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Rosabella
"You're sure...they're...nerds?" Joy's manicured eyebrows pitch upward at a height I've rarely seen them. ...The pink-haired girl doesn't believe us? Or is it that the thought of a hundred nerds completely revolts her?
> Yes, geeks, dorks—
Sparo spits telepathically to all of us.
> I mean, either that or like a thousand Harry Potter fans dressed up ONLY as Harry.
I can understand the raw agitation in his voice and expression. The red dragon's clearly frazzled, nearly pinching apart at the seams. He'd flown us each, in pairs, to the edge of the grasslands—as far as the tracker strapped around his leg would let him. And our group stands on the edge of the enormous, barren plaza—ragged peaks of mountains climbing next to us into cliffs and nothing but uncertainty and waist-level, yellow grass ahead. ...And heat—Goddamn this sun. I'm already sweating under my body armor. But we're here for a reason—to face the thing Sparo and I saw from the cliff cave above. If I shade my eyes with my hand and stare through my sun-splotched vision into the horizon, I can make it out.
That dark cloud.
The crowd of people.
But Sparo's the only one who's seen them up-close—the only one of us who can see them with his enhanced, dragon vision. And it's clearly frustrating him that no one is taking his word for it. ...Well, no one but me.
> You all can believe me or not—whatever you want—but I know hundreds of book-thumpers when I see them—
"You know, you aren't being incredibly sensitive right now." The thin sliver of Dormouse's voice trembles in the open air like it's taken him quite a bit of courage to speak up. Mimi nods at him, encouragingly.
But the dragon only snorts, emitting a halo of black smoke.
> I call it like I see it, Braino.
Dormouse opens his mouth to come back with what will most likely be the nicest, non-biting retort ever when Rainer's entire body tenses. "Do you see that?" he barks.
And the burly warrior's shading his eyes, and I rush to do the same and...and I do see it.
A figure.
The black silhouette of a human stumbling towards us through the tall grass.
"If it's Darken, I win something," Joy mutters under her breath.
But we're all holding our breaths.
I watch Sparo's scarlet-scaled tail curl instinctively in front of my legs, matting the grass there. The action...like he might be able to shield me from whoever this visitor is or whatever they might bring, but the reality is that that shield will be gone soon. Sparo is tethered to The Higher Place; he has to stay behind. It's a topic we've been actively avoiding.
The figure walking towards us is most definitely a man, not a zombie—I realize that distinctly as he gets closer. He's lanky, tall and, by the looks of the way he's picking up his feet so high over the tall grass with each step, awkward. Corn-colored hair, matching the color of the engulfing grass, juts in scruffy dreadlocks in every direction from the crown of his head like a mop turned upside down. And it's not the only scruffy thing about the guy—that's obvious the nearer and nearer he gets. The skin of his face is leathery and dotted, and a gritty, untrimmed beard hangs under a smile as wide as his face. He flings a waving hand in the air, nearly falling over from the wide movement.
"What the hell are you doing all the way out here?!" the man calls boisterously—his grin never leaving his lips or eyes.
"I was about to ask you the same thing," Rainer growls, his voice ten octaves lower than the approaching man and, clearly, not as friendly.
The stranger stumbles closer, his fingers wiping horizontally in the air as his eyes scan through the code and text popping up in the air there. "I don't see your tags in the inventory," he calls, barely looking up as he continues to pick his feet up over the grass, plowing towards us, "What are your usernames?"
"He might as well be Darken," Joy gripes out of the side of her mouth, "I think he has negative brain cells—"
"There's no usernames in The Game," Rainer snorts, overlapping the pink-haired girl's snide comment, "What are you playing at?"
"No usernames in the..." the man looks up, his thin, pale lips trailing off as his eyes trace over the faces of our group as though seeing us for the first time. And disbelief whitens his already sour-cream completion as his raised finger moves from the code to hover over each one of us, interchangeably, "Red dragon...sexually-frustrated nerd...wannabe lumberjack...shark-attack, pink-haired girl, freckled one no one remembers and...brunette chick. Oh shit—oh my fucking God!—you're all from the book?!"
"What book?" I blurt. And I think my confusion speaks for all of us.
The guy's eyes snap to mine, way past alarmed and, somehow, excited; above him, his sandy dreadlocks shake. "Holy shit, you guys are real?! This is sick AF!" He throws his hands down.
I watch Rainer trying to process if the guy's words might be a threat, knitting his bushy eyebrows together, and I'm about to step in and clear his concern when the stranger speaks again.
"Oh, bro!" he gushes excitedly, "That means the dragon is real? Can I touch it?!" He seems WAY too thrilled about the action as he eyes Sparo up and down.
"Only if you want your little baby fingers fried off, and that would be a real shame now, wouldn't it?" Joy coos in her typical I-don't-give-two-fucks lullaby.
Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.
But even her tone and snapping eyes, somehow, don't seem to dull the enthusiasm of the stranger. He runs both hands through his dreads, clearly still freaking out, "Oh my God, everyone's gonna flip. The crowd goes wild!" He mimics fanfare.
"The crowd already is going wild. There's what, hundreds of people out there?" Dormouse complains, clearly also losing patience as he gestures to the horizon. And I see my opening.
"What is going on?" I demand, "Who are all those people, and what is this book you're talking about?"
And the guy seems to come down to the solid ground for a minute.
"5,280," he states, gesturing openly at us like we should know what he means.
But I don't.
And I blink at him. We all blink at him.
> Tell us what the fuck is going on with the swarm of nerds, or I'll eat you.
Sparo snarls in our eardrums.
And it's easy to see that the stranger can hear the dragon too. His face goes slack, "Was that—was that just—the dragon just used telepathy?!"
"No pressure, but he usually follows through on his threats," Joy growls, prompting the guy's hands to shake at he gapes back at our group.
"5,280 usernames are cataloged," he sputters, "—well, Ashwipe#3 hasn't checked in yet—but...here, uh—" he wipes both hands hastily on the front of his t-shirt before extending one towards Joy, but the girl just scowls back at him and makes no move to shake it.
"Oh, err—" he keeps the hand out but swivels so that his fingers now extend towards me. His expression is sheepish and wincing even as I accept his handshake. "Sorry, forgot, you're officially in charge here," he makes air quotes on the word 'officially' before nodding at Joy, "She's kinda intimidating in person. DANK#Fanboi_420 at your service. Honestly, you're kinda cuter than I'd have thought—sorry, you're right, totally douchey thing to say. Plus, Sparo's your meat man—I got you." He winks at me, making guns in the air with both hands and fake firing at me. No idea what that's supposed to mean.
...He's talking like he knows me...knows us...
"I'm sorry, do I know you from somewhere?" I lean forward, trying to recall his face but coming up blank.
And the man's expression breaks and morphs, winkling everywhere and cracking into an enormous smile, "Oh hell, you guys don't know me! But, geez, you're celebrities around here—better than fucking action figures. It's like, literally, meeting the characters in your favorite book. Damn, I've got it right here."
I watch the man scramble to fish in his back pocket. And he pulls out a small paperback. "When I saw they were selling the pocket-size ones, I had to get me one-a those, you know?" He flashes the cover at me with a grin.
[https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/1102021402707628096/1120147654932959242/the_dragons_mouth_10.jpg]
In The Dragon's Mouth? It's like I've seen it in a dream before—like deja vu that makes you pause for a minute. And my mouth drops open when I read the author's name: 'Prickgada The Psychic'.
"You're all described in here—this thing's a bestseller. It was only online at first, then, went fucking viral outta nowhere. It tells all about The Game and, obviously, how to get in here which me and the crew just had to mega check out—"
> I'm gonna kill her. I'm finally gonna kill that bitch once and for all.
Sparo growls in all our minds, the grating grasp of his utter fury clear in every snarled syllable.
"Prickgada wrote a book about how to get into The Game?" Dormouse's eyes are as wide as four continents. "You guys—that crowd on the horizon—is ..from Earth? Humans, not Gamers?"
"That's impossible—" Mimi interrupts, stepping forward like she's about to spew some serious portal passage stats and regulations.
"Obviously not," Dormouse counters sourly, "Prickgada knows enough about the code work arounds..."
> So, you're saying an army of dweebs. From Earth. Have all joined forces and invaded The Game?
Sparo's voice is low and disbelieving as it reverberates in my head.
And I have to admit it; my stomach is dropping octaves with every word of his question. ...Is it...could it be true?
"You make this sound like Star Wars," DANK#Fanboi_420 brays with a grating chuckle, "This is just a chatroom that might have gotten a little outta hand. Yes, humans. No to the army part. Plus, in case you didn't notice, we have quite a diverse group of people." He sweeps a wide hand towards the mass on the horizon which we can now pick out easier is actually colligating small groups.
"...As in geek and geekier?" Joy slurs, crossing her arms, unconvinced, over her chest.
"Oh, no" the stranger shakes his blonde dreadlocks like he's suddenly gone into teacher mode. His face is long and serious now, "You see, ITDM is loved by fantasy and horror fans all over the world so—"
"ITDM?" I ask.
"In The Dragon's Mouth—this book," he shakes the paperback at me again.
Right.
"That crowd represents the most active users of the Scare & Warlocks Guild who love survival horror and fantasy. And the horror fans are straightforward, minus the slashers verses the psychological types, but confusing the fantasy lovers would be utter chaos." He emphasizes the last few words.
"As though we aren't already in a shit box here," Joy drawls dryly.
"You have no idea. I mean, take the chasm between J.R. Tolkien fans and Harry Potter fans. They get it," Fanboi gestures at Dormouse and Mimi who are nodding in agreement, "Some of the newer Rowling fans have never even read the other epic!" His mouth drops with excess shock.
"And that is supposed to be a bad thing?" Joy flips her pink hair over her shoulder, clearly already bored with the topic.
The guy gapes at her, his head swiveling to Dormouse for some kind of validation, "Is she serious right now?"
"Yep," Dormouse informs him.
But I noticed Rainer is having none of this banter. What's up with him? His face creases and clamps with irritation as he shifts his weight between both feet. In fact, the bearded warrior looks rather pissed. I see his fingers curl into fists as his eyes dart over the horizon again. "All I know," he finally gripes, "is your band of dorks are getting way too close to the temple, and one of my best friends' body is up there. Excuse me, but I can't sit here chatting about paper and ink when something could happen to his body—" His boots crunch in the thick grass as he turns towards me.
"We left him there, Rosabella." He's looking directly at me now, his voice pleading. Tears brim in his tortured eyes.
And I nod because I know he's asking a question. And the burly man turns swiftly at my answer and begins trotting towards the temple balcony that the crowd is getting far too close to.
"Rainer's right," I tell the rest of our group, "We should go with him."
But the stranger and Dormouse are, now, engaged in some sort of debate which has Mimi looking like she might just join in, and Joy is testing the sharpness of her sword on her pink finger—
BOOOOOOOOMMMMMM!
What?
The ground rumbles beneath my feet.
My heart lurches as I spin.
Slow motion—
Not fast enough—
The smell of smoke and char fills my nose.
A fiery mushroom cloud billows into the sky right where—
Terror clutches at my heart.
Right where Rainer was standing three seconds ago.