Chapter 2: The Adventure Begins

"What's a semi-immortal fellow to do?" Lucas pondered aloud, grappling with his newfound state. [I highly doubt I can pursue my career path of Ornithology here, especially considering the attire this seems to be the typical fantasy world. Then again, who's to say? Perhaps I'm just a larping enthusiast lost in the woods, or maybe I've been transmigrated to a world with a particularly unique fashion sense. Regardless, an accurate assessment of the situation is key.=

With a newfound sense of direction, Lucas surveyed his surroundings. The air hung heavy with a mixture of unfamiliar scents and sounds."Let's see," he muttered to himself, rubbing his chin [Priority one: Not die like an idiot in the woods. Priority two: Find any sign of people and possibly where or when I am, Priority three: Figure out whose body I currently inhabit with just a cursory glance I can tell this isn't my original body, Priority four: ? I don't really know, maybe find a new goal in life?]

Well let's get to it, Lucas conducted a swift inventory of his possessions. Among them, an ostentatious rapier caught his eye, along with a fine cloak, a water flask, a liquor flask, a fine gold watch, a collection of shiny silver coins bearing unfamiliar heraldry, a set of exquisite noble clothing, a dagger, a short bow, a small quiver with 14 arrows, a pouch holding what seemed to be hard cheese and a whole pomegranate, and finally, a particularly intriguing find—an intricately patterned silver lighter.

[Well, well, isn't this interesting? Some technological marvel considering the apparent time period, same with the watch.] Examining the lighter closely he noticed the initials "S.H." embossed on its bottom. [Priority three begins here.] He tucked away the lighter, setting his sights on priorities one and two—surviving the wilderness and seeking out signs of civilization.

With a cautious yet determined demeanor, Lucas traced a path through the dense underbrush, guided by the faint impressions of footsteps left by the previous inhabitant of this body. He advanced through the thick foliage, one hand instinctively resting on the hilt of the rapier—a weapon he had no idea how to use properly —ready for any potential threats lurking in the wilderness. For what felt like an eternity, he moved through the unforgiving terrain jumping at every snap of a branch or rustle of a bush. Each step forward carried him deeper into the unknown, his senses sharp and alert for any signs of danger or, hopefully, the faintest traces of human habitation.

After an arduous hour of navigating on a path through the tangled vegetation, Lucas emerged, damp with sweat but elated. Before him stretched what seemed to be a long dirt road—a welcome sight amidst the wild expanse. Relief flooded through him, at the prospect of finding civilization, or at the very least, some semblance of direction. [Left or right the age-old question hmm… let's go left] Lucas had no particular reason for going left; he just felt that it was the right choice. As he traversed the road, he remained vigilant, ever aware that such settings in fantastical tales often harbored lurking bandits and wolves.

After a trek of around 4 hours, the unexpected sight of a surprisingly large and bustling coastal metropolis greeted Lucas. The sheer expanse and liveliness of the cityscape stunned him. Three to eight-story buildings framed the skyline, ships dotted the horizon, and the sounds of a thriving community filled the air. However, what was most fascinating was a district on the left side of the city. Tall thin chimneys admitting massive amounts of smoke crowning wide utilitarian brick and concrete buildings. “Factories!”

This wasn't the expected medieval backdrop he'd imagined; instead, it felt like stepping into the Industrial Revolution. [Maybe I just transmigrated back in time?] he thought, eyeing the city and his peculiar attire. [Not that I'm a fashion historian or anything.] he shrugged, [There's only one way to find out.]

He trod along the path, its dirt gradually giving way to cobblestones beneath his feet. Lucas kept his eyes and ears peeled. One thing struck him immediately: the chatter around him. The language they spoke wasn't any he recognized. Although Lucas was no linguist and only knew two languages: English and a small bit of Latin, what he was hearing was completely alien to him. The internet and more specifically U-Tube had acquainted him with many contemporary languages, the one that he was hearing bore no resemblance to any of them.

The sounds weaved around him, a strange melody of slow hissing interspersed with sharp 'ha' and 'sh' noises. Lucas racked his brain for anything but the only resemblance he found was a fictional snake tongue spoken in tales of a young wizard attending a prestigious school of magic. Lucas paused, perplexed if the locals conversed in this peculiar hissing tongue, what about the initials on the lighter? Retrieving the lighter from his pocket, he scrutinized the engraved symbols. To his bewilderment, the characters etched on it bore no resemblance to the letters he thought they represented. It dawned on him that his mind had subconsciously decoded and processed the symbols in a way that he could comprehend. "How-"

Struck with an idea, he took a moment to clear his mind. Instead of focusing on the hissing sounds around him, he focused on the text of the lighter and delved into the memory of subconsciously comprehending its meaning. The sensation was bizarre akin to attempting to read in a dream, and the sounds slithered around his head like the snakes they were reminiscent of. Then, in a sudden moment of clarity, it all clicked into place.

" Mother! Look, look, look, Candy!"

" Did you catch the morning paper? It was really something."

" Ah yes, I couldn't even imagine what would drive them to do such a thing."

" It looks like rain, best finish up quickly!"

"How fascinating." Lucas couldn't help but hiss with perfect pronunciation in a language he somehow knew was called Ithilian. Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, he decided to delve into the mechanics of this miraculous language comprehension at a later time. With priority one solved, he decided to focus on the second half of priority two. As he meandered through the bustling city, the distinct cry of a newspaper boy caught his attention.

"Extra! Extra! Read All About It! Unrest in Blackport suspected strike upcoming this week!"

Taking one of the silver coins out of his pocket, he walked over to the paperboy and greeted him with a smile. "Hey, I'm on an errand for a large group of coworkers, and they wanted a copy of this morning's newspaper for each of them. So, how many could I get for this?" he held out the large silver piece. The kid gasped, his eyes widening as he glanced between the stack of papers in his hands and the silver piece Lucas presented. Without a word, he handed over the entire stack of newspapers. [Well, shit.] Lucas thought, accepting the bundle with a crooked smile.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Awkwardly carrying the stack of papers through the street, he meandered until he found a secluded bench. He decided to use this bench as it was covered by a thick waterproof awning. Setting down the pile, he decided to count how many he was able to procure. "So, one silver piece is at least enough to buy 42 newspapers. Good to know." Unfurling the top newspaper, Lucas started to read.

STRIKE AT THE DOCKS? 48/Autumn/1666,

***

A young man sat comfortably at his desk, his wavy, light chestnut hair falling gracefully over his forehead. His demeanor exuded an air of tranquil self-assurance. This room, his newfound office, was a haven he'd crafted for himself. Legs outstretched and the newspaper laid out, he took a moment to savour a cup of black tea, enhanced with a dash of milk.

In this private sanctuary, he immersed himself in the day's paper, the headline proclaiming "BOMBING IN BLACKPORT! 50/Autumn/1666," capturing his attention and piquing his curiosity. The young man's eyes perused the article.

[Ha, it’s about time somebody's sticking it to the Dalton family.] he thought to himself. In the privacy of his mind, the young man couldn't help but find a mischievous delight in the unfolding events. A small grin played at the corners of his lips as he contemplated the consequences of the recent devastation of their major warehouses. [It was evident that a force was determined to disrupt the established order, to challenge the hegemony of the Daltons.] As he sipped his tea, his thoughts shifted. [The destruction of the Dalton storehouses was not merely a physical strike but a symbolic gesture—an assertion that even the most formidable forces could be challenged and brought to their knees.]

[Would the Daltons retaliate with even greater force, seeking to crush any opposition to their reign? Or would this act of defiance embolden others to rise up, challenge the ruling family, and reclaim agency over their lives? The young man recognized the familiar situation. The struggle for power, the push and pull between those in control and those seeking liberation, was an age-old tale. However, an attack of such magnitude could serve as an ideal method to discredit their ideas among the general population...] He frowned, [Considering that perspective. There is a not insignificant likelihood that this was staged by the Daltons themselves.]

The young man lifted his gaze from his reflections as Someone entered the office. He had a petite stature, a refined, doll-like countenance, and long blonde hair neatly tied in a ponytail. His professional aura stood in contrast to the young man's nonchalant and lackadaisical demeanor. The petite man’s soft voice conveyed a sense of calm efficiency. "Enoch, the director has assigned you a new case."

Enoch's interest was piqued. "Mornin', Silas. Is it something ‘interesting’?" he gestured towards the paper's headline, curiosity evident in his voice.

Silas glanced at the newspaper, hesitating before replying, "No, it's a missing person's case of sorts."

Enoch's enthusiasm waned, a hint of disappointment seeping into his tone. "Oh..." he responded, his voice lacking its prior excitement. Missing person's cases were often less thrilling, requiring a different approach focused on providing closure to distressed families.

[Well, work is work.]" Enoch thought to himself, embracing a professional mindset. His curiosity resurfaced, and he inquired, "So, who's our missing person? What do we know so far?"

"The Hawthorne heir seems to have escaped the estate... again."

Enoch's professional facade crumbled immediately. "Not this again, isn't this a case that can be handled by the regular authorities?" Enoch whined, visibly deflating.

"That would normally be the case, but according to the higher-ups, they're getting very mixed results on determining the state of his mortality”

"And that's abnormal?"

"Exceedingly."

"And what pray tell is so exceedingly abnormal about it that we would have to deal with it?"

"They couldn't determine position, and during this process, ‘it’ kept yielding peculiar outcomes. After fearing the worst, they have confirmed that his soul is gone, but his body seems to still be moving.'"

Enoch cracked a smile "Well, that'll do it. Assemble all our field units, and instruct them to meet at Hawthorne Manor in an hour. After you finish that, return here, and we'll proceed from there."

After 20 minutes had elapsed, Silas reentered the office only to find Enoch peacefully napping, reclined in his plush office chair. Silas shook Enoch's shoulder. Enoch’s eyes fluttered open as he emerged from the embrace of his plush armchair, his limbs protesting the prolonged period of inactivity. He extended his arms high above his head, relishing the satisfying release of tension as his muscles unfurled.

Standing up in a single fluid motion, Enoch grasped his charcoal-hued poplin overcoat. This well-worn garment bore the marks of countless dangers, its pockets teeming with an eclectic assortment of tools, relics, and weapons. Sliding the coat over his exquisite black and burgundy vest, Enoch was instantly imbued with a surge of energy and readiness. He adjusted the collar with meticulous care, aligning every crease and angle. Enoch strode purposefully towards the door, the lengthy coat billowing in his wake. As he passed by Silas, like the strike of a viper he threw an arm around his shoulder, gently pulling him along out the door.

Silas stumbled along with Enoch, "What are you doing?" he asked, his brow furrowed.

Enoch smirked mischievously. "What do you think? You're coming with me on this investigation," he declared, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Silas's face stiffened "That's not what I meant, I was asking why you have your arm around my shoulder."

Enoch chuckled, his amusement evident. "Oh, that? Just a friendly gesture, my dear Silas. A reminder that we're in this together, facing whatever challenges may lie ahead." He said in an overly dramatic tone

“...”

“...”

"Could you kindly remove your hand from me?"

Enoch's mischievous expression faded into a faux sheepish smile as he quickly withdrew his arm from Silas's shoulder.

"Apologies, my dear friend, how could I've ever made such a mistake? I feel so great a guilt that I'll never be able to provide proper recompense, even if 14 generations of my descendants devoted their lives to servitude under you and your family it would not be close to just compensation.”

As they stepped out onto the street Enoch dropped the subject altogether and readjusted his posture miming a serious Detective. " Let's grab a small bite to eat before heading up to the manor."

Together, they set off down the bustling street, the sounds of traffic and chatter enveloping them. Silas's mind was already filled with thoughts about the upcoming investigation while Enoch in all seriousness contemplated whether honey or sugar is better in coffee.