest of the crowd was not panicked by the behemoth’s presence. Ian calmed himself and caught up with Ban. He wildly pointed back to the golem, noting a black-robed figure following behind in its wake.
“Wh- what is that?” He asked when he found his words.
Ban looked over his shoulder towards the golem and gave a deep grunt of contempt. “Praetorians Golems. Created to guard and protect the wealthy and powerful. Generally, with no regard for any other form of life. Some foolish souls doubt their efficacy since they do draw attention to the target they protect, but it makes no difference. Hiding becomes irrelevant when you have a tireless killing machine with the single directive of ensuring your safety. Best for even decent people like you and I to avoid them whenever possible. They are remnants of a dark time and should all be destroyed.”
Ian had no trouble complying with Ban’s advice. He was trying to take in as much of the Bazaar as he could while avoiding any pitfalls, which was a delicate dance. They stopped at the stall of a clothing vendor that catered to big and tall type customers. Ian came out wearing a dark blue shirt that fit him properly. A pair of gray corduroy-type pants, and his previously acquired pair of soft leather boots. It left him feeling worlds more comfortable, aside from the minute pang of guilt at Ban’s having to foot the bill. Ian was not used to others paying his way and he vowed to himself he would pay Vale and Ban back if he could.
“Thank’e laddies. Do come again,” The short man who ran the shop called after them in a distinctly dwarven accent.
A few distractions later, Ban and Ian reached their destination. A ramshackle utilitarian tent. There were tears in the blue fabric, threads hung haphazardly around the entrance, and the unmistakable stench of alcohol permeated the air coming from within. Compared to many of the other establishments they’d passed this tent was a true disgrace.
“Roland! Roland Altaeus!” The heavy fist of the minotaur crashed against the support beam of the tent. “I know you’re in there!” The fist crashed again, and Ian was certain the whole tent was going to collapse.
“Whozat?” Came the reply from the darkened interior of the tent, a mixture of drunken slur and sleepy daze in the tone. “I flamed your payment yesterday, I swear…” The voice fell into an unintelligible mush as a shapeless mass of blankets dragged itself out into the light.
One by one the layers of cloth peeled back to reveal, Roland. The mage was almost as tall as Ian, with the sunken hollow cheeks and the glossy dark-ringed purple eyes of a committed alcoholic. His shoulder-length black hair hung about his face with one chunk still plastered to his cheek. He disentangled himself from the depths of the tent, kicking away the last blanket and stumbled out. Roland’s deep azure robes hung from his shoulders revealing a slight build beneath. Thin dexterous fingers wiped the sleep from his haggard face. He leaned heavily against a small counter that Ian had mistaken for scrap. The wood groaned under the addition of Roland’s weight but to the amazement of all, it held. After a poorly suppressed belch, Roland finally devoted his blurry attention to his surroundings.
“Ban? What are you doing here?” Roland asked.
Ian snorted at the mage’s appearance. He opened his mouth to ask if this man would be capable of helping them when he couldn’t even help himself to a shower. But before the words could form Roland’s violet eyes shifted from hazy exhaustion into remarkable clarity and focus. The contrast was startling. Ian saw the calculating wisdom in those eyes as they roamed over him. Then, as if seeing nothing impressive the moment passed. The placid look of a man shaking off a fog of sleep settled back onto the mages sunken face.
Ban observed Roland and nodded, “I don’t know how many times I’ve told you, but you need to lay off the drink.”
Roland made a gesture for Ban to skip to the point.
Sighing Ban continued, “Listen, I’m here because I’ve got a job for you.” He pointed a finger at Ian, “This is Ian, and he is… rather far from home. He needs some help getting back, and I intend to assist him, but we’ll need your talents as well if we’re going to succeed. Ian awoke in a cave two days ago. The cave sounds magical in nature. We are going to examine it, and by we, I mean you. You’re going to help us figure out exactly what spell was cast on him to land him there in the first place. Then we can send him back home where he belongs. If you do this, I will consider us even.”
Roland closed one eye and let the other roam back to Ian, sizing him up anew. Then without a word he disappeared back into his tent. The sound of clanging metal and falling books, peppered with curses, came from the inside for the next few minutes.
Ban tapped his fingers on the front of the stall while waiting. He focused on his breathing to keep his impatience at bay. He knew it was impossible to push or rush Roland. He also took a moment to remind himself that Roland, his friend, did have many talents. Present appearances, and smells, aside.
When Roland reappeared, he was wearing heavy purple travel cloak and toting a weighty book on a chain around his waist. He leaned heavily on his staff which was little more than a thin stick with a sphere of gold on the tip.
“You know I’d just love to help you out old friend, but as it happens I have some pressing business to attend to. I was heading to the Thorson Keep over in Dunkir… Denkri? The dwarf place with the mountains. King umm… well, the King has some urgent magical contracting work, so I really need to get going.”
Ian glanced at the inscription on the cover of Roland’s book as he spoke to Ban. The pair were arguing over the importance of Roland’s supposed job. Ian continued to stare at the sigil, he couldn’t take his eyes off it. And suddenly he grimaced in pain as a headache worse than any he’d ever felt before swelled in his temples.
Roland noticed the reaction and followed Ian’s line of sight to his book. One of his eyebrows crept up, “Ian, is it? Are you studying any of the schools of magic of late? Maybe have some powerful casters in your family history?”
“What? No. Magic isn’t a big thing in my part of the world," Ian replied.
“Hmm. Well, that is interesting, but not that interesting. Another time maybe. I wish you luck on your journey, Gents!” Roland said with an air of finality.
“Oh, I understand, friend. Do what you must," Ban said, playing along with the farce, knowing that there were only two sure-fire ways to get Roland interested in anything. Gold, which he didn’t have in great supply, or intrigue. “We will find our own way to get Ian back to his world. You see, he isn’t some unlucky soul from Paragore who had an enchantment backfire on him. No, it’s something much more interesting. And much more dangerous. Probably not anything that you would be familiar with anyway, so have a nice trip to Dekenrich!”
Roland stopped in his tracks and rotated around slowly, “I suppose I do have a little time.”