The last thing Alan remembered was getting shot in the face with an arrow.
He was sitting in his one-bedroom apartment watching TV after a double-shift at the pawn shop, when someone covered in face paint broke in wielding a legitimate bow and arrow, and shouted, “LIVE AGAIN, YOU WEIRD ASSHOLE!” and just… ended him.
Next thing he knew, he awoke in a forest with thick canopies of braided leaves like dreadlocks, and a sky filled with cloudy faces. Some were happy. Some were sad. He was almost certain one winked at him…
What’s going on?
Alan pushed down a rising panic and tilted his head. And why am I naked? Well, naked except for a leaf covering his junk. Something pinched his back, and he shot up, freezing at a pair of angry googly eyes staring back at him over his shoulder. He craned his head enough to get a good look at the long caterpillar glued to his spine.
“Off!” He tore at it, but the giant, fuzzy bug only slithered and pinched him harder.
His breathing became labored, the panic starting to win over.
I don’t like this.
Either that crazy Archer sent him straight to hell, or Richard slipped something in his soda on his way out the door. Best bet was to find somewhere safe to hide… where everything wasn’t staring at him.
He scrambled up, getting his bearings, when one of the blades of grass sticking between his toes intentionally tickled him, saying ‘goochi, goochi goo!’ in the most high-pitched voice he’d ever heard.
He jumped and backpedaled to the tree closest to him, hugging it, which bent unconventionally over him, casting an awfully large shadow.
“Get off me, mon,” it said in an exaggerated island accent, which sent Alan into a full sprint in the other direction.
His vision was blurry, as if he was existing in some kind of dream state, and right about now he really wished he would wake up.
When he couldn’t run any farther, he skidded across a circle of yellowish dirt, and bent over to catch his breath. If he was dreaming, this was the most vivid experience he’d ever been through. Alan eyed a nearby patch of grass suspiciously, half expecting tiny eyes to stare back at him. What he got instead was a sly grin of green-stained teeth.
This was insane. A tree just spoke, and the grass was taunting him. He almost preferred being hustled by carnies at the shop.
Maybe I took mushrooms after work that I don’t remember? Yeah, that would explain a lot, actually. Mushrooms laced with acid. He peered at his own hand, inspecting it, then looked down to the leaf covering him. It shined in outlined gold.
He was tentative to touch it at first, but it was just floating there by what he could tell. When he tried to lift it off, it wouldn’t budge, stuck in place as if cemented onto his pelvis. A rush of anxiety filled him, then the caterpillar on his back wriggled again.
“Ah! Will you stop!” he yelled and grabbed for it with all his might. Again, it might as well have been made of stone.
“Mew!” The low voice sounded like it came from far inside him.
Did a caterpillar just meow at me? Or in me, rather? What am I, a giant megaphone?
Alan took a deep breath and shut his eyes, willing the terrible mushroom trip to be over.
No such luck. When he opened them again, his vision had adjusted, and the vibrant world he woke to was that much clearer. The trees weren’t talking anymore, but he noticed each had a dark, central hole that pulsed like a beating heart. The trees have hearts… if they can talk, it’d make sense they’d have hearts. Wait, what was he thinking? Nothing about this place made sense!
Maybe he was having another meltdown…
Was the sun always that orange? In fact, it was blinking different shades. And the distant mountains puffed out smoke, sounding like deep bongo drums, except only when he stared at them. It’s as if the entire environment was competing for his attention. All except the thing he wanted most… Another person… so he could get directions the hell out of here.
If I don’t find shelter and a source of food before nightfall, I’m dead. I have to—
A frog-looking creature the size of a bowling ball ran frantically on its hind legs straight for Alan. He stood his ground this time, bracing for whatever was coming for him, but to his surprise the frog nosedived straight into the dirt, burying its face.
Alan scratched his head as it burrowed deeper into the hole – kicking grains everywhere – then plucked itself abruptly out. Its eyes blinked fluorescent purples and greens, rotating in opposite directions. It gagged then focused on Alan.
All time seemed to stop the instant they locked eyes. Alan sensed… something. A tingling on his skin.
“Live again, you weird asshole!” The voice that came out of the frog was the same as the man who buried an arrow in Alan’s face.
A shiver ran down his spine, wondering if that weirdo was about to show up again to murder him.
He looked up at the sun and figured he should continue running toward it. At least that direction seemed to be less crowded with pulsating reggae trees. Anything was safer than that forest.
Against his better judgement, he bent down to grab two large pieces of abandoned bark that would better cover his front and backside. A stray thought made him consider the pieces as skin of the sentient trees, which nearly made him vomit. But the rough consistency, the bits falling to the floor… it all felt so familiar to Earth.
It’s harmless, Alan. Just keep moving.
The prospect of home exacerbated the sick feeling. What if this wasn’t a trip? What if he was actually stuck in this new place? There’s so much he left behind. His mom… sister… Trish – his ex-girlfriend he had unfinished business with.
This can’t be the end… right?
“Ah!”
Something flew by him so fast it was just a blur. He turned to see a flying squirrel tilting to turn sharply. But there’s no wind? Weird. Instead, wispy tendrils of a white mist trailed its small body like kite tails.
“Chu. Chu. Chu. Chu.” Noises resounded from the rodent’s mouth, which then transferred midair into words Alan could understand. “Excuse me, kind sir. You are invading the circle of life here. When a tree molts, us animals get to reap the rewards, not oafs like you.”
Alan’s eyes widened. “This trip is getting worse by the minute. Richard? Richard? Please God tell me you’re in my living room with me somewhere, and that this is all a dream!”
The squirrel did one more loop like it was on some tethered path Alan couldn’t see, and settled calmly onto the forest floor in front of him. “Chu. Chu. Chu. Chu!” the chirps echoed in Alan’s ears. “May I please have that slab of bark? Its dimensions are perfect to complete the roof of my humble abode. I’m sure whatever you’re hiding under there will go unnoticed.”
Alan felt heat rising to his cheeks. This little son of a—
The embarrassment turned annoyance created a bubbling sensation in his forearms he never quite felt before. It’s like his skin was emitting energy evoked by the emotion. And for a second, he could’ve swore he saw mist coming out of his arms.
“Chu. Chu. Chu.” The squirrel cleared its throat, distracting Alan out of his focus, letting the sounds bounce around. “I do not mean to be rude, but without an expedient roof, I risk another wave of tree sap ruining the contents of my home. You understand, of course.” The squirrel held out its hand, which made Alan narrow his eyes.
“Tell you what.” Alan pulled back when the squirrel tried to swipe for the bark. “You point me in the direction of people like me – a town, something – and I’ll give you this piece.” Alan waved the one covering his backside.
“Chu.” The squirrel rubbed its chin. “Hmm. Both pieces, and you have yourself a deal.”
“Fine.” Alan tossed them in front of the squirrel. “Greedy brat.”
“Chu. Chu!” The squirrel pointed, grabbed his bark slabs, and flew away. “That way, dear friend of the squirrel brigade. You will find plenty of like-minded oafs if you travel on a straight course. Farewell!”
A prompt suddenly overwhelmed Alan’s vision:
TRADE COMPLETE
Title achieved: Low Merchant of Strangey Town
Alan Right
Title: Low Merchant of Strangey Town
Affinity: Mercantile
Saro: Colorless
Abilities:
Source Clairvoyance * (unique) – Inspect the origins of any item and understand its worth.
Final Negotiations ** (ultra unique) – Alan Right retains the ability to trade anything with any entity, at any time, so long as all parties are willing.
Alan swatted at the words to no avail, wondering how such a well-organized message was just popping up in his mind. A shiver crawled down his spine as he did his best to blink away the words.
Abilities? Negotiations? What in the hell?
Finally, by sheer will, the message disappeared, giving Alan a moment to take a breath.
I need to get home. I have to find somebody and get the hell out of here. Now!
The next thing he knew, he was meandering through a cloud of twinkling stars. It was beautiful until they became oppressive. Scrunching like angry faces and closing in, he decided to start swatting. After about twenty seconds of wading past them, he noticed a fully clothed man in loose robes spinning in circles.
Relief rushed through Alan at the sight of someone else. Oh my god, another person. His heart raced. Adrenaline rushed through his body, making his legs tremble as walked forward. Alan didn’t care that he probably looked like a weirdo. Everything was topsy-turvy weird here.
“Whooaaa. Whoooa.” The man moved like he didn’t have control of his own legs.
“Excuse me!” Alan exclaimed.
“Aha!” The man kept spinning, arms spread out. His robes were becoming almost hypnotic. “Yeeeesh?”
“Where the hell am I?”
“Why, Strangey Town, of course. Aha! Aha!”
“Of course,” Alan sighed. “Is there any way out of here? How do I wake up?” It was hard to keep focus on the guy from all the spinning. “And is there any reason why you’re making yourself dizzy?”
“Seventeen more. Please hold, young man. Sixteen… Patience.”
Alan did another quick survey to make sure the screaming Archer wasn’t hiding somewhere in a nearby bush. Then he inched away. The shrubberies just to his left were literally salsaing in place.
“Five… four…” At one, the man finally stopped. “There we go.” He sighed, smiled at Alan, and immediately vomited all over his robes.
Alan took a step back.
“Ahhhrh!” The man yelled at his clothes. “Dammit. Hold please.” He shut his eyes and hummed, tapping his fingers around in the air. He started to glow a vibrant white, and all at once, the man’s robes were immaculately cleaned. Alan discretely pinched himself and winced—pain makes you wake up, right? It didn’t work. A staff dropped from thin air right into the crazed man’s grasp.
“Aha! Gotcha!” He hugged the staff. “You’re back, Willypop Bunkerlilly. I was worried Mujungo would take you away forever.”
Okay, Mujungo bad. Noted, Alan thought. That is a nice staff though… Kinda looks like oak, maybe? Bit of cherry—
The world grew dark and the weapon more vibrant. His vision completely tunneled… So much so that he worried he’d go blind.
Breathe, he told himself, instinct taking over.
Different sections of the staff boldened in his vision. Somehow, he could sense the variant types of intertwined wood, and knew the mix had great value. It was an obscure instinct… and almost identical to how he’d value a trinket back in the pawn shop. Only here, it was far more potent. He didn’t just know it was crafted, he could sense it was crafted. And from three separate wood-types, each from a far away region – that were most certainly not oak or cherry now that he was in the zone. They were foreign to him, but that didn’t change the fact he understood the weapon was rare.
He shook himself free of the daze, refocusing on his immediate goal. Maybe after Richard drugged me for a nice laugh, I went on a mushroom-fueled road trip and slipped through the Bermuda Triangle. Alan grimaced at himself, being asleep made way more sense than that. Or something, whatever! Just need directions, retrace my steps, yeah, and go home. Simple.
Alan went to ask the strange, spinning Wizard for directions, but stuttered. The man was cradling the staff in his arms, petting it.
“Ah… Excuse me.” Alan poked him, jolting him out of his cuddle session. “If you could just help me, please. How do I get out of ‘Strangey Town?’ I need to get home—would very much like to go home now.”
The man eyed Alan curiously. His beard was a mix of black and grey, though his skin was as smooth as marble – like a newborn. “Get out? Why, you just got here. Nonsense, nonsense.” He waved the staff, which created a trail of white-colored stars.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
Alan took a step back, lifting his hands defensively, worried Mr. Spins-a-lot was going to cast a spell on him.
“Relax, my boy! Nothing will befall you here. This is peaceful territory, so long as you don’t piss off the gang of trees over there. Yes, that sounds about right. Well. Tootles!” He wiggled his nose and sprouted long whiskers that hung to the ground. Then he swam his arms toward the sky and started floating away.
Are you kidding me?
“Dude!” Alan slapped his hands to his sides, at a loss.
“Oh, right. Sorry. Still a little loopy from Mujungo’s stupid tasks. He’s such an ass-brain, that god of ours.”
“God?” Alan furrowed his brow.
“Yes. He gave Willypop here a brand-new Saro ability – Polarside. He lays the challenge, and we reap the rewards!”
“So… All that spinning was just a wish fulfillment quest or something. Mujungo isn’t actually bad?” Alan asked.
“Heavens no! He’s a pea-brain for the tasks, but he comes through in the end.”
“Okay…” Alan glanced around, as if this Mujungo might jump out and smite them because Mr. Spins-a-lot keeps dumping on his godly parade. “If he’s a god, maybe it’s not the best idea to criticize him?”
“Mujungo the wicked jerk-fellow of the yucky fog. Mujungo flat-hair scum cheeks!” the man screeched at the sky, and to Alan’s dismay, all of the clouds turned into laughing faces as they floated by. “See. Ha! He likes being made fun of.”
“So, he’s a jackass,” Alan tried, then shrank down when all the clouds turned into dark, angry faces.
Thunder boomed to accentuate the god’s dismay.
“That was very harsh, mister.” The man wagged his staff at Alan in a scolding manner.
Alan sighed, evoking the clouds to turn back into laughing faces. They produced fingers that they pointed at him, reminding him of the Mona Lisa’s eyes. Same effect.
“So, um, where can I get clothes, and…” Alan felt blood rush to his face. “How can I get this caterpillar off me?”
The man chuckled, covering his mouth.
“What?”
“You might want to get a move on, before that little guy blooms into a beautiful care-free butterfly. Then you two will be friends for quite a while.”
“What! Stop being so cryptic and help me!” Alan grabbed the man’s shoulders.
Just then, time seemed to stop, sucking away all the sound. Just when he was about to panic, another frog hopped up into his line of sight, startling Alan back a few steps. The frog splayed its long legs and arms, doing somersaults midair in slow motion like it was in zero gravity. He looked to Mr. Spins-a-lot for input on what was happening, but that guy was zeroed in so hard on the frog, Alan could only stare helplessly.
It burped out a comic-style bubble with a reel playing inside of it.
Alan squinted, still unable to hear anything, when the audio of the bubble came in loud and clear.
Is that… me?
Alan saw himself decked out in a mix of Wizard robes intertwined with fancy multi-faceted armor. He wielded two glowing daggers, and a staff and bow strapped to his back peeked over his head. The video showed him wading through a copious crimson fog, slashing at foes in ostentatious fashion – emitting different elements with every swing.
Goosebumps prickled his arms at the sight. Cool.
But, I can’t move like that.
The comic strip switched to the same epic version of himself smirking at an ethereal entity as he flipped a coin in hand. It reminded him of how he used to conduct himself in the pawn shop… The instant before he knew he was about to close a good deal. Only here, the stakes were raised.
He was in a palace of silver, bartering with a man in an exaggerated crown with points so long, they were almost taller than he was. The king held up one arm to cover some of his face and narrowed his eyes at Alan. ‘You, sir, have a deal,’ his voice echoed all around.
They flipped their coins to one another, and the ethereal entity floated to the king. The side wall of the silver castle exploded, and a large, armored deity emerged from the smoky debris and stood behind Alan.
An exchange just took place. But of what?
The bubble dispersed, and just like that, time sped back up and his senses returned. The frog landed like a superhero, arm and leg jutted out in a partial squat, then it sat down, staring at them as if nothing happened.
“By the falls of Hippyan!” The Wizard pulled at his hair, staring at Alan like he had ten heads. He stuck out his hand, expression serious. “I am Flint Degoba, and you will remember me, once you become a Herald of Ojin.”
“A what?” Alan’s whole body quaked as Flint wildly shook his hand.
“Promise me, young man, that you will remember.”
“Okay! Yes, Flint, sure thing – if you help me with my current issue.” Alan snatched his hand back and raised his eyebrows, glancing at the leaf clinging to his junk.
“Of course. Right this way. But first! What is your name?”
“Alan Right.”
“And your affinity in your home world?” Flint asked.
“Affinity? Um, I worked at a pawn shop, if that helps. Studied history before I dropped out.”
“Hm. A Merchant, then. Makes sense with the last bizarre image. I don’t even know where in the world that was!” Flint started humming, swirling his staff absentmindedly and creating another trail of stars. “Oh, Mujungo is going have a field day tailoring your prompts.”
“My what?”
Come to think of it, that message I saw before… it said Mercantile affinity, I think.
“No, wait, I’m jumping ahead. What was that, the video we just watched?”
“A clairvoyant frog, obviously,” Flint said, getting even giddier. “My, my, that was unexpected.”
“Was that supposed to be my future?”
“Quite possibly. I see it as a measure of your potential. Though one can never be certain with those zany things. However!” Flint spun on Alan with his finger up. “Even if there’s a remote possibility of you wading through the thick red fog of Saj Alta… it is worth our attention.”
The frog leapt toward them, performing the slowest flip imaginable in zero gravity. When it rolled forward, locking eyes with Alan again midair, it burped another comic strip. Both Alan and Flint gawked at the ominous bubble of red lightning and thunderous booms. In this reel, Alan stepped into view with dark eyes and a deep frown. Giant silhouettes marched up to his heels – one overly armored entity, another creature spreading spikey wings, and a six-armed female the size of a towering tree. He looked like he was defending something evil in the backdrop… Protecting some dark citadel bursting with smoke.
Just as Alan became entranced, Flint swung his staff through the bubble, wiping it away like a smudge of dirt. The frog superhero-landed again, then it hopped off.
“What the hell was that?” Alan said.
“Never you mind. Just the residue of a great prophecy. A burp after a wonderful meal.”
“Flint. Was that vision my potential too? I looked evil!”
“You, evil? Hah. There are better chances of the sky falling.”
The clouds suddenly appeared much bigger overhead, giving the impression of Flint’s quip coming true.
“Enough. Come! This way!” He spun again and beckoned Alan, who pushed thoughts of deals with kings and evil Alans out of his mind and followed in hopes to replace his leafy coverings with actual clothes.
Flint waved his staff and summoned a white carpet of cushy snow that lay suspended midair like a ramp. The noises coming out of his conjuring were bizarre – like ice in a blender – as more snow chaotically flew out of his staff and settled underfoot. Flint marched studiously up the ever-building ramp, Alan forced to trail behind.
“You wielded blades all containing Variant Saro.” Flint held his hat and peered over his shoulder, still in awe. “Your weapons weren’t confined to a single class. What we just witnessed, was legend. Heralds are fabled beings, Alan Right. It frightens me to say, I might be in the presence of someone worthy of godlike ascension.”
“Dude. All I want is to get home.” Alan began to shiver as the air grew thin the higher they trekked. He’d be lying if the prospect of legend didn’t sound appealing, but if it meant dealing with handsy caterpillars and funky gods… his original goal still stood.
It only took a minute, but they were already high in the air – level with the giant trees he first bumped into. Every step counted for about one hundred, since the snow ramp shoved him sliding forward with each movement.
“Home is Strangey Town now, Alan. The sooner you embrace it… the better.” Flint grabbed Alan by the shoulders and tossed him off the snow-carpet.
“Ahk!” Alan spun as he fell the first ten feet, cursing Flint, until he landed on an invisible cushion seemingly made of air.
Flint dove to follow, only he landed on his feet. “To the town square!” He held up his staff – the top shining a shimmering white – and burst into existence a set of stars that shoved them on a defined, midair path.
Alan held his breath in a mix of fear and anger as he suffered the invisible air slide.
More starbursts periodically sounded behind him like icicles shattering, and every time, the two of them shot forward faster.
Alan dared to look down. Big mistake. His breath caught in his chest. They were miles high now. The treetops looked like little pieces of tied-up broccoli, and he spotted people trekking far below. He craned his head back to see Flint holding onto his hat with a crazed smile and his staff held high in the air. The caterpillar still glued to his spine clung tighter, googly eyes whipping around in the heavy wind.
When he peered forward again, a defeated man who seemed to have given up all use of his limbs was being carried by a lustrous set of butterfly wings.
Alan refrained from cursing Flint out for pushing him, and instead pointed to the man. “What’s wrong with him?”
“Aha!” Flint shouted over the wind. “That’s what happens if you don’t find your way in Strangey Town. Mujungo really promotes getting to know one another. If you’re a loner, like that guy, then you’ll never figure out how to get that caterpillar off you, and eventually it’ll sprout wings that have a mind of its own. He’s probably sick of fighting it.”
Alan gulped.
“Hold onto your nips, my boy! We’re going down!”
Chrshh!
Flint’s staff burst one last time, and they dove toward a cul-de-sac of white bricks and a statue of a skinny boy in a totem-style mask with bright orange feathers.
Alan’s teeth clattered as the cold wind rushing up his nose made it hard to breathe. His stomach was in his chest from the pressure, and to his dismay, his nipples really did hurt.
Flint’s excited cheers were just about the only thing that made Alan think he would survive the fall.
He shut his eyes tight as wonky-colored huts and cave-like buildings zoomed closer into view.
I’m going to crash! Shit!
Seconds before splattering all over the white stone and painting it red, the fall abruptly ceased, and he gradually drifted down, landing gingerly.
Okay… guess not.
It was cold under his bare feet, and already he felt infinitely more embarrassed to be nearly naked. Wide, oversized eyes blinked from high windows around the town square. Flint seemed happy to see them.
“Did you enjoy your first slipstream? Hah. Mujungo loves fast travel. He throws us some good bones. They can be mighty tricky to create for the uninitiated.”
“It would’ve been better if you warned me first.”
“Ahh, where’s the fun in that?” Flint dropped a hand on his shoulder.
Alan grunted, holding back his annoyance. “How did you even know it was there? No, wait, better yet, how the hell did you control the wind like that?”
“Practice, my boy! My White Saro interacts splendidly with the environment. It took me eons to control. Eons, I tell you.”
I hope he’s kidding. I don’t want to be stuck here forever.
“Is Saro like, magic? You mentioned it before. When, uhh, Willypop gained a new ability or something.”
“Mm. A curious contender spawns this day. He is wise, and new, and teeming with potential. Yes! Saro is the force emitted from our bodies, produced from our Origin Worlds and transmitted here, through us. Each color has tendencies that are hard to learn and even harder to master.” Flint leaned toward Alan and put his hand up, as if telling a secret. “It’s a good thing I was a mage in my past life. Thanks to that, I can mold my Saro like clay!”
Flint clawed his free hand a foot away from his staff, evoking some white essence, and then formed it into a snowy-looking lightning bolt that he hurled at the sky. It cracked then puffed in all directions, creating a dome of snowfall, and every cloud above turned into shocked faces.
He just altered the weather on a whim. He’s insanely powerful. Is everyone here like this?
Flint flapped his robes which suddenly grew ten times in size, lifting him high into the air.
“Flint! Cut it out! I need clothes!” Alan shouted up to him.
“Calling all folk of Strangey Town!” Flint held up his staff, his voice projecting out of it like a megaphone. “I ask you all to gather around the square for an announcement! Wizards, Bladesmen, Knights, Hunters, and Dreamers! Come out! Healers, Merchants, Singers, and Explorers! I call on you all! Even the Stalkers of the caves! Come one, come all!”
“Mew!” the caterpillar meowed, and Alan felt the vibrations through his bones.
“Flint! I swear! Get this caterpillar off of me now or the deal’s off!”
Flint glanced down at Alan and swirled his staff toward him, creating a white silken cloak that draped itself around him. “I promise, after these words, my boy. Hang tight. This is extremely important.”
Alan gripped the cloak around him as all walks of life began to exit the buildings. One man in a tall hat violently pushed open saloon-style doors and strutted forward – oversized blades hanging from his belt dragging across the stone road. A fat woman with pigtails and a big red nose came sauntering out of a shop holding a dreamcatcher. Once the crowd became too big, everything became a blur.
“Folks!” Flint spread his arms and commanded his robes to lower him back down to Alan’s level. “We no longer have to fear the dreaded void eating our beautiful town. No more monsters stampeding to cave us in. There is one among us that may combat the unknown depths of Saj Alta… of Exou… of Covowel. And I… have found him.” He presented Alan to the sea of skeptical faces.
Of course they’re skeptical… I’m naked under this weird cloak, and they all know it. Even I’m skeptical. Everything since coming to this world has been bananas, and now a frog is claiming I’m some sort of hero? Ridiculous. Insane.
Glancing up at the clouds, they grinned at him. He suspected insanity was something he’d need to get used to.
He huffed to himself. The frog also showed me defending something clearly awful. I need to get out of here before I’m corrupted.
“What’s your basis, Wizard?” A powerful-looking man with a sleek bow and glowing arrows held his belt.
Alan focused on the weapon, causing his vision to tunnel like it did when he eyed Flint’s staff. He witnessed the origin of a strange green creature painting the wood of the bow among an armory full of the same replicas… all while the creature analyzed the real bow encased in glass. Alan could see the value difference immediately. The creature was creating counterfeits!
Alan shook free of the vision. It felt like ten minutes went by, but as soon as he returned, he knew it was only a heartbeat.
“One of our frogs showed it to me,” Flint called back, and everyone groaned.
Then chatter broke out, making Alan question Flint’s clout.
“Silence!” Flint exploded the tip of his staff, turning his light snowfall into a whirlwind on the outskirts of the town square. He gained everyone’s attention, including Alan’s. “Answer me this, Liustad. If there’s even a chance that we have a warrior who can wade through the red fog, is it not worth putting our efforts into getting him there?”
“I think Willypop popped too close to your head again, Flint,” Liustad said, and some of the other townsfolk began to chuckle. “With every great frog prophecy, there is an equally terrible one. We best ignore them entirely and stop wasting our time.”
“You are being stubborn for the sake of it. Do you deny the threat?”
“I do not. But I deny prophecies when we, ourselves, could be using the time to gain strength. You break us from a meeting for a ruse!”
“It is no ruse. It is potential!” Flint held up a strong fist.
“Oh yeah? What says the wondrous hero?” Liustad turned his attention to Alan.
Alan thought hard about what to say. On the one hand, he didn’t want to make enemies out of a powerful Archer on his first day. On the other, this dude was being a real dick.
His eyes were drawn to the man’s bow once more, that same strange sensation coming over him. A moment of hesitation quieted the crowd as they awaited his first words. Even though he hated it here, somewhere deep down, a part of him wanted Flint to be right. He is someone important. It’d be a far cry from his home life. Maybe this was a chance to start over and prove his worth – establish himself as a worthy figure of the community. At home, when he’d spot a forgery, he knew he was protecting the shop by sending the seller away. Here… he’d be protecting a whole town – horrible as the place may be.
He decided to take a gamble.
“I say your bow is fake,” Alan said calmly, prompting a row of gasps.
“What did you just say to me?” Liustad balled his fists, and Alan really hoped Flint was serious when he said Strangey Town was mostly peaceful.
Flint looked over at Alan, and Alan shrugged. “Wisterbeard. Armorer of great renown, are you among us?”
“I am.” A large fellow with a bushy beard wearing overalls made of metal stepped in front of the crowd.
“Test Alan’s claim, if you please.” Flint narrowed his eyes at Liustad, likely making sure he didn’t pull a fast one.
“Aye.” Wisterbeard stomped over to the Archer and held out his hand. “Don’t be frightened. A true Hail Whistler Bow would never crack under my hammer.”
With a furrowed brow, Liustad handed it over. Alan’s heart raced. He suddenly doubted himself and this strange power he was entrusting his fate to. The big man took his hammer from his belt, its face marked with runes like something a Viking might carry.
Bang! One slam of Wisterbeard’s hammer shattered the bow into several pieces, and the entire crowd broke out into chatter.
“Seems your days of chasing empty clout are over, Liustad,” Flint’s voice amplified through his staff. “And my days of prophesizing have just begun.”
The town grew chaotic. Some cheered, some threw fruits at the Archer, and some stared at Flint as he rose high on his robes again.
Alan was still annoyed by the itch on his back and was about to try ripping the caterpillar off again when his focus was pulled intensely inward into his mind… to a message.
The Eye of Mujungo centers upon you.
He laughs at your discomfort and smiles at your awe.
Welcome to Strangey Town. Prove your worth by swallowing a mound of dirt from the Black Sand and spitting it all over your face like a fountain. Twenty times should do.
0/20 Targeted Humiliations
Appease Mujungo and earn your first weapon.
Alan blinked several times, the town still going mad. What’s worse, the Archer’s attention was honed only on him.
“A scout!” Liustad pointed at Alan, his voice booming over the noise. “He must be! From a rival god – Lunest or Asa! Dorro! No one new has that kind of foresight. Who sent you?”
Alan waved his hands as more eyes clung to him. “I have no idea what you’re—”
“Mujungo will reward us for eradicating a spy. Slay him!”
Alan’s neck muscles tensed. Any number of projectiles or spells could be flung his way at any second.
I can’t die again. Not again. He remembered the intense pain, and couldn’t fathom what a second reincarnation would look like.
“Fool!” Flint boomed. “Mujungo bestowed these gifts!”
“You defend him because you are blind to subterfuge!” Liustad held out his arm and a white, deeply curved bow materialized into his grasp. He nocked a magically-charged arrow.
Fssh!
Flint waved his staff, creating a concaved half-moon ice barrier around Alan that blocked him off from the angry mob. Their faces distorted in the crystalline shield as everyone shouted their opinions. A flurry of arrows ricocheted off the ice.
Alan sighed, feeling more lost than before.
Uh oh!
He put up his fists when a man with long droopy curls and a sunken face skulked around the icy barrier. One of Liustad’s assassins set to kill him.
Leather armor was draped over his arms and shoulders, but his six-pack abs were distractingly out in the open. Although his appearance was threatening, his stance was anything but.
He rounded past the horizontal icicles and leaned against them.
“You seem like a man who wants out of here.”
Alan’s fists loosened, his eyes widening with promise. He looked up at an occupied Flint, then back to the man, and nodded.
“Good. Follow me.”