The glow in my brain is trying to remind me that I have new information to process. It had been a bit of a whirlwind of activity since reuniting with the refugees however. So, while we wait in this darkened void, we may as well make use of the time to figure out what it means. Wait. What? An expression of my Latent?
Casting my senses out, I tug at the nothing that’s taking shape around me, and it pauses. My eyes flash wide, but I feel my dragonforce rapidly slipping away from me just from this simple act of holding on to some nothing. Loosing my grip upon it, I gaze down at my own hands, lost in an essentially empty thought.
When I stop spacing out, I’m a little startled to hear, “Hail traveler, well met. Please, try a free sample, on the house. Mana potions are the specialty.”
Raising an eyebrow, I appear to be in a bit of a shifty alleyway, in a run-down part of a European-esque cobblestone-pathed town. There is however, a wrought-iron bannister railing leading down several steps into an open doorway. It’s from this doorway that the voice originated. A shuffling tells me that whomever it was seemed to have greeted me at the entrance, and retreated into the shop.
Muttering to myself aloud, I state, “This seems like the exact sort of thing you shouldn’t do, or take. Like accepting, or eating food from the Fae of the Unseelie courts ends up with either you becoming dinner, or trapped as a houseguest for eternity, or required to serve their meals for a number of millennia equal to the portions of food you’d eaten, or some other nonsense. Or offering your name to them, which ends up with them literally stealing it, and you being unable to remember your name, or anyone who’d ever uttered it. I grumble aloud, unable to keep my thoughts to myself. Oh great, now my entire inner narrative monologue is on display. Why do I keep speaking? This is exceedingly uncomfortable.”
Thankfully, I’m able to wrest back control of my voice and my mental monologue, from whatever tricks the ‘Twixt had been playing. Less thankfully, the shopkeep calls out, “Nonsense, nonsense friend. I’ll do no such thing, and even offer you my word and bond that I shall in no way meet any of those expectations you’d listed for trickery or the like. Please, peruse my wares, what little I have. I can tell your body is badly in need of pure mana. Please, partake.”
Razzafrazzan. The ‘Twixt knows the people inside of me are keeping my Can’Z’aasian mana pools that I’d set up for my forms from regenerating. Is it helpful this time, or is this a test? Tiktik said it’s got a way of playing with you, but also helping you grow, and providing what you need. Do I need a test of my gullibility, or do I need the mana? I mean, huff. Sighing, I admit to myself, I do need the mana. The prisoners are screwed without it. Cranking up my aura vision to the maximum, I glance around for any hidden runes, spellwork, enchantment, glyphs, or anything that might resemble a trap as I descend the steps.
I balk at the entrance to the “shop.” It’s only a few cubic feet of space, a short shop counter, with a very seedy looking gentleman behind the counter, and two very bright blue potions that appear identical. Yeah, I guess you could call mana potions your specialty in that case. Still, I have to fight my laughter about it, and prevent myself from shaking my head incredulously. Gnawing my bottom lip, I peer intently at the potions, attempting to discern any dangers, or any differences between the two. Upon a thorough inspection, they are identical, and appear to be just what he claims they are, infusions of pure mana. This is very odd, and very video-gamey.
Glancing around inside the exceedingly tiny space that is this man’s shop, I apologize to the shopkeeper, “Sorry for my rude presumptions. I’m a little surprised to find myself here. Do you know where here is exactly?”
Tapping his nose, the shady man responds, “Ah, when you say here, do you mean the ‘Twixt, or this town it’s so lovingly crafted for you?”
My guts twist a bit anxiously at the confirmation, as well as the guilt trip that’s implied. I was testing if he was some sort of NPC that didn’t know he was in a realm that was so— special. Gathering my wits, I answer, “That uh answers part of it already, so the latter, if you would so kindly share. I’m indeed grateful for the ‘Twixt’s intervention on my behalf. For a while, it appeared as if I had no way out. You don’t happen to know where an exit to Rayileklia is from here, do you?”
My more than sporting shopkeep taps his nose once more before hazarding, “We’re in Nichtshire D’Locke of course. As for exits, I suppose I must ask you once again, which one? Though I would disappoint you in whichever you requested, for though there are many, I know not in which direction they lay. Please, won’t you sample my wares? You’ve already my guarantee that I shall not harm you, steal from you, trap you into a bargain, or otherwise play a trick upon you.”
Glancing around, I know I could just exit the shop and go exploring. This man might kindly stay here at this shop waiting for me. On the other hand, if he didn’t, or if the shop disappeared after I passed a certain distance from it, I’d be passing up an opportunity at a potion that would massively help. Two of them even. Why did the ‘Twixt make it so shifty though? Sighing, I wish Tiktik was here to tell me more about the ’Twixt so that I can’t go making any newbie blunders. She knew not to make pacts with sentient weapons, but had to do it anyway, due to a situation the ‘Twixt cooked up. As far as I’m aware, that now means that either Bizzenblade, or the ‘Twixt itself, has some claim on Tiktik’s soul.
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
Taking another moment to decide, I motion as if to take one or the other of the two potions, and the shady shopkeep nods, agreeing to either. Huffing a sigh, I hope I’m not making a massive mistake. My genre senses tell me that I am, based on Fakeworld mythological logic, and I really should start listening to them more, but those senses worked fairly well on Can’Z’aas and on Rayileklia. It doesn’t necessarily translate that they’re as accurate in a place as weird as the ‘Twixt. I shake my head at my own rationalization as I take one of the potions. The shopkeep mimes throwing it back like a shot of whiskey, and I grimace.
I’m not sure if I want to imbibe it in his presence, despite his guarantees. Then again, the ‘Twixt could just put me inside the mouth of a giant monster that it creates around me. What does it get from screwing me the instant I start my journey here? Alright, down the hatch. Erk. I can’t tell if that’s pleasantly unpleasant, or unpleasantly pleasant. It’s less a flavor, and more an emotion dancing across my tongue as it goes down. It carries a certain zing to it though, one that feels vaguely familiar, like I should know it from somewhere.
Despite that, from what I can tell, it works its way into my nonexistent multidimensional gastric system, and seemingly likely does what it’s supposed to, offering a refuel of the mana in my currently non-regenerative mana pools. I strive to focus and attempt to direct it specifically towards the Backpotter form’s mana pool. Whether that worked or not, I can’t check unless I get access to my Can’Z’aasian menu interface. Scratching my head, I turn to leave the shop.
As expected, the shopkeep interrupts my departure by querying, “If that was to your satisfaction, wouldn’t you like to buy another?”
More than a little nervous, I respond, “How much?”
The number doesn’t astound me too awfully much as the shopkeep answers, “One hundred thousand.”
Gnawing on my lip, I’m starting to get the picture, so I ask, “Of what currency?”
A more-than-a-little evil grin spreads across the face of the shady shopkeep as he retorts, “Why souls of course.”
Despite wanting to run him through on the spot for the malicious seeming behavior, and equally suspicious intent, I ask for clarification, “And by souls, do you mean the everliving essence of unique individuals that they each only have one of, or is it a word that correlates to something else here in the ‘Twixt?”
Shaking his head, the shopkeeper grimaces before offering a clarification, “No no no, why of course not, how ever would you collect a hundred thousand of *those* souls? I’d scarce be able to maintain my composure around someone capable of doing such a thing. Souls of course meaning the little floating currency your foes upon your adventures in the ‘Twixt will leave upon their death in scads. You might also earn some in trade, or from various tasks and jobs.”
Trying not to chuckle, I don’t want to brag that I think it’s entirely possible that I might end up harvesting or slaying very near a hundred thousand beings by the time we’ve ended two of the apocalypses on Rayileklia. The draconic hordes of Terrorzin alone make up nearly enough, though I won’t be responsible for slaying them all, and I’d like to spare as many as I can. The Felgre hordes however are almost innumerable. Worse, I know of someone that I think has near or more than a hundred thousand of those souls already, the bastard.
Regardless, sighing softly to myself, I apologize, “I hadn’t realized the currency of the land when you’d invited me into your shop. You appear to know enough about the ‘Twixt to understand I’m entirely new here. I hope you won’t hold it against me that I have none of the currency of which you speak. I’m not averse to going on adventures to gather some however.”
Turning to leave, I feel a shiver run down my spine as the shopkeep queries, “Are you sure about that?”
When I turn to answer, the Shopkeep is gone, and the stairwell leads to a cobblestone wall, rather than the tiny shop. Brr. Great creepy last words my dude, as Lil might say. Actually, who uses my dude? I forget which of my friends uses it. Maybe we all do at this point. Worse, the ambiguity of the words leaves me wondering if I’m in possession of souls of one form or another that count as the currency here in the ‘Twixt. Or the vaguely threatening hint that maybe I shouldn’t be possibly okay with going on adventures to gather some. This place likes to play with you, remember that Reggie. I know, I know.
Thankfully, we know that we can play back. Testing it out once again, my Latent grips at the edges of nothing, and the entire world around me seems to quake at the mere contact. I immediately loose my hold upon it. Yeah, if the ‘Twixt decides to get a little too tricky, I suppose I’ve got a weapon in reserve, as long as I don’t run out of dragonforce between now and some point that I possibly need to rely on such an ace up my sleeve. Hm, aces up sleeves. Aces and eights up sleeves. Erm, better not. Can’t follow random brain thought trails that lead to those memories and dreams without Luni around. Haven’t had one in a long time anyway, so maybe all my conclusions were wrong, if I’d even made any.
Leaving the dingy alleyway, I arrive on a street that might be straight out of Oliver Twist. Out of who? What? Anyway. Where was I again? Nichtshire D’locke? Wait. Nicht means nothing. Nothing town of the lock? Lock of nothing. Flip it. Key to everything? Sighing, I facepalm. The ‘Twixt really does know how to screw with ya. Still, wouldn’t that just beat all if this town really did contain all the answers to all those problems I’m dealing with. What’s, what’s happening? I’m being pulled in two different—.
Out of half my vision, I see Tiktik leaping at me to tackle me away from the portal, just now coming into contact with me in this paused instant. Out of the other half of my vision, I see the dreary streets of what could be old-London-town, Nichtshire D’locke. My non-existent guts twist and cramp as my consciousness begins to sheer. I—. I don’t know if I can survive this. Will I be me? Will either half of me be me? Which half of me will I be? I feel like I’m screaming in existential dread, in utter horror. I can’t even tell though as my senses are so far beyond sensical at this point, they’re nonsensical. I’d probably facepalm at that if I weren’t in sheer terror at the idea of being split into two me, not knowing which me I will be.