His toes throbbed, pinched within boots a half-size too small. Tomorrow, he resolved, he would visit the bazaar near Terling Highstreet, to hagle for a second-hand pair of boots that afforded him better comfort.

Yet, the dull pain did little to deter his exploration of the city streets. He weaved through the swelling throng of people. What he had mistaken for a typical morning's bustle revealed itself as the deceptive calm before the storm.

Navigating the crowd became an exercise in balance and agility, each step taken with deliberate care to avoid bumping into other pedestrians. James was cautious not to give offense that way. Who knew how easily fights started in Avi’Gale?

As if to prove a point a band of Ombrak barbarians, tusks jutting imposingly from their jaws, made their way through the crowd. A path cleared as if by magic. James, too, stepped aside, observing them with discreet, sidelong glances before moving along.

At the junction of Terling Highstreet and Pinnike Street, he was assaulted by a riot of sounds. A few blocks that way, a chaotic square burst into view, pulling James towards it in the wake of its clamor. Shouts and growls rebounded on him, growing louder with each step.

The square teemed with individuals from every conceivable race, their attention riveted on the array of stands. Banners emblazoned with symbols and script fluttered above each: Clan Oblog, Fiery Guild, Omny Cult. James read among others as he drifted between them, his gaze flitting from sign to sign until a darkened hand thrust a leaflet against his chest.

"Here, Clan Oblog welcomes you. Come by for a chat," intoned the monster with boredom, already pivoting to assault another passerby with the same greeting.

"Ah, yes, thanks," James managed, recovering from his sudden surprise. The leaflet pusher, however, had already dismissed him, having completed his delivery.

He scrutinized the coarse paper. "CLAN OBLOG" announced itself in handpainted bold letters above a clear description:

Our clan of hardened warriors seeks to bolster its ranks in Avi’Gale. We offer minor blessings of strength upon enlistment. Join us!

A recruitment drive was underway. James surveyed the bustling stands once more, seeing them in a new light this time. Each was brimming with potential recruits engaged in animated discussions with representatives from each stand.

He pocketed the leaflet, ensuring he collected others as they were indiscriminately offered to him. By the time he completed a circuit of the square, he had amassed eight of them, each promising different blessings for joining their respective force.

Was this a routine event, or had he stumbled upon something extraordinary?

With the third bell quickly approaching and his pockets filled with offers, James decided it was time to retreat to the familiar tavern. His shift wouldn't be too far off now.

—-

“I've accumulated quite the collection,” James remarked, brandishing the stack of leaflets in one hand, the other was preoccupied with ferrying buttered bread to his mouth.

“They're still on that spree?” Ann responded with a lack of enthusiasm sitting lazily before him. “It's been a month since the Darius cult was purged, and the lesser guilds are still scrambling to bulk their numbers.”

James paused his meal long enough to place the leaflets on the kitchen table. “Purged?” he asked with interest.

“A nasty affair,” Ann explained, her voice flat, betraying little emotion. “Rumors on the street suggested they had dabbled in forbidden blessings. Between you and me, their real mistake was being too successful. You don't cross the big three in Avi’Gale and escape unscathed. I've heard they've been scattered to the winds, even as far as Fonterra. Daria must be pissed.”

James nodded, absorbing her words, eager for her to continue. When she fell silent, he prompted, “And who are the big three?”

“Ah, I forgot you're not a local for a moment,” she said, her tone lightening with a hint of amusement. “First, there's the Kildashan clan, filled predominantly by Ombrak orcs. Joining them is difficult. I've heard they require a blessing of greater strength at the least. Then there's the cult, Fiend of Hazar; Our poor Ditr had close ties to many within their ranks. And lastly, the Guild.”

“No name for the guild?”

“The Guild is the Guild. Their presence alone makes a statement,” Ann explained with gravity and with a nod towards the leaflets she asked. “So, are you considering joining any?”

James mulled over the idea before responding, “Should I?”

Ann sifted through the leaflets, her fingers selecting two. “Oblog isn't the worst choice, and the Omny cult has its merits.”

“The idea of joining a cult doesn’t exactly thrill me,” James admitted.

“And why's that?”

“Doesn’t 'cult' carry a certain... ominous meaning?”

“No, not really. I belong to one. Kirk’s domain, same as Merek,” Ann replied, her delivery deadpan, slicing through James's awkward words.

“Ah, my apologies, I wasn’t aware,” James said, attempting to sound earnest. “It might be prejudice I carry from back home.”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“I’m not one to convert others, but cults usually have it easier than clans or guilds. You might want to consider carefully the obligations before joining, however.” She said seriously.

“I’ll do just that. Appreciate the help, Ann.” He said with a smile. “Is that the third bell I hear?” I guess I should go to the entrance then.”

“Good luck,” Ann said standing up, taking along his dishes to be washed.

The tavern operated from the third bell until sunrise, making it unsurprising for James when he stepped out from the kitchen into the main hall to find only Merek present.

“Take a stand by the entrance and look intimidating—that should suffice,” Merek called out.

James acknowledged the words with a raised hand.

The main outer door was massive, dwarfing those back home, and quite heavy. He drugged it open, revealing a short group, possibly dwarves, waiting on the front porch. Their chuckles were cut short, replaced by surprise.

“Who the hell are you?” demanded a burly dwarf. “Where’s Ditr?”

“Ditr’s gone. I’m James, hello.” He said apologetically. His attempt at looking menacing had dissolved almost instantly.

“Bullshit. Ditr’s always here,” the dwarf retorted with a scowl.

“Ditr left… for the lands,” James tried again, guessing that their anger stemmed from a friendly connection to Ditr. “Sorry to break it out to you.”

“Bullshit. Mereeek! What’s happening here?” The dwarf pushed past into the tavern, and the rest of his group—dressed in simple daily clothing followed closely behind.

Inside, the commotion quickly subsided though James wasn’t worried—these were obviously regulars—yet he remained alert for any sign of trouble, his hand brushing briefly the knife at his belt. The blade felt cold to his fingertips. He wished he wouldn’t need to use it.

A pair of gleemix sauntered past, ignoring him as they entered the tavern. Ann had described them well: hairless, with pig-like snouts and patches of brown and pink skin, they stood at a meter tall and resembled slightly the towering Ombrak giants in appearance, though they lacked the tusks. He had to be careful of them. Being distantly orcish, they were not fond of Verithians.

Ah, and yes, Verithians—humans, dwarves, halflings—were so named after the continent of origin, from which they had all migrated across this world. Here he would be considered a Verithian too.

A woman with two halflings sitting on her shoulders waved at him as she entered; he responded with a subtle nod. His serious face was back on.

As dusk painted the sky red, the city remained bustling. James took it all in from his spot by the tavern’s door. Scanning the foot traffic with interest.

An Ombrak orc, flanked by humans, approached. James tensed at the sight of the towering female warrior, strolling while her companions hustled to keep up. Ann had said the Ombraks would have dominated these lands if not for their love of warring between themselves. An offshoot of the barbaric orc race, the Ombraks were gifted with exceptional intelligence. It sounded unfair. And it probably was.

James couldn't help but stiffen, aware of his disadvantage in size to say the least. The Ombrak’s physique was daunting—nearly three meters tall, her muscular and scarred arms were adorned with tribal tattoos that snaked up to her shoulders.

She was, in a word, overwhelming. An apex predator of this world.

Yet, instead of entering the tavern, she stopped in front of him.

“Mmm, a new face,” she observed with a deep, guttural voice. “What are you called, fellow?”

“Hello,” James managed, meeting her gaze without blinking. “I’m James.”

“Hah, you’ve got a keen gaze, fellow James. I like it,” she said, gesturing for her group to enter ahead of her. “Go on, I’ll follow.” She told them in a commanding tone.

Turning back to James, she offered her hand. “Omny Revelkin.”

As they shook hands, James felt his own engulfed by hers. “James King, nice to meet you.”

“King? A bold claim that one,” Omny remarked, with a smirk.

“It’s just a name…” James tried to explain. The beginning of a misunderstanding was forming right before him. He hadn’t considered it ever before. All names had an origin, one that the modern world didn't pay much attention to.

“There’s no such thing as ‘just a name,’ fellow James. If you are a true King, you’ll prove it in time.” Her grin revealed further her upward-pointing tusks, leaving no doubt in his mind how easily she could impale him with a mere bite.

“Omny, as in the Omny cult?” James asked, eager to shift the conversation.

“You know of us? Even better. I’ll have you join us.” Omny said slapping him on the back with her massive palm.

James took a moment, waiting for the ache in his back to ebb before attempting a reply.

“To join your cult? I’m flattered, but I’m not sure I’m ready to commit right now. Thank you for the offer, though.”

“Nonsense. You will join us, or are you otherwise committed?” she insisted, her intense gaze pinning him in place.

Unbeknownst to him, James had started to shrink away under her looming presence, only realizing this when he consciously straightened up. “No, I’m not, still I know nothing about your cult, Miss Omny.”

“Is that so, fellow James? I could enlighten you, or better yet, ask the tavern's owner. Merek knows me quite well!” she retorted.

James decided it was best not to mention Ann’s good opinion of Omny; it would only serve to boost her confidence about his recruitment. He was not keen on joining any cult, especially not while he was still acquainting himself with this new, peculiar city.

“What exactly does one do in a cult?” he queried, partly out of genuine curiosity.

“Pray. You will pray to me, every single day,” she replied with pleasure.

“Ah, okay. But, it’s really too soon for me. I’m flattered, but...”

“You will join us,” she interrupted, her hand clamping down on his shoulder with enough force to send a sharp twinge of pain through him. The smile that once seemed playful now harbored a hint of madness. James swallowed hard. Her eyes never blinked, they bore holes into his brain.

“I…”

“Say it, fellow James,” she pressed with words and power.

“...not sure,” he whispered.

“You will join my cult,” she asserted with the unwavering confidence of a seasoned warrior and the fervor of a wild beast.

His response was lost in his stomach, his gaze fixed on her eyes as a storm of tension brewed within him. With reluctance, as if it was the hardest thing in the world, he nodded once.

“Yes. That’s right. Fellow James, I welcome your choice, welcome to the Omny cult,” she declared, releasing his shoulder, which had begun to numb from the pressure. Involuntarily, James stepped back, finding his back against the tavern wall.

“Find me later. I’ll give you your blessing,” she said, her grin widening as she moved past him into the tavern. He took a few deep, calming breaths, noting a small line of people waiting outside. No one had dared enter while the Ombrak obstructed the entrance.

“Shit,” he mumbled under his breath. When he eventually found his way back home, the thought of explaining to his mother that he had joined a cult would certainly make for an interesting story.