The month leading up to the expedition was a time of preparation and research. The entirety of Castle Belenus kicked itself into high gear preparing gear, working on spellwork, repairing and re-repairing equipment, and generally keeping busy. With a full contingent of 20 members of the guild going into the dead plane, combined with the fact that the client of the expedition herself would be attending – as well as staying in Castle Belenus for the few days leading up to the planeshift – this meant that the entire guild was at work.
Becenti announced the 20 guildmates early in the morning. Almost the entire guild crowded the Great Hall as he walked in, escorted by Whiskey, the great puppet holding a crate that he put on the ground for the older man to stand on. What had been a busy morning – or, as busy as placing bets on an arm-wrestling match between Heyma and Broon could be – became tense and quiet, a few hushed whispers emanating from the crowd here and there. Becenti was in his usual dress – business suit and all – and he had in his hand a small scroll that he began unraveling, looking very much like a salesman who had taken the town crier's job.
“Alright, settle down, now,” his voice was calm and assertive. He did not so much shout as his voice carried in the hall, “Wakeling and I have been hard at work deciding each and every member of the guild-”
“I hope it's me!” someone called out from the crowd.
“Silence, Lazuli,” Becenti said.
“Yeah, Lazuli,” a high-pitched voice yelled, “Shut the f-”
“Ms. Rosemary,” Becenti commanded.
Rosemary, who was next to Joseph, blushed a bit and quieted down, playing with the hem of her cloak.
“Now,” Becenti said, “It has been quite a while since the Amber Foundation was hired for an expedition job. Our choices were based on the abilities represented, the knowledge pool of the guildmember in general, and generally how Wakeling was feeling at the time.”
“As is the norm,” Ichabod whispered to Contort.
“However,” Becenti said, shooting an annoyed glance at Ichabod, “Just because you are chosen does not mean we think less of you. The number of members of the expedition was chosen by the client. I'm not about to say that 80% of our guild is useless.”
“Despite how true that may be,” Mallory said.
Becenti rolled his eyes, “I would be careful what you say, Ms. Freemason. That's 80% of the guild you just pissed off.”
“I can take 'em,” Mallory said with a shrug.
“Moving along,” Becenti said, “Just because you're not chosen for the expedition does not mean you'll be getting vacations.”
An evil glint was in the older man's eyes.
“Oh no,” he continued, “We have quite a few chores set up that will need multiple members. Krem to feed, stalls to clean, pipes to plumb. Now, both Wakeling and I will be on the expedition, so we're leaving the general day-to-day operations of the guild to Mekke."
He nodded to the warrior, who shouted, “You hear that?! That means we're going to whip ourselves into shape! When I'm done with you, we'll be the most efficient guild in the multiverse.”
“I pray I can go on the expedition,” Phineas rasped to Joseph.
“I thought Becenti said you were already in,” Joseph chuckled.
“Yes, but what if he was joking, or meant another Phineas?” the Deep One scratched at his arm nervously, “These thoughts, they keep me up at night…”
“Oh, get on with it!” Meleko shouted, “Come on, we wanna know whose on the job and who has to mop the floors for a month.”
A chorus of shouts agreed with the Jugdran. Becenti let out a deep sigh from the fourth interruption of the day. Joseph crossed his arms.
“Admit it, Becenti, we're why you day drink,” he said.
“One shot for each member of the guild, Mr. Zheng,” Becenti said, prompting a ripple of laughter in the hall. The older man hid his smile as he said, “Alright, the will of the people is laid bare. Who am I to deny them?”
“We have the guillotine and everything!”
“That was supposed to have been destroyed, Ms. Rosemary,” Becenti said. The laughter continued, ceasing only when Becenti unfurled the scroll in his hand. He began to read from it.
“The leading members of the expedition,” Becenti said, “Vyde Wakeling, myself, Broon Wildarm, Nash Rhide.”
“Knew you'd make it, Broon,” Rosemary slapped the half-orc's arm. Broon gave a satisfied smile in return.
“Who’s Nash?” Joseph asked.
“One of our Far Travelers,” Broon replied, “They're out right now.”
“Very kind. Very smart,” Phineas said, “They also are vegetarian.”
“Now,” Becenti said, “Our initial explorations will be broken up into teams, each led by one of the four I have just presented. Wakeling's team will be composed of Whiskey, Barbara, Meleko, and Heyma.”
“Oh, how exciting!” Heyma said.
“Broon's team,” Becenti continued, “Will be composed of Calacious Nine, Dama Runebreaker, Nova, and Contort.”
“Hell yeah,” Contort said, “No mops for a month.”
Dama Runebreaker let out a shout of victory, pumping her fist in the air. Joseph had only seen the dwarf a few times before, crossing the hallways in-between chores. Next to her was Nova, what Rosemary had described as Neon Elemental. Cyan painted, Nova was a large lump of light that floated like a cloud, with four beetle-black eyes floating in the mass of plasma.
He was also the resident master poet, though Joseph hadn't gotten a chance to read his work yet.
“My own team will be composed of Archenround, Mallory, Ichabod, and Ezel.”
Joseph raised an eyebrow at the older man. Becenti met his gaze, though his face was inscrutable. Hadn't he wanted Joseph to be on the expedition? Joseph had assumed that, had he been chosen, he would have been in Becenti's group. Was he not…
Was he not in the running?
“The last team, led by Nash, will be composed of Rosemary, Joseph, Phineas, and Gluh.”
“YES!” Rosemary screamed. The entire crowd turned inwards to stare at her. Rosemary's face became the same shade of her cloak, and she wrapped herself in it and said, “Uh, I mean, cool.”
“I made it in,” Phineas said.
“Yeah,” Joseph said, “Congrats.”
He looked down at the Deep One and said, “You're... happy, right?”
“I am...” Phineas's webbed hand went up to scratch the side of his neck, a few small scales glittering to the floor, “Ambivalent? I dislike adventuring.”
“But you want to go anyway.”
“I have never been to a dead plane.”
“Alright!” Becenti said, “That's the list. Return to your jobs, as usual, though everyone in the guild will be pitching in the for the expedition – going to gather supplies, meet with a few contractors here and there, the usual. Ichabod, Contort, Ezel, please stay here. The rest of you are dismissed.”
A few rumbling complaints echoed from the hall as the rest of the guild began seeing their way out. Joseph looked over at Becenti, giving him a quizzical look. Becenti simply shook his head.
Later, that meant. Joseph nodded. If Becenti wanted to talk to him about it, now was not a good time. Already he could see Contort crossing his arms and talking to the right hand about logistics.
“Hey, Joseph,” Rosemary said, “Mallory and I are heading into town to pick up some supplies. You in?”
“Nah,” Joseph said, “I have research I need to get done.”
“Alright,” Rosemary said, “Well, tell us what you want from the bakery.”
“The strawberry loaf, I guess.”
“Alright!” Rosemary gave him a smile, before she and Mallory began heading out the door. A few other guild members passed him by as he walked up towards the library, offering their congratulations. Joseph felt good as he walked into the library, making his way to the 'History of the Multiverse' section and taking out a few books.
***
More and more would Joseph find himself spending his time at the library as the month went on. No jobs had been assigned to him – save for the occasional accompaniment to pick up supplies for the expedition. As such, he decided that, if he was going to get back to Earth, he'd need to actually do the research necessary to find a way home.
Not that he didn't enjoy the Amber Foundation, he thought one day. No, he was beginning to like all of them. Phineas helped him with his research occasionally – as did Becenti when he wasn't busy. Broon would regale him with stories on the history of Londoa late at night, the half-orc himself working on studies of his own.
“The history of half-orcs on Londoa,” he said one night to Joseph's question.
“A history of half-orcs?”
“We're everywhere,” Broon said, “An entire subpopulation built up from orcs.... ah...”
“Doing it,” Joseph suggested.
“Aye, 'doing it,' with humans, or elves, I've heard of a few gnome-orcs out there. Most of us stay in Salthirn nowadays, but there's quite a few on Darkheld Landmass, for example.”
“I don't really see many humans out here,” Joseph noted, “At least, not here in Scuttleway.”
“They're recent arrivals,” Broon said, “Humans aren't native to Londoa. They only started coming here when Londoa was opened to the multiverse.”
“And how long ago was that?”
“Oh...” Broon put his book down, scratching his chin, “Three years ago? Two hundred? Not long, compared to other planes.”
“And they're already getting their game on,” Joseph chuckled.
Broon let out a gruff laugh, “Rule number one of humans, lad. They'll get it on with just about anything. Half-human hybrids are everywhere nowadays. Half-elves, Half-Eln, half-gnomes, satyrs...”
“Sounds about right,” Joseph said, “Wait, satyrs?”
***
He started his research on the history of the multiverse, but on suggestion of Becenti, began shifting gears towards the history of Epochia.
“Metahuman history often coincides and runs parallel to the history of the multiverse,” Becenti said, “And it's good to know your roots. Perhaps you'll find something there.”
He was pushing him more and more into the direction of metahumanity, Joseph noticed. He wasn't sure how to react to it. Then again, he wasn't sure how he'd react to anything if he got home.
When he got home. He had to keep reminding himself of that. That was the goal. That was why he was still with the guild. Yet when Joseph cast his glance out towards the open door of the library to hear the laughing voices of the guild, when late at night when Phineas, or Rosemary, or Broon would visit him and help him with his studies, he felt an odd pang, a feeling he couldn't identify. It made him feel uncomfortable. Trapped, even.
And yet he could not help but feel a sense of shocked sorrow when he opened up one of the books one day and his eyes fell on the coffin.
It was the same design, down to the very eyes of the dragon clenched in the sarcophagus's arm, painstakingly sketched in sharp detail. Notes in a language Joseph didn't recognize pointed out specific parts of the coffin, and the other page was covered in notes and observations. Joseph turned the cover over. It was an old book Becenti had lent him – a diary from some explorer or other. Parts of it had been translated into English by Becenti, yet much of it was still in the fevered, scratched language of the diary's original owner.
Joseph closed up the book. He would need to ask Becenti about the author – and the sarcophagus. It couldn't be a coincidence that the same sarcophagus was in Nai Nai's basement. A trophy from her time as a Far Traveler. He intercepted Whiskey as the great puppet carried a crate downstairs from a dock on the top of Castle Belenus.
“You seen Becenti at all?” he asked.
Whiskey gave a shrug, before pointing up. In his office, then, or Wakeling's. Joseph continued his way upstairs. He was getting used to the endless climbing – some of his chores entailed cleaning the upper levels of the guildhall – and soon found himself at the closed door of Becenti's office. Becenti, however, had put up a sign on the door.
“Off-plane,” Joseph read, “Not expected for another three days.”
With a frustrated sigh, he turned to start going up the next flight of stairs towards Wakeling's study. Then he noticed someone lying at his feet.
Chadwick. A shiver ran up Joseph's spine. More and more, he was starting to not like the cat as Chadwick stretched, claws opening up and lightly grazing his shoes as he gave Joseph an amused look. For all intents and purposes, he seemed like a regular cat. Who could talk. Who was an asshole (but what cat wasn’t?) Whose shadow was far larger than his frame and, Joseph noticed, sometimes winged.
“Something I can help you out with, Chad?” Joseph asked.
“Chadwick, please,” the cat said, “If I am to have such a ridiculous name, you might as well say it in full.”
Joseph began stepping over the calico, who let out a lazy paw, a single claw extending out of a toe and catching onto the back of Joseph's pant leg. He allowed himself to be dragged for a few moments before Joseph turned and glared at him.
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
“Something I can help you with, Chadwick?”
“That diary,” Chadwick said, “It belonged to Lord Iresine.”
Joseph’s eyes narrowed, looking at the journal before turning his gaze back to Chadwick.
“Yes, indeed,” Chadwick said, “A metahuman of some renown, back on his adopted plane. An explorer, too, you see...”
The amusement dancing in his emerald eyes grew merrier, but he didn't say anything more. Joseph relented.
“What do you want?” he asked, rolling his eyes.
“Yes, as it so happens, I have recently been in competition with dear Barbara over our shipment of spiced milk from Cherryfair,” Chadwick said.
“Barbara?” Joseph felt uneasy. The great toucan wasn't one to be trifled with. Even Becenti avoided her rage at times, “Spiced milk?”
“Yes, she recently found a taste for it. Great minds think alike, after all,” the cat winked and licked his paw, “However, that also means she found my supply.”
“The great Chadwick, robbed?” Joseph snarked.
“Robbed, bamboozled, mugged like a peasant on the street,” Chadwick mewled, “It's a rather pathetic image, isn't it?”
The sight of the cat as he lifted himself up to lick his stomach and crotch, paw still desperately latched onto Joseph's pants to support himself, was burned into the metahuman's mind.
“So if I get you your damn milk back, you'll tell me more of this... Lord Iresine?”
“And what that silly little sarcophagus is all about,” Chadwick purred, “Is that a fair deal?”
Joseph thought about it. Three days, he reasoned, wasn't actually as bad as he realized. He could easily wait for Becenti to return and ask him about Lord Iresine then. However, as Joseph glanced down to the floor of the main hall, where a small company of trolls were helping Broon, Heyma, and a few other guildmates carry barrels of dried meats into the storage room, he realized there was a good chance that Becenti would be too busy. More and more, the right hand of the guild was off-plane, or on some other landmass.
“Alright,” Joseph said, “I'll get your milk. Then you spill the details. All of them.”
“Of course,” Chadwick said. In a flash, he had clambered up to Joseph and pushed himself off, using his chest as a springboard, landing on the cross-guard of the glass blade in the center of the Great Hall. He bounded down it and towards the front entrance, weaving through the trolls' legs.
“Great,” Joseph said, “What have I got myself into?”
***
He spent most of the afternoon thinking about what to do, going into the library to maintain the illusion of his research, his eyes scanning each shelf almost absentmindedly. Barbara took attention.
“Trouble finding a book?” she asked.
“Ah,” Joseph searched for an excuse, “Yeah, actually, I was wondering if you knew what this was.”
He walked over to where she had perched herself on the desk, opening up Lord Iresine's journal and flipping it to the page with the golden sarcophagus. Her blue-bead eyes narrowed at the sight of the book, which Joseph had learned wasn't so much a sign of aggression as it was the fact that, even with her glasses on, her eyesight was poor. A twinge of guilt stabbed at him. He didn't want to compromise what little friendship he had made with the toucan.
“Mmm,” she said, “I'm afraid I do not recognize it. Have you talked to Myron?”
“Becenti's out,” Joseph replied, “And Wakeling's too busy these days.”
“Mmhmm,” she brought up a claw and adjusted the glasses on her beak. Joseph's eyes searched around to see if there was any store of milk anywhere. Would it be in a crate? A jug?
“Well now, if you're just going to stand there, you might as well help me,” Barbara said.
“Help you?” Joseph asked.
“Yes, help me,” Barbara rolled her eyes, “As you know, I have a reputation to keep up here in the guild as aloof and unapproachable.”
Joseph cracked a small smile, “Despite evidence of the contrary.”
She slapped him with her wing playfully, “Oh, hush now. However, I have a rather... awkward situation with which I need your assistance.”
“What’s up?”
“A book of mine was borrowed by Mekke,” Barbara said, “Combat Theory in a Post-Multiverse World.”
“And you want it back?” Joseph said.
“Yes, now be a dear and get it for me. It's been several months since she's returned it, and Mekke has always returned books on time.”
“Hmm,” an idea began forming in Joseph's head. Perhaps he didn't have to dance with guilt, “Tell you what: I'll give you a deal.”
Barbara turned her beak towards him, a signal equivalent to a raised eyebrow, “Oh?”
“You really want that book back?” Joseph asked.
“Indeed. I need to lend it to a colleague of mine in Angelus.”
“How important is this… book of yours?” Joseph leaned down on the desk.
“Joseph, dear,” Barbara's voice had an amused, if dangerous tone, “Are you suggesting... a trade?”
“Well, you said it yourself,” Joseph reasoned, “You have your reputation to keep up as aloof. And it's not very aloof of you to fly all over the guildhall to find Mekke about an overdue library book.”
“Indeed,” Barbara said.
“And I actually need something from you,” Joseph said, “That shipment of spiced milk.”
“Why do you need it?” Barbara said, “Is it for that rat-like cat, Chadwick?”
“No,” the lie slipped easily off of his tongue, “It's for Rosemary. She likes spiced milk.”
“Rosemary.”
“Yeah.”
“Ms. Rosemary is lactose intolerant,” Barbara said.
Internally, Joseph winced. Mind racing, he changed the story, weaving another fib.
“Alright, I was lying,” Joseph said, “Broon, you know him?”
“Everyone in the guild knows Broon, you fop,” Barbara said.
“Yeah, turns out he's... actually got a taste for spiced milk,” Joseph leaned further in, “Don't tell anyone.”
“Oh?” Barbara looked surprised, “I don't remember him mentioning that to me.”
“Yeah, he's, uh, keeping it on the down-low,” Joseph gave a conspiratorial (and a bit over-exaggerated) wink, “So, I get you the book, you give me the milk. For Broon.”
The great toucan thought it over for a few moments. Her beak began clacking quickly, a chittering clap that set Joseph on edge.
“Very well,” she decided, “Get me that book back, and the spiced milk is yours.”
“Deal,” Joseph extended out a hand. Barbara shook it with a claw. As her long claws dug into the back of his hand, he suppressed a wince. He was playing a dangerous game, hiding the truth from her. Still, it was better than stealing.
Journal in hand, Joseph began searching for Mekke. He started with the weapons room, looking inside to see Meleko and Phineas playing cards at the table. An unpolished sword stood unattended by a modern-looking assault rifle on the floor.
“Hey guys,” Joseph said.
“'Ey, Joseph!” Meleko gave a smile, “What can we help you with?”
“Looking for Mekke,” Joseph narrowed his eyes at the discarded weapons, “What are you guys doing?”
“Upkeep on weaponry held by the guild,” Phineas answered, flipping a Faith card onto the table, “But we are bored, so we are taking a break to play Myth Battle. I am winning because Meleko is bad at the game.”
“I take offense to that,” Meleko muttered, “Sweet Glor, I win a few times against this guy, and he switches to his main deck and starts wiping the floor with me.”
“I have wiped the floors with you many times,” Phineas said, “It was our chore last night, do you not remember?”
The Jugdran rolled his eyes before turning back to Joseph, “Mekke's outside in the garden, I think. Talking with G-Wiz about something or other.”
“Got it,” Joseph said.
“Promise you won't tell Mekke we're slacking off?” Meleko asked.
“I didn't see anything,” Joseph said. He closed the door and began making his way downstairs.
Mekke, true to Meleko's work, was outside in the garden. In her usual training spot by the fountain. G-Wiz was beside her – she had changed her hair color again to a bright bubblegum pink, though the spiked tips were a solid ebony. It was a good look, all things considered.
“Ah, Joseph,” Mekke said, “We were just talking about you.”
Joseph crossed his arms as he approached, “And?”
“We were talking about how your stance is off all the time, Noodle,” G-Wiz said.
Back to the old nickname. Despite the jab, Joseph felt happy that G-Wiz was starting to recover, “And?”
Mekke Mekke glared at Joseph for a moment, before rolling her eyes, “You're becoming too reliant on that metapower of yours.”
“I've just been practicing it more,” Joseph countered, “Look, actually, not what I'm here for. Mekke, Barbara needs her book back.”
she turned and walked over to her bag that sat by the fountain's base.
“Which one?” she asked.
“Ah,” Joseph thought back, “Combat Theory in a Post-Multiverse World.”
“Light studying?” G-Wiz snickered.
Mekke ignored that, “Interesting times are afoot, I thought I’d keep myself busy in case they come here.”
She began to hand the book to Joseph, before thinking otherwise and pulling away. There was a dangerous idea glinting in her eyes.
“Oh no,” Joseph groaned.
“It comes to my thought that you rather need this book, Joseph,” Mekke said.
“Jesus, here we go,” Joseph rolled his eyes, “What do you need?”
“Oh, on one of those errands, then,” G-Wiz said.
“What do you mean, 'one of those'?”
“Happens sometimes,” G-Wiz replied, “Errand for errand, trade for trade. You're probably after something actually useful, but you have to trade up to get to it.”
“Well, yeah,” Joseph said, “The book for milk, milk for, ah, secrets.”
“Secrets, indeed,” Mekke said, “Well, you don't seem very busy today if that's all you're done. And you didn't exactly take my advice just now.”
“Petty,” Joseph said.
“Petty,” G-Wiz agreed.
“Joseph, if I'm going to give this book back to you, I need you to retrieve something for me,” Mekke said, “Dama Runebreaker recently borrowed a weapon of some import to me. A sword. Vlaynian style. I need you to get it back.”
“Alright,” Joseph said, “And... where is she?”
“Should be in town,” Mekke said, “G-Wiz, why don't you guide him to her usual haunts. Make sure he doesn't get mugged.”
“Right, boss,” G-Wiz looked at Joseph, “Come on, Noodle. Don't get your pants twisted.”
She guided Joseph around the guildhall, going out onto the busy streets of Scuttleway. At this point, the Inner Sun was beginning to dim. This deterred no one, however, as the people of Scuttleway went about their daily lives, invigorated by the onset of dusk. With a turn, G-Wiz led Joseph down a side road, moving away from the markets and residential addresses and into a network of back alleys old, run-down buildings.
“Uh,” Joseph said, “Where are we going?”
“Dama Runebreaker usually hangs out at a bar in the Slums district,” G-Wiz said, “The Horrid Welt, it's called.”
Based on how easily she moved from street to street, Joseph theorized that she and Nole had been frequent patrons of the bar as well. The city became quieter as they went down the sidestreets. A more dangerous air edged its way into the atmosphere. The people became poorer – homeless men and women rested beside pockmarked, run-down buildings, staring at him with listless eyes. The usual Scuttleway Militia patrols disappeared entirely. Instead, they were taken over by the guards of the underworld – shrouded in black cloaks, eyes that rested on Joseph for far longer than was necessary, the glint of steel just barely hidden beneath their tunics. A few were human. But the rest – like much of Scuttleway – were hobgoblins, or ogres, or elves, one of them was even a gnome.
“Not the nicest part of town,” Joseph commented.
“What, you thought the Slums district was going to be all sunshine and rainbows?” G-Wiz retorted, “Please, Noodle. You're too naive for your own good.”
“There were places like these in my hometown growing up,” Joseph said, “I was told never to go there.”
“Well, did you?”
“No.”
“Then be glad you're with me, then,” G-Wiz said, “The folks down here know I'm from the guild. They don't mess with us Amber Foundation.”
“Good to know.”
The Horrid Welt was a mid-sized rectangular building, a bit cleaner than the rest of the Slums – though that still wasn't saying much, what with part of the wall having been recently repaired with dirty brown bricks that clashed with the dead gray of the rest of the structure. A tall gnome stood at the entrance of the Welt, glowering down at Joseph and G-Wiz. He wore a trenchcoat and swayed like a scarecrow in the wind. Joseph’s eyes narrowed. He could make out eyes poking out the holes in the coat, though G-Wiz slapped him.
“Don't mention that,” she said, before turning to the bouncer, “Ho, Clytus.”
“G-Wiz,” Clytus's voice sounded was a high-pitched whine, “What brings you to our humble establishment?”
“Ah, cut the shit, Clytus,” G-Wiz laughed, “Is Dama in there?”
“I might know, I might know,” Clytus piped.
“Not today, Clytus.”
“Oh, very well,” the gnome tipped forward a bit, before the gnomes that were obviously not beneath the trenchcoat righted him back up, “Yes, she's inside.”
“Good,” G-Wiz gestured, “Come on, Noodle.”
The Horrid Welt was, true to its name, a blemish on society. The first thing, aside from the mass of bodies thronging the place to the point that the walls looked as though they were sagging forward, was the smell. Sweat and a lack of good hygiene mixed into a pervasive gas that Joseph could almost see over the heads of the Welt's patrons. A bar stood at the back of the building, a calm foxfolk passing out frothing mugs of mude and ale to patrons. The center of the Welt was where most of the heads were turned towards. It was a boxing ring – one that had been obviously salvaged from another plane, as it looked almost too modern compared to the rest of the city, the words 'World Boxing Federation' written on each side in large letters. The entire crowd was riled up, cheering as two boxers squared off against one another. One was a hobgoblin – cousins to the goblins, but larger and orange-scaled, this one was muscular and, Joseph noted, had a good stance. He was nursing a purpled eye, which was clenched shut after a tactical strike from his opponent, someone in modern combat gear with a helmet covering their face.
“WHERE'S DAMA?” Joseph shouted.
“THIS WAY!” G-Wiz's voice was nearly lost in the chants of the crowd as the two boxers got into another altercation. A tornado of fists, and the hobgoblin broke away, a grimace on his face as he clutched his bare rib cage. G-Wiz pushed through the mess of bodies towards the bar. There sat Dama Runebreaker, laughing as she watched the match.
“DAMA!” G-Wiz roared.
“G!” Dama Runebreaker clapped her on the back. Joseph was surprised that G-Wiz wasn't knocked off her feet. The dwarf was in full armor – Joseph had never seen her out of it – though she had taken off her scale gauntlets to hold her mug better. Her auburn hair was tied back in a ponytail, and there was a determined edge to her face that intimidated him. Her eyes settled on him.
“SO YOU'RE NOODLE!” she said, “NICE TO PUT A FACE TO THE STORIES!”
“ALL BAD, I HOPE!” Joseph yelled.
“IN A BAD WAY, AYE!” Dama laughed, “G, WHAT'S UP?”
“JOSEPH NEEDS A FAVOR!”
“HE NEEDS A NEIGHBOR? HE'S GOT PHIN-”
“NO, A FAVOR!”
The dwarf cursed under her breath, though that was lost in the din as the hobgoblin collapsed to the ground. She gestured to Joseph and G-Wiz over, guiding them to the back room, giving a nod to the bartender. A maze of barrels took up most of the place, a couple of rats darting among them. Dama closed the door, though the cacophony of the rest of the Welt lessened only somewhat. Still, it was enough that they could talk without raising their voices too much.
“Right,” Dama Runebreaker said, “What do you want?”
“I'm here because Mekke said you have a sword,” Joseph said, “Vlaynian style, right?”
“I might,” Dama replied, “What of it?”
“She wants it back,” Joseph said bluntly.
“Mm,” Dama shook her head, “No can do, Joe.”
“What do you need the sword for?” Joseph said.
“Vlayn is one of the most powerful nations on Londoa,” Dama explained, “Have been for over a hundred years. No one messes with ‘em, not even Salthirn. And it all comes down to their steel. Vlaynian weapons are said to be the most durable weapons around – reliable, too. Now, Mekke recently acquired such a weapon from an associate back in Morenhai.”
“And you wanted to take a look at it,” Joseph said.
“Before that bitch Lylana could get her grubby hands on it,” Dama spat, “You know her, always wanting to melt things down. Probably would turn it into a rifle and a dinner plate, if Mekke would let her.”
“That's nice and all,” Joseph said, “But I still need the sword.”
“Sword for book, book for milk, milk for information,” G-Wiz said.
“Shut up, G,” Joseph said.
“Well,” Dama's face broke into a dark smile, “I have just the thing for trade, then, Joe.”
An uncomfortable feeling began to well up in Joseph's chest.
“What do you want?” Joseph said.
“As it so happens, I'm lined up for a match here in the Welt,” Dama said, “However, I didn't realize my opponent would be...”
She nodded her head towards the door. Joseph opened it back up, wincing as the crowd let out a sudden roar. The boxer in combat armor was delivering blow after savage blow into the face of an ogre, who was on the ground curled up in a fetal position.
“And you want me to...” Joseph turned to Dama, “Take your place?”
“Mekke was saying how good of a boxer you were,” Dama supposed, “And I don't want to break anything before the expedition starts – dwarves, we don't heal as good as metahumans do.”
A bell dinged, and the armored boxer rose up, raising their fists into the air in triumph. The symphony of the crowd made Joseph's ears ring. There was an excited nostalgia to that, though he still didn't want to get into that ring. He wasn’t liking that they allowed armor in there, because it meant that things could get dangerous.
“We'll get you armored up,” Dama said, “I have a few extra pieces lying about. You can't take hits like an ogre, and I don't want to, y'know, accidentally get you killed.”
“That would be awkward,” Joseph muttered. He had studied the boxer's stance for a few moments as they had been walking in. Not enough to get a good idea of their style, but enough to get a general feel. Joseph hadn't actually boxed in awhile – he had partially dropped it for his studies back on Earth. But he didn't need to win.
He just needed to play.
“Alright,” Joseph gave a determined smile, “I box for you. I get the sword. Deal?”
“Haha!” the dwarf laughed, “You got yourself a deal.”
And Joseph, for all his bravado, felt like he had just signed his death warrant.