As it turns out, when you offer a chance to tag along on a job where you clean the stomach dungeons of a leviathan, people say no. They say a lot more than that, actually, but I think Cam put it best with:
“Nah, fuck that. I’m not into that shit.”
Neither am I, but payment was promised. Any chance to expand the base of potential customers, right? God, I wish somebody joined me. I would’ve happily babysat Cam for another over-his-level adventure, but nooooo. The solo life for me.
Pyro wasn’t completely out of the picture. He did carry me to Prairieton in about 3 hours, then ran off home on his own because he’s a strong independent horse. There I took a gate trip to an ‘airport’ for my evening departure. Except, instead of planes, it’s giant hawks that absolutely would have been intercepted by fellbeasts on the way to Mordor.
I checked my bags into the leg and back pouches on the large raptor, then made to board. I wished the wind a pleasant ride, as he was—once again—stuffed into an E-D sack, on account of strict carry-weight limitations, combined with my threats to leave him behind. I may have also leveraged that he’d done it recently and therefore had no more dignity to lose.
I climbed into the nice large saddle. There were seats, and sleeping bags sewn/lashed onto the back to mitigate the massive fear of going off the side. The chartered raptor captain shook my hand, and we were off. Nice dude, tried to point out landmarks as we flew. I heard at least 3 of the 40-some over the high winds, loud flapping, and piercing ‘SCREEAWW’ every 5 goddamn minutes. Then we caught some updrafts over the open, tropical ocean. The tiredness from high altitude was a great boon in my attempts to sleep.
Following a nice 14-hour power nap, I woke up to the captain letting me know that we were arriving in 20 minutes. The sun was decently-risen, the hawk was flapping, and cap had only slept for half as long as I had. Good thing giant hawks fly themselves. I did some creative prone yoga to wake my joints up.
“Buckle up, we’re coming up on Puerto de Sueños Azules!” the guy shouted, unlike all the other times he was talking.
Ah, the sign of getting away from the core areas of Nassur: Spanish. Except it’s not, and we don’t speak English either. Try not to think about it. The volcanic island came into view, growing larger as we descended. I headed up front to be a micromanaging little prick.
“Hey, take us down outside the village! Sea nagas don’t like giant hawks!”
Capn’ looked at me with mild annoyance. “Was already doin’ that! Don’t tell me how to do my job!”
……
1 anti-Normandy later (boring, peaceful, no Czech conscripts to mistake for German soldiers…) and I was waving off my ride. Yup, myself, and the not-at-all suspicious pair of inhuman footprints in the sand right beside me. I had my 12 E-D sacks in tow, enough supplies to party, and commit small-scale genocide. Preferably in that order and at separate locations. Thus, we started down the beach.
In hindsight, 5 miles from the village seemed a little excessive.
At least the views were nice, very Hawaiian. Good, pale sand, strikingly turquoise water, clear as glass. Upland, you had a nice, typically-generic tropical jungle up the gradually-steepening incline of a stereotypical volcano. The wind must have liked the sights, because he promptly left the beach to investigate; definitely not because of the footprint issues. That was about all there was to look at for the next while, until the greeting party arrived.
I must admit, a 7-foot-tall, 12-foot-long Azure Sea Naga barreling toward you at full speed—even to hug you—is pretty intimidating. It took some force of will to reciprocate as Ettrel crashed into me and lifted me off the ground making a happy… whistling noise. I hugged him back with some back patting and the like, while his follower just seemed to roll her eyes and wait out his display.
“Whoa, hey, buddy. Long time no see!” I placated.
He set me down and held my shoulders, lowering his posture to close our height gap. “Dennis! It’s so good to see you! I was doubtful when I sent that letter, but you’re here! Thank you for coming.”
I patted his hand and he took the cue to remove it. “Hey, well, I haven’t kept in touch with many people from the… incident, but you… you’re worth an exception. Besides! Getting married is a special enough occasion, I’d say.”
We shook hands. “Yes, yes of course. It is just you, then? No +1?”
I awkwardly scratched my cheek. “Well, in short, I do have a girlfriend, and I did ask her. Unfortunately, a sunny island getaway is an actual nightmare for her, so… there you go.”
His face briefly blanked, but he seemed to accept it and spoke over his shoulder to the accompanying naga. “I told you that bird was the opposite of trouble, Traiova.”
She flicked her tongue… judgmentally? “The eye sees no trouble, yes. But what of that foul, ashen scent in the trees?”
“That would be my actual company,” I explained with a sigh before cupping my hands over my mouth. “WIND! GET OVER HERE. THEY SMELL YOU!”
We watched as the footprints of shame approached, at which point, I placed a sedge hat on his head.
“Ettrel, meet… the wind, as I have somewhat-jokingly dubbed him. Since so many people are interested in the… specifics… of the adventure where we met, he’s been told to keep them from bothering me.” I crossed my arms. “He’s also supposed to be sneaky, and not get into too much trouble, but he’s not very good at that part. Despite not being told, I basically figured him out on the second day he was watching me.”
We then watched in real time as the wind sassily drew ‘4th’ in the sand. I shrugged, Ettrel shrugged, Traiova tried to tackle the wind. All she got was a faceful of sand. Good times.
Into town we went, Ettrel regaling me on the tale of his return. The instant festival thrown on the return of a seasoned warrior/fisherman, the tales of his own presumptive funeral, and the encounter with his fiance, Shibi, who had forgotten his scent and—flipping between thinking it a cruel prank played by another villager, or an apparition of her then-poor sanity—proceeded to whip him with a thatch duster for 11 minutes straight. One of the exceedingly rare cases where it’s kinda ok to laugh about spousal abuse!
The village was pretty nice as well. It rang of the idealized Polynesian aesthetics from the movies. They had docks and boats, huts of mud and thatch, with a few stronger structures of stone and a little terracotta sprinkled in. And oh boy the people. Really nice… and really tall. Another chance to happily lack a fear of snakes.
And on the subject of the villagers, Ettrel was mobbed by at least 5 different people asking his attention. He didn’t last long before the buzz took him away from us. That left Traiova guiding me solo, and she didn’t talk much. The wind had also disappeared again, perhaps actually being somewhat sneaky for once.
I expected us to turn some heads as we traveled uphill via the single loosely-cobbled street, but we weren’t too odd. On my initial walk there were at least 8 humans and 3 magdotra. I earned a wave from the latter group.
One thing that became rather obvious, was that Azure Sea Nagas do not wear clothes, because scales are plenty fine. They are, however, fashionable. There were flowers, seashells, beads, hats, traded jewels, feathers, and so much more adorning various necks, heads, fingers and arms. There was even a miniskirt. No comment on that one.
I was led up to a nice little painted brick hut with a central chimney roof, where she waved me in. “Your accommodations. Please check if everything is in order and inform me immediately if there are problems. I am too busy to have you running me around.”
I picked up on the run-ragged energy and acknowledged her with a nod. It was a nice, basic single room with a firepit in the middle and a hammock. The ‘chairs’ were simply round rocks of about the correct height to sit on. I tested that the hammock wouldn’t collapse under my weight, and then waved the busy lady off to go do some organizing. She was quite happy with that and said Ettrel would visit ‘soon’.
Then I never saw her again. Well, I might have, but I could only tell the locals apart by their bling and she didn’t wear any…
Thus, I laid my flight-lagged self down and chilled. Nothing much happened for the next 45 minutes other than snacks and groaning. Then, the inevitable knock at the door. I answered and saw Ettrel, the only exception to my prior statement of recognition. He was then followed by the happiest noodle I ever did see.
“Oh, come in,” I ushered.
He thanked me and pulled his beloved in by her hand. “Dennis, it is my pleasure to introduce my bride-to-be, Shibi!”
His future wife reached out to shake my hand, rather vigorously. “Sir, I owe you very, very much for bringing my fiance back from such a horrible place. We thought him dead. My life was a stormy sea with his loss.”
I continued the 7-second handshake, at her silent insistence. “It was the right thing to do. That place, that tomb, was a terrible machination of cruel efficiency. Seeing something like this, you two, reunited and better for it… what a wonderful result.”
I got my hand back as she agreed quite fervently. “Yes, yes, of course. It has been like a dream, having my Etty back. And to meet his savior that he tells stories of oh so often.”
There was some subtext with that last bit. My gut extrapolated a bit of jealousy over the amount of time and attention I got, without even locally existing. But, pushing past that, I got the 3 of us sat down on the stone seats. Ettrel and Shibi coiled around the rocks.
I gave a proper introduction. Name, business, where I’m from. Then, the lovebirds shared some tales of their love, their time apart, and their reunion; varying from boring, to sickeningly sweet, though a little too personal to share. Next, I was offered a place of importance in the wedding.
That was just a bit messy, with most of the roles being pre-filled, and not conforming to the average christian wedding roles. However—upon explaining the alcoholic supplies that I had brought as a contribution—I was granted the esteemed position of bartender. And you know what? I was cool with that.
Amid a rather censored, cliff notes retelling of my journey to the tomb, an urgent knocking fell on the door. “Shibi! Your mermaid quartet is upset about the canal we dug for them!” a local girl squawked through the door.
Shibi rather rapidly excused herself and… sprinted (power-slithered?) out the door. Leaving me a bit astonished, but Ettrel waved it off. “Another thing, as always. I’m certain she can convince her mermaid friends to still sing for the wedding.”
“There’s always some drama with weddings.”
“Yes, a wonderful guarantee that is,” he replied halfheartedly. “That brings me to a request, actually. Dennis, at the evening party after the ceremony, would you be willing to tell the tale of our meeting?”
I blinked. “Umm… why?”
He intertwined his hands and appeared sheepish. “Well… I speak of you quite highly. I promise that I tried to not spread the tale of your heroism, as you asked, but it was pried from me piecemeal. Thus, the rumor mill took the seeds of my stories, ground them to flour, and now my people come to me with the proverbial bread.
“It has been toyed with, misremembered, and embellished by others into an unrecognizable, near-mythic state. I have spent a lot of time correcting it, but Shibi has gotten tired of my efforts. She rightly believes that she should be the most spoken of person in my life, but that’s hard with everyone asking about you.”
I sighed. “Well, on a remote island, and for a friend, sure. But I have 1 condition. Shibi has to tell me that she’s okay with it, directly. I don’t want to be at the center of any wedding drama.”
He seemed slightly offended. “Of course she is okay with it! I would not dare request such a thing without her approval.”
“I believe you. But it’s her wedding too, and that is my condition. Trust, but verify.”
Ettrel calmed down. “Very well. I’ll inform her of your request.” He looked to the side. “I should do that now. There are 5… 6 other things I need to do before dinner… which you’re invited to, by the way. Our home, just after sunset. Ask someone for directions, I must go.”
I waved as he went. “See you then, busy bee!”
And, just like his wife minutes ago, he was off. I wasn’t surprised. It’s unrealistic to get more than 30 minutes of someone’s time the day before their wedding. I got up and sighed, enjoying the absolute most basic of wedding drama. It made me grateful that Chivos spent so much on planners and security for ours. Another thing to be grateful for was that I only had a single thing to worry about at that exact moment: Brunch.
A good half hour later, I was dozing off when the door opened. In walked the wind, wearing the hat I gave him, a poncho, and 3 Hawaii-style flower necklaces. I gawked at the floating fashion statement as he shut the door with a defeated snarl, dragged himself to the unoccupied corner, and laid down with the hat covering his face.
“Mood.”
……
I skimmed my good-boy card, refreshing my memory on how not to get arrested in a distant land with different laws. The rules for when you could and couldn’t step on someone’s snake body were… rather thorough. What peaked my morbid curiosity, however, was the banning of straight interspecies relations. Not gay, just straight, and that peaked my curiosity. It would be a fun game to play, asking why that in particular is illegal without getting punched.
So I left the little shack and started downhill, going wherever was interesting. And what a town it was, what a town indeed. That is to say, what a plain town. At a glance, I guessed 1,000-ish people lived there, (including outlying micro settlements) and that wasn’t quite on the level needed to have lots of activities and entertainment.
Not to say they don’t have lots of cool things to do… if you know someone… who invites you to it. As it turns out, my luck with that ran out at wedding, and dinner. Thus began my search for tourist attractions. Whilst I was asking around, I noticed the awkward stares and confused citizens. Not at me, but the fashion statement following close behind. It was the wind indeed, but the strange part was that they stared all of 3-4 seconds, then looked away.
So, curiosity being what it is, I picked a random citizen to get some answers. “Pardon me?” I asked, tapping a rather blingy fellow on the arm.
“Oh, um, yes, mister Gods’ Chosen, sir?” he answered with plentiful trepidation.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
“I was just wondering if you could enlighten me as to why everyone is remarkably unbothered by my… friend, here. You see, he’s supposed to go unnoticed, and people are usually alarmed by him when they realize he exists,” I explained.
As the seconds ticked by, the naga visibly relaxed. “Thank the tides, something simple.” He sighed. “It’s the flowers, they say everything. Blue butter-barrels are a declaration of peace, hand-trimmed hookthornes denote ‘friend’, and barba de volcáns are a request to be left alone.”
I counted down the blue, green-and-pink, and white flower necklaces, then nodded appreciatively. “Thank you, that really clears it up for me. Wind! Congratulations, that’s your outfit until we leave.”
My new bud leaned in, almost conspiratorially. “I would… recommend it stays on. I cannot speak for everyone, but I smelled your friend before I saw him.”
“Really? Nobody has smelled him before.”
“I would not be surprised, it’s a remarkably subtle scent. Like a perversion of sulfur.”
……
In the end, it was a great day. Why? Because nothing happened. I sunbathed on the beach, swam around in the shallows, even read a book while leaning against a damn tree! Seriously, a tree! The seagulls didn’t steal my snacks, and the wind was busy slathering himself in coconut. It left me in a nice, quiet little bubble. I finished 2 chapters of a book while sitting in a public place, a new record for the year.
Then, I hit the town and ate something light, leaving room for later. Squid-ink risotto is an experience. Enough of one that I promptly purchased a bottle of ink, paying extra for magical preservatives. I also struck up a conversation with the shopkeeper that sated my curiosity.
You see, when a naga and a human love eachother very much… they [censored].
And 9 months later, you get an azure sea lamia. They have 3 traits that—in combination—are quite problematic. They are the 3rd strongest breed of lamia, the #1 most venomous, and… extraordinarily psychotic; averaging 8 attempted murders, and 3 successes by age 16.
Yikes.
To close out the day, I did a little souvenir shopping. The only thing that really caught my eye was the seashells that the nagas magically convert to glass in a cute little case of species-specific magical secrets. Sold.
That was about the limit of my free time. The sun was starting to go down, so I dropped my shopping off at the guest house and asked for directions like the good little tourist that I was.
……
Under most circumstances, our little dinner shindig would go here… but… what is there to say? Ettrel—whilst popular and a natural organizer and leader—is, in the end, a pretty normal dude. We had rainbow-scaled salmon and rice, talked about getting back to life after the tomb, and also fishing. Then, Shibi told us about her career as a medicine maker. It. was. Normal. And I loved it.
But it was neither action, nor drama. Thus, it is something I will hold close, and gloss over. The dinner ended without fuss. Shibi gave me her word that I should retell the story, and accepted my contribution to her ‘wedding dress’. For as an invited guest, I was to contribute a small, pretty thing for her dress. A strip of iridescent blue ribbon was gladly accepted, and I was straight off to bed to sleep even more…. right after fetching the wind from the bench where I had abandoned him. Poor guy wasn't allowed at the grown ups' table.
……
I woke up bright and early the next day, having somehow gotten enough sleep. There was plenty to do, and not much fanfare to accompany it. So, I threw on shorts and a tropical shirt, grabbed half my things, and made the wind carry them. We were off to the beach, hanging a right to where all the hubbub was. 20 minutes down the way was the wedding site. More specifically, everyone’s wedding venue, purpose built to outlast any sort of drama.
There were open-sided party tents going up, a large wooden deck for everyone to gather, which ramped up near the surf to a stage/raised area with a removable altar of sorts. It looked like there was a path into the jungle for the betrothed to enter from. There was also a fairly dubious canal being finalized for some mermaids to perform close to the party. After taking in the scene, I asked to be shown the bar tent.
That brought me to a large canvas hexagon, with 2 of the 6 sides open. Wooden countertop, racks for bottles and kegs. Yup. There was also a naga behind the counter.
“Hey, are you my backup?” I greeted as I walked in.
He stopped wiping a glass made from several magically-merged seashells. “Yes, yes I am.” His hand extended for a shake. “Choble.”
“Dennis,” I answered, giving a good shake. “I hope I’m not stepping on your tail, taking the bartender spot.”
Choble dropped his head. “I’m just happy there’s 2 of us now.”
“2? Just 2 people for, like, 200 guests?” I asked indignantly, getting a confirming nod from Choble. “Wind, congratulations, you’re hired. Do you know how to make a mimosa?”
His hat waved up and down in a cartoonish nod.
……
Research only gets you so far. I, for my part, had done quite a bit on the local wedding traditions. Something I did not quite catch was that the alcohol is not merely present at sea naga weddings, but a vital component. Only 3 people are completely sober for any length of time, the bride, the groom, and the officiant. All of which will immediately catch themselves up shortly after the ceremony.
That left our trio as the first and last defense against a dull wedding. 200 guests, 4 double-shot drinks each before 10am, get going. I had the ice rod running full steam cooling off our stock, the wind stirred and served like his namesake, and Choble was tapping and pouring like a beast. We served my mimosas and sparkling wine, as well as the locally-sourced barley malt beer and… the fish oil wine. Of all the things to aspire to, not spending hours in proximity of fish oil wine is a great one to put on the list.
But that didn’t stop me! I’d put up with shoggoth stink before and nothing ever tops that. We handed out drinks like candy as the sun rose higher, and the guest count only swelled. Then, around 9-ish, Ettrel slithered in, worming through and over the crowd.
“Dennis! Everyone seems to be loving your drinks. I hope you brought enough!” he announced boisterously.
“Don’t you worry about that!” I yelled back as I kept mixing. “Anything for you before you’re off to the woods?”
“Just some of the orange juice I keep hearing about. I want to taste the zing!”
……
Drinks round 1 was a smashing hit, and left my arms only slightly screaming internally from all the stirring. 10 sharp was rolling around, so we poured ourselves a few. I had 2, then bumped it to 5 after remembering that it’s like, really hard to get drunk at higher levels. Everybody cleared out and assembled on the deck for the most normal part of the ceremony. I got front-row aisle seating on account of being short as hell compared to everyone else. I (and 3 other humans) were also the only ones ‘sitting’ on anything, the rest just kinda… made themselves shorter.
The ‘officiant’ came slithering down, carrying a large drum. He made it to the altar and set it down, then placed what appeared to be sheet music on the podium/altar/thing. Any murmuring and whispered conversation immediately died as he raised the drumsticks to start his song. It opened as a fast, elaborate piece, requiring precise beats, then, after a minute, slowed to an almost marching beat.
As the beat remained, settled in, even, the nagas around me started to drum the wooden deck with their tails, keeping vaguely in time with the beat. This kept on for a few minutes before an abrupt stop at which point everyone looked back to see the couple slithering up. Ettrel wore a large canvas cloak. It had been painted all over with depictions of key moments of his life. Most of them I didn’t know, but displayed prominently on the back was him leading a long line of silhouettes through a sun-beaten land. I knew that one.
Shibi, meanwhile, sported a net, onto which hundreds of small, pretty objects had been woven, sewn, tied, or otherwise attached. We’re talking shells, gemstones, a crystalized butterfly, and that ribbon I gave as well. They also had matching crowns of flowers, big, regal rounded things, with a matched pair of each flower species on the island, 1 per crown. That was some sappy connectedness and completed pairs symbolism right there. Sweet enough to make you sick.
The lovebirds approached the altar in silence, then, the officiant resumed a low, deliberate beat.
“Bringing us together today, we have the lovers lost,” he began in a mix of priestly officiant and… wrestling commentator? “Ettrel, our most respected netsman. Taken, the month of your wedding. Abducted to a cruel machine fit more for legend than reality. Songs were sung, fires burnt, and—though three took your place—stomachs grumbled. You must forgive us all for thinking anything could keep you from your love.”
A round of cheers erupted, which he quelled before continuing. “And Shibi, lady poultice herself. We owe you more than our pristine scales and clean breaths. Tireless toil, endless persistence; doubtless, many owe you their lives. Today, your storm passes. The sorrow, the loss, it has ended. Your bright star has returned, and we shall all bask in its glory, for your constellation is complete once more!”
He drummed faster, quieter. “Speak now, in unity! What shall you be when the times are good?”
“Joyous!” Ettrel and Shibi yelled together.
“What say ye of the first clutch of eggs?”
“Later!” they cried fervently.
“What of your answer in the face of sickness, pain and death?”
“Fight!”
The drums hit their fastest as he reached the final question. “And for how long shall your love burn?”
“Forever!”
Then, the entire crowd all threw their fists in the air and repeated ‘forever’, including me. They were sufficiently convinced by Ettrel and Shibi’s coordination and candor. As the cheering died down, the newlyweds removed their garments for the next… interesting part of the ceremony. Once stripped, a bucket of oil was dumped on each of them, and they had to dive into the crowd and escape into the jungle while everyone tried to hold them down.
Supposedly, this is symbolic of how everyone will still want their time and attention, and to not neglect important friendships despite being married. I mean, I get it, but also, excuse me WTF? Anyway, I got an oily danger noodle to the face as Shibi went practically right through me. 50-50 on whether she was aiming for me deliberately.
By the time I got up, she and Ettrel were powering through a sea of inebriated snake people. And, 20 seconds later, they were on the other side and zooming off into the jungle, returning minutes later with the oil wiped off and in more normal attire (naked, but with stylish accessories). And that was everyone’s cue to resume the festivities.
Drums, strings and woodwinds gathered around the canal as the quartet of mermaids started to sing, flipping between operatic and acapella at alarming speeds. Ettrel and Shibi gave all the guests their 30 seconds before inevitably moving on to the next ‘hi, wasn’t that great? Yeah, totally, ok bye!’ shtick. I, expectedly, was called back to start serving drinks again. And that’s basically what I did for the next hour and a half.
That is, until the wrestling tournament.
Honestly, best part of the whole affair. They have this round little handmade island, about 20 feet in diameter with sheer wooden sides. You get there by drawbridge and it’s basically sumo, throwing the other guy out the ring. The fun rule being that you have to be touching someone before you use force. So, no punching, but you put your hands on them then shove. This meant that the most popular ring-out was to literally pick the other guy up and dump him into the ocean.
I got to watch about half of it, since I’d mixed a giant batch of mimosa and was worming through the crowd refilling glasses. First up came the newlyweds exhibition match, where Ettrel and Shibi would go 2v1 against anyone who challenged them (while being tied together at the hand). They had to bet on themselves for how many consecutive wins they could get. They said 15, but pulled off 18 with a stunning save in round 13, when Ettrel swung Shibi back into the arena before her weight dragged him over the side.
After their cheers and adulations was a more normal tournament, with a 1v1 bracket and everything. But, again, I only saw so much between getting everyone their drinks. That was the thirstiest period of the wedding, so I caught a break afterward; quite unlike the wind, who I don’t think stopped a single time the whole day.
Once the bonfire went up, Ettrel fetched me. It was story time, and oh boy, I didn’t really want to. And yet, he was one of ‘da bois’, and you never go back on a promise to da bois. I stood before the fire, a dark, flip-flop wearing silhouette, ominous, dorky.
“It was a terrible place, and I had been quested there by a powerful man, to whom I owed a grand favor. A land of mirages and broken energies, vicious, otherworldly beasts, and where magic would only bring doom to its user,” I began in my most imposing voice.
Many things were left out, particularly, my equipment, but I struck every note needed. The orc village, the crossing of the glass plains, my initial successes, delving into the floors ever deeper. I told them especially of the royal vampire, how he was the first true sign that something was wrong, rotten behind the scenes. He had not known why he was there, how he had arrived, or what he guarded. Well, it was a bit speculative. I did end up blowing his head off… rather preemptively. It was self-defense, officer.
Then came the dragon, the fallen comrade, and the discovery. How I subverted the design of the dungeon, destroyed its secret guardians, and found the awful crime against all that is good. The cage farms, far as the eye could see, filled with countless reasonable beings, taken only for their ability to fight, to obstruct brave heroes. Then, of course, I met Ettrel, someone I could talk to, someone I could hatch a plan with.
And, as I was about to tell of the 2nd being I sprung, the man in question literally crawled out of the bonfire. Our beautiful mass of sentient magma—who had been dramatically hiding under the wood since before the flame was lit—burst forth, proudly proclaiming:
“Mrfthp-p-p, mm nmm mm tff!” (And then he found me!)
Thankfully, there were plenty willing to translate for me, as I don’t speak ‘mumbly flammable gas jet’.
“Yes, then I got you out, and you melted the bars on a ton of cages right after,” I responded through an interpreter.
And as I wound toward the end of my tale, telling a heavily altered retelling of my battle with a bona-fide tank, and escaping with the generic legendary artifact, Flambae was dutifully searing a steak and slathering it with herbs and butter. It was only slightly awkward continuing the story with a 7-ton amorphous magma elemental being a chef 5 feet behind me. Right as I finished with our parting of ways at the edge of the Shimmerlands, a plate was put in my hand and Flambae tipped the medium-rare steak right onto it.
There were some astonished faces, but most of the island had heard the story in some effect before. It didn’t stop an avalanche of questions so deep that I had to be escorted to the dinner table, though. Choble sat next to me soon after and we dug into our assorted feast of meaty goodness.
“It was fascinating to hear the legend from the man himself,” Choble remarked after some minutes.
“I’m sure it was,” I attempted to dismiss. However, I saw the look in his eye. “You have questions, don’t you?”
“What weapon did you use? Why did the magic at the end make a thing that sounds like the gods would disapprove of, and why that ‘tank’ specifically? What happened to the artifact? What did it do?” he asked without hesitation.
“Weapons?” I retorted, loading up a line I had always wanted to say. “That’s classified. On the tank, I dunno. The gods set the rules for us, but I bet they break them whenever they feel like. The magic definitely went through my head searching for nasty stuff, but I think it skipped over a bunch of way worse crap for something that… well, that I could beat.” I cocked my head. “Huh, maybe it was balanced.”
Choble nodded along, forgetting his food entirely. Several people had stopped eating to listen, in hindsight. “And what about the artifact you retrieved? You barely described it.”
I drew a long, deep sigh, which silenced another 20 feet of table in either direction. “I don’t know what it did. I’ll be honest, I didn’t even want to touch it. I gave it to the guy who sent me there, because that’s what he wanted in the first place. I did not activate it.”
I looked him in the eye. “Word of advice: If you ever come into possession of a legendary item, or indescribable magic artifact. Get rid of it. Not by throwing it away, because it will find its way back to you. Give it to someone who wants it and won’t destroy the world. Make it their problem.”
……
Safe to say, the wedding went off without a hitch (other than the lovebirds getting hitched). They even liked my wedding gift! A matching pair of the same type compasses we used to escape the Shimmerlands, but the crystals they pointed to were on necklaces. Never lose your spouse again! Overall, it was great, if tiring, and no, I will keep up with the precedent of this trip and won’t go into further detail. Some things are near and dear enough to my heart I’d rather they stay private to a degree.
“No rest for the wicked,” I repeated to myself as I got up bright and early the next morning.
I wasn’t just there for a wedding after all. I packed my work tools and headed to the docks to charter a small boat out to sea. When asked where I said ‘out to sea’. The 3 naga crewmen didn’t like that answer until I paid them the fare to go all the way to another island days away… for a jaunt of just a few hours. That got them in gear, and they had their small fishing sloop ready to go posthaste. Meanwhile, the wind was happy that we let him take off the outfit once we were introduced and out to sea.
They tried to socialize, but I was… preoccupied. First, I was busy phoning the main office, where Pokle picked up.
“Hey, are they on the line? … Great, let ‘em know. Small boat, triangular sail. … Yup, just cleared the shallows 10 minutes ago. … Ok, buh-bye.”
I clicked the stones together and the boat’s owner tapped my shoulder. “Might I ask what that was about?”
My answer came casually as I busted out a telescope to scan the horizon. “Well, you see, I’m a bit of a shrewd businessman. Mainly, I came here for Ettrel’s wedding, but there was also a rather odd client in the area and I’m getting that done too, while I’m here.”
There was a pause while she contemplated. “So… you do know where we’re going? Because if not, I’m making this a fishing trip at your expense.”
“Oh, yeah, don’t worry about–” I started before being interrupted.
A green-haired person in a white shirt, black vest and bowtie, popped out of the water with a splash. From the waist down, they were just… a glossy black tube. The captain and crew all jumped back, startled, but I just held my arms akimbo as our odd guest looked at me.
“Hi! Would you be Dennis Lawson?”
I collapsed the telescope. “That would be me.”
“Great! Thank you for coming out here. Please remain firmly on the boat.”
They then disappeared just as suddenly as they appeared. “What in the deepest trenches was that?” the captain squealed.
“Well, umm,” I started before two massive jaws rose out of the ocean around us.
Rows of feet-long teeth, hundreds of yards long and wide overtook us in the massive jaws of a leviathan. I watched as the horizon vanished, leaving only a crescent of sky right above as the teeth closed in. The crew around me screeched in terror as the last light vanished. I quietly noted to myself that it looked quite similar to one of those sports stadiums with a closable roof.
As the shutting was complete, the leviathan came down to rest on its belly, the teeth rotating to be on level where the horizon once was. This left us in a small lake in the bottom of its mouth, as a tongue slowly extended to touch the boat. I gave the petrified captain a pouch of coins before jumping onto the tongue.
“Here’s your tip. Thanks for the ride, fellas!”
They weren’t really paying attention to me. One of the crewmen was babbling nervously, and more loudly than the rest.
“Why? Why a Borderguard Leviathan? We are too far from the edge of the sane world for this!” he cried with despair.
An illusory form of the same person as earlier appeared the moment I stepped foot on the tongue. “Of course you are too far from the edge for this. Goodbye!”
The mouth then opened abruptly, letting sunlight in as we were level with the ocean’s surface. Unceremoniously, the tongue shoved the boat out into the open ocean, then the mouth shut again. I recovered my wobbly footing and waved at the apparition.
“Hello, I’m here for the issue you called about. Can you sign this document here, please?”