The city interior was as labyrinthine as it looked from the outside. Its stalk-like wooden buildings spiraled recklessly upwards — high enough that it seemed like minor tremors might topple them — and were strewn about as if they’d been tossed down the slopes of the hills by an earth giant. This made for irregular, claustrophobic streets (barring a few main ways), one of which BEEADDLEDRUNG was being tugged through. In spite of the strange design of things, or perhaps the complete lack of design, the inhabitants seemed to be thriving. The people were loud, much louder than anything BEEADDLEDRUNG was used to hearing, and spoke in a dialect that made the monster imagine they all had mouths full of food. He noted that he’d only heard humans speak like this since he’d left his lair, and curiosity scattered his attention throughout the stream of bodies during this brief transit.

“Only sixty stars left on me,” spoke one voice among the crowd. It was deep and slightly strained.

“Only sixty stars, he says. Yer a hoot, Halfen. Better keep out o’ trouble,” said another voice after a laugh. The sound of this one reminded BEEADDLEDRUNG of those desert birds. “But maybe trouble’ll just find you…” the voice continued, and then there was some scuffling and laughter, as if a fight had broken out but its participants were somehow enjoying themselves. BEEADDLEDRUNG thought of the hero as the voices passed out of earshot.

“Doot duh-doo, doot duh-doo, doo la la,” a high, frilly voice came from ahead. It sounded to BEEADLEDRUNG about as nonsensical as Pennybard’s night time rhymes. “Doo la la l-”

“Shut up. Please, please, just shut up. All day, I swear. This is the last time I’m going to allow myself to be partnered with you,” said another close by. There was some silence between the two. “…care if I have to cut his throat…” the speaker continued under his breath.

“You’re no fun at all, Vyn-Vyn,” the other voice replied, still somewhat sing-song. “Nope. A total buzzkill. That’s why you’re soooo lonely, huh? Or is it the other way around?” This seemed to strike a chord. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear you threaten Leader,” she said before he could snap back. And with that she continued singing.

Lots of them in groups, the bogeyman observed. Will be hard to corner any one.

“Kinjo?”

The guard had stopped guiding BEEADDLEDRUNG after reaching a crossing in the road. Here it was less cramped, and it seemed that anyone nearby was in one of a few buildings with bright, foggy windows.

“You’re… drooling.” She pulled out a sweat-dampened rag from some notch in her armor and wiped BEEADDLEDRUNG’s mouth. “We’re basically here, right?” she said with a forced liveliness. “Come on.” Her gauntleted hand reached out to grab his again and she pulled him near a building on the corner.

This one was stout compared to its neighbors, and it had a quiet air about it — not as if it was empty, but rather full of many contemplative bodies. Its planked walls were a dark, time-worn brown, and from an arched, greenish metal limb that shot out from above the front door dangled a weathered, sandy sign: Welcome Inn (& Lounge).

“Hmm…” The guard stopped before the door. She thought it looked kind of depressing.

“What is this?” BEEADDLEDRUNG asked.

The guard gave another sad look, then a light, anxious chuckle. “This is one of your favorite haunts, isn’t it? You always call it that, because…” She waited to hear the punchline from Kinjo.

BEEADDLEDRUNG was quiet.

“Well, because it kind of seems... haunted, right?” she finished sheepishly. “Not as funny when I say it.”

There was a deep gloom in the woman’s eyes that the bogeyman hadn’t noticed before since she’d been faced forwards, pacing without pause. He tried to discern what she was feeling, but after staring for a moment, he felt his own eyes sting. That’s when he remembered — humans needed to blink! He must not have blinked more than a few times since adopting human skin.

The guard’s face turned even more forlorn as she watched the tears stream from her companion’s eyes. He rubbed them vigorously and blinked a bunch, but droplets still hung onto his eyelashes and glittered in the lantern light.

“It’ll be okay. I’m still having trouble processing it, but… gods, you were there.” Now tears flowed from her eyes, too, and her expression grew scrunched as she held in sobs. “Erika… how could this happen?”

BEEADDLEDRUNG was shocked. What had triggered this? He’d been cried at before, usually during mealtime, or even cried about, when survivors of his attacks relayed their experiences, but he had never been cried with. It felt wrong.

“Stop,” BEEADDLEDRUNG said. His eyes were still watery, but his expression was placid.

The guard’s face slowly stiffened, and she sniffled. “…you’re strong, Kinjo,” she said. “I’m sorry. I’ll be strong, too.”

She made for the door to the Welcome Inn, but before she could pull the latch and lead BEEADDLEDRUNG inside, she spotted something that made her jump. Two more sentinels in full black armor strode down the lane to the left. Evening stragglers who loitered outside quickly entered nearby buildings. The woman hastily equipped her helmet, which had been latched to her waist, and approached BEEADDLEDRUNG again. “Damn it, damn it,” she muttered, and then sighed deeply and shakily.

“I know that this is the worst time, but I need to report back. I’ve already received a warning thanks to our Resup Day shenanigans…” Her eyes were obscured by her helmet, but it was clear that she wasn’t making eye contact. “You’ll be okay. Just eat something and then get some sleep. I’ll find you in the morning, and, at least… you can cash in that bounty alone.” Her voice was steely again.

Only now, as she turned to leave, did she see the dark stain around BEEADDLEDRUNG’s cloak pocket where he kept his wounded hand. “You’re still bleeding,” she started, but then one of the approaching guards said “Hail!” and she hurried away.

BEEADDLEDRUNG felt rid of a burden, but some other feeling was also welling up inside of him. He was fine with casting a burden away, but having one taken from him, as the woman was by those guards, didn’t sit right.

“I didn’t learn that one’s name,” he said aloud.

Pennybard had on a serious face. He broke his silence, “I’m sure you’ll meet her again.”

“I wonder,” responded BEEADDLEDRUNG. “Where to, my Penny? You must know cities better than I do.” With this he laughed his true, mean laugh.

The imp gave a sarcastic breath in response. “This is a sham of a city. It looks more like a giant lavatory, to me,” he said as he studied the crossing. “Master,” he began after a pause, “you’ll find much food and drink around here, I’m sure. Of course, not the kind you favor, but I think it’s best that you continue to blend in.”

“Blend in…” BEEADDLEDRUNG said thoughtfully. “Talk to more people, then?” He was unsure of this. It was taxing.

“Are you scared?” Pennybard said sharply. It was brash to challenge the monster like this, but now and then —

“I am not scared. I’ll talk to them all, till I find the specialist, and the hero, and die,” the beast bragged.

It bore results.

“Very well, my king,” said Pennybard, “but you might need to sleep somewhere in between.”

BEEADDLEDRUNG stomped toward the loudest building in the vicinity.

—

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

The hefty double doors of the Lioneer flung open. Flagons full of froth clung to thirsty lips throughout the tavern for just one extra, uncomfortable moment before all conversations resumed heedlessly. A few patrons still looked at the bedraggled figure who’d just made a scene coming in, alone. It just wasn’t something you did at the Lioneer, if you were a regular — busting both doors open all dramatically like that. Drunken newbies made that mistake from time to time, though, so it wasn’t a huge deal. For newbies, it was not, but for-

“Kinjo Hellfingers,” a thick, raunchy looking man shouted out. He was standing right outside of a booth, his arms outstretched. It might have been endearing if his expression weren’t so snide. “That’s what they call you, innit?”

The room quieted down a bit as BEEADDLEDRUNG walked right up to the man. “Yeah, I’m called Kinjo,” he stated. “What are you called?”

Someone seated further inside the room chuckled. “He wants to know what you’re called!” they mocked.

The man wiped some froth from his goatee and scraped his hand on the stubble which lined his cheeks. He winced and smiled simultaneously. “I’m called Orval, ya son-of-a-bitch,” he slurred. “We’ve met.”

BEEADDLEDRUNG looked contemplative. “I don’t remember,” he said.

At this, a couple groups of nearby patrons laughed and cringed half-sarcastically at Orval, who looked dumbfounded. His flushed face turned a slightly deeper red.

“Where’s yer golden lass at, wizzerd?” Orval spat. Someone gasped in jest and choked for a moment on their drink. “I remember her,” he teased, and made some kind of monkeyish display about his chest. “She’s a looker. You been usin’ those Hellfingers on her?” The booths around Orval were still laughing, but sounded slightly uneasy, and a few displeased grunts or scoffs could be heard near the bar. Most conversations were hushed now, and many expectant glances were aimed at BEEADDLEDRUNG.

The bogeyman looked at his bloody pocket. “I gave a finger earlier, if that’s what you mean,” he said as the joke eluded him.

Orval grinned and looked around the room to draw attention to this response, eliciting laughter from even the far end of the bar. “This guy,” he began. BEEADDLEDRUNG at least realized that he was the butt of a joke now and his nose wrinkled in distaste.

“You’re one to joke about nicknames, Orval,” came a voice, clear but unsure, from the center of the bar. Someone of medium stature was seated between two empty stools. They wore a boxy brown cloak that looked soaked with rain. “I heard… th-that they used to call you oval… back when you looked just like an egg.” The tide turned against Orval with this remark, and even the patrons at his booth stifled laughter.

“Who!? Who called me that,” Orval yelled, clumsily looking around. The patrons had mostly returned to their conversations, though. “I’ve lost weight,” he comforted himself. The bogeyman snickered at his opponent.

Before the man could continue to berate him, a body brushed past BEEADDLEDRUNG, and in a low voice said, “Come on, over here.”

Excited and off his guard, he followed the body to a corner table. It gestured to a seat and he took it, still smiling. His smile faded when he saw two worried faces seated across from him, and the body sat down and showed another. Three more humans who expected to be recognized. BEEADDLEDRUNG puffed hot air out his nose. He wanted to groan.

“Kinjo,” said the one who’d escorted him over. It was a young man with a mild face, high-cut black hair, and blue eyes. He looked noble to BEEADDLEDRUNG, whatever that meant, but he was dressed in meager attire. “Look at me.” He looked into the monster’s human eyes for what felt like a long time, and BEEADDLEDRUNG remembered the bright light outside the city and felt Pennybard grow hot in alarm at his waist. But then the man withdrew. “Hallows,” he sighed, and looked over at someone across the table.

It was a woman too young to have such grey hair. Her expression was mostly stoic and her eyes were idly wide, but concern did tug at her face. “You look like you’ve been through hell,” she said. She sounded bored or tired, but nonetheless sympathetic.

“Looks like he took some o’ hell with him,” the last stranger said. This one was wearing a hood even indoors, and their face was hard to make out aside from some silvery stubble. They nodded their chin at BEEADDLEDRUNG’s extravagant cloak.

The three shuffled awkwardly. “What’s with the sword?” the grey-haired woman asked.

“Do you know this sword!?” BEEADDLEDRUNG responded excitedly. It was the first thing he’d spoken to this group and he nearly yelled it. His posture grew to a bestial hunch.

“No… what?” The woman responded. “I thought you hated swords — joked about how they were only carried by men who compensated for something?”

The hooded man laughed reservedly in the noble man’s direction. “Funny,” the latter said after a sip of his drink. He turned to look at BEEADDLEDRUNG again. “About that bounty we recommended to Erika,” he said, and his companions shrunk back in their chairs.

“Bounty?” BEEADDLEDRUNG asked. He’d heard that word a lot in this city but still didn’t know it.

“That mystery bounty. Head south and capture anything out of the ordinary. Bring it back to the city for examination,” said the woman, “Kill only if necessary.” BEEADDLEDRUNG thought these directions were pretty explicit for something supposed to be vague. Is that what a bounty was — directions? Then he remembered that he’d come from the south, at least by his reckoning.

“What about it?” BEEADDLEDRUNG asked.

The hooded man sighed. “Welp, I’ve gotta piss,” he said, and walked out a creaky door.

The noble man continued the explanation: “We heard about it through an info broker with gang connections. They were trustworthy — but at the time they only gave us some of the details: they said it’d have a huge payout, that it might’ve been posted by the crown.” He nervously ran a finger up and down on his chin. “Which is why, when I told Erika about it, I said to wait on more details. To me, it looked-”

“Oh, take some responsibility, Heath,” the woman interrupted. She looked agitated now. “A bounty matching that description was just posted in the city center,” she said to BEEADDLEDRUNG. “It’s a triple-skull.”

Heath’s eyes were fixed on the table, away from Kinjo. “I was really worried after I told Erika about that — you know how rash she can be, sometimes, although she means well. But now that I’ve told you, I’m sure…”

BEEADDLEDRUNG smiled.

Kinjo smiled with worried eyes, his face full of tragic forgiveness.

“Heath,” he said. “We left on that bounty more than a day ago.” He rubbed the pelt draped over his shoulders. “I just got back.”

The two others at the table grappled with the news which they guessed at but had failed to accept. “Oh gods,” Heath breathed, “that’s terrible.” The grey-haired woman gave a defeated ahhh and spun the liquid in her mug around nervously.

BEEADDLEDRUNG felt someone walk past carrying drinks on a tray. He plucked a flagon out of formation, leaving a gap where some patron’s order should be. Before the waiter could protest, the two strangers said “it’s on us” with simultaneity and waved him away.

The bogeyman took a long sip of the mystery cocktail in his flagon. Too long. He spat it onto the table.

“Hey, at least you’re still alive,” the grey-haired woman said grimly.

“Milla,” Heath started.

“Come on, Heath. It’s not like hunters don’t die often.” She stalled for a moment, recognizing her rudeness. “Sorry — but once you submit that thing you captured, Kinjo, you might even be able to buy yourself back.”

BEEADDLEDRUNG thought that Pennybard had gone unnoticed. It only now occurred to him how conspicuous the little bat was. He shifted in his chair.

Heath had taken a last, large draught of his drink. “Hey, Kinjo. How is it that you survived, anyway?” he asked carefully. “If anyone, I’d bet on that Ike to survive. I heard he’d been through some shit.”

“You’re drunk,” Milla said, putting a hand on Heath’s shoulder. “And we’ve all been through some shit. Stop.”

“No, I’m buzzed. But hear me out,” Heath continued. “Erika’s not the kind to go down without a good fight, ‘s because she’s so bullheaded.” He turned to point at Kinjo. “Meanwhile, Kinjo’s on the scrawny side, and-”

He stopped dead in his tracks and went white in the face.

Right now, Kinjo sat higher in his seat than he had any right to. The spellsmith was the kind to lean on an arm or, if he was against a wall, lean back. He had an easygoing gait, and it was like he went out of his way to look smaller than he was just to get on someone’s good side. He didn’t seem to take many things seriously, but had that quality where you expected him to suddenly become reliable when the stakes turned high enough.

This tall man really did look like Kinjo if he’d been dragged through hell. His outgrown clothes hugged tightly to his muscles, muscles that would better fit a swordsman, and an odd smell hung on him. His hair had grown rampant and he’d not shaved in what seemed like weeks.

He held his drink not from the handle but by the bottom.

“Kinjo,” Heath said, sobering. “Erika is dead.”

The Lioneer, from which many patrons had already departed, turned silent.

Maybe he would have put on a more believable performance if he knew this to be certain. After all, BEEADDLEDRUNG had realized: this Erika was the very archer he’d left unconscious in the desert. He’d guessed by now that she, with her luminous hair, was also the golden lass Orval had jested about. He’d have been better off if he could’ve realized that she was someone especially important to Kinjo and avoided Heath’s scrutiny. But he only understood people's importance in the instrumental sense, and so fell for the trap.

“Erika is dead,” BEEADDLEDRUNG confirmed, only frowning. He put down his drink, still nearly full, and sat up. “Heath, Milla — good night. Take care,” he said, and excused himself. He didn’t feel right. Maybe it was the stuffy tavern air. Maybe he was hungry. Whatever it was, it had so pacified the shadows that not a murmur could be heard from them.