“Chilling air,” said the icebearer to the frozen snow at his feet. A heavy rumble shook the heavens in reply. The wind blew hard, likely set to topple him over the edge a few feet behind him.

“Don’t be like that. I love you as a father should. I just can’t stand the cold for too long.”

He gazed onwards with his hands holding his sides. They should have held onto something more stable. The earth shook and the icebearer’s worn traveling clothes flattered wildly.

It would have been an impressive sight if anyone was there to appreciate the view. However, traveling on the wrong side of Kildashan usually held no living audience.

He saw the line separating the blessed lands rush to greet him and leaned to pat the snow with his hand.

“This is far enough. I fancy a nice walk down the mountain, and it’s safer for you up here.”

Once the shaking stopped he jumped down from the shoulder of the giant made of ice and snow. He wouldn’t make as good a time on foot but some mysteries were better left buried deep than trample over a living soul.

—-

In Avi’Gale, the sun shone briefly even after sunset. Its golden rays were reflected on the frozen peaks of Kildashan, far to the north of the city. For any that looked upwards, the sky was dyed red and purple and was darkening fast.

The fourth bell had just rang, signaling the end of the day and the closure of the city gates. The last caravan was ushered inside, barely in time before the heavy metal gate clanged close onto the city’s cobblestones.

Strangely, the caravan had arrived from the east: the wrong direction for many as that was where the lost lands lay. No sane merchant would find value in the lost lands, as there was nothing there except the dead. The dead and the desperate, and for the latter the welcome was short, until just before nightfall.

The caravan altogether was sparse: two wagons covered in cloth, hiding a few struggling faces. It was pulled by wide-eyed horses, breathing frantically from strain and fear. There were no goods for sale on this caravan, only the people. Desperate people.

There was only one reason for a living person to travel to the lost lands, and that was for the dead and the deals they offered. As soon as the wagon wheels stopped rolling the people disappeared silently vanishing into the deepening shadows of the city’s streets. The last rays of light evaporated soon after from the Kildashan peaks.

James took a moment longer to enter the tavern thoughtlessly watching the street lamps being lit by a crew of four. It was a good twenty minutes since the fourth bell had rang, yet he still hadn’t found the courage to meet with the cult leader.

Would Merek worry if he didn’t enter soon? Most probably that would be the case. He had to go back inside, but he was nervous about what he would have to face once in there.

He had lost all sense of control these last two days. It was upsetting, unsettling, and another dozen similarly inclined words. A man who had no control was powerless, and that was what he had been feeling deep down under his skin.

It wasn’t fear for his life that made him pause: the normality of the city took that away from him. How could anyone be afraid of a hideous monster when it sold pastries on a street corner, no matter its looks, or a stern-looking man, his deadly sword dangling from his belt, rushing home to deliver groceries afraid of being late?

It was the unknown, the loss of control, and the powerlessness that mattered. Where was he? How would he get back home? He was alone, in another place… another world, it seemed. And until his feet were planted solidly on the ground, he could only just stumble along the day, with as much of his bearing as he could master.

Luckily he had a few things going for him. He was a large man. Even here in Avi’Gale, he was one of the tallest, reaching almost the towering Ombraks in height. Built upon years and years of strength and cardio training his body was close to its peak condition. It would be easy to acclimate to a professional fighter training program if he were back on Earth. It was not an injury that had forced him to switch to coaching, just personal taste. For those who sought to do him harm, one look at him would give most pause and turn them towards easier prey, at least that was what he hoped.

Then his training, his experience in fighting. He could handle himself in dangerous situations. MMA had an interesting take on fighting. It was what he loved about it and why he had given his younger years to mastering mixed martial arts. He was confident there, of course not against someone as the formidable Ombrak cult leader but against a barehanded opponent in a ring, he wouldn't hesitate one bit.

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An itch from his two-day stubble made itself known under his chin. He scratched it with one hand. He knew there would be no chance to shave for a while. A beard would make him look extra rough, and that was not a bad thing. With a heavy sigh, he turned his back to the nightly street and entered the lively tavern.

The Twin Claw’s was a little over half capacity that night. Roughly forty patrons, if he had to guess at a count. It was not too different from the previous night altogether, and it made him wonder if Avi’Gale had a weekly schedule with a weekend or if every day was the same. Would he have days off? He should have asked that. It would have been important under different circumstances.

His eyes glanced skittishly towards the only Ombrak in the establishment. She was sitting on the floor on a big cushion with her legs crossed. She was still taller than the rest of her group seated comfortably on a round table, all around her. It was clear that she was the center of attention, as she spoke vividly among them.

Despite his covert look, the gleam of her twin axes fastened at her waist attracted his attention. The half-moon blades were spotless, letting the dark metal shine all the more. The shafts however had seen action with chips and scratches evident on their gray-white material. It looked like they were made from bone. Compared to his little knife, he was practically defenseless.

A waving Merek beckoned him forward. The bar that night was occupied with patrons, except for one vacant seat at the counter’s end. He sat with his back leaning against the wooden wall. From there he had a decent view of the whole tavern hall.

Right next to him, a pair of gleemix shot him unfriendly looks, probably uncomfortable with his proximity, before continuing on with their conversation.

“What took you so long?” Merek asked, irritated, as he came over behind the bar. He was wearing a black apron over his clothes. It had many convenient pockets stitched on its sides, with quite a few bulging from their contents. Peaking out of a pocket was the whitish towel the bartender used to clean his hands now and then.

“Sorry for the delay, I had a bit of trouble at the entrance,” James replied quietly. He didn’t want to be overheard by the cult leader, even though she was on the other side of the hall and the ambient noise would make it quite impossible.

“Trouble? What trouble?” Merek’s irritation turned instantly to concern.

“Well...” He glanced briefly at the gleemix that didn’t pay him any mind and leaned over the bar to whisper. “I met Omny at the entrance. She wanted me to join her cult.”

The barkeeper waited a moment for him to continue, but when James didn’t say anything else he asked. “You aren’t hurt are you?”

“No. No, I’m not.” James coughed, out of embarrassment. The incident seemed less intense now that he was inside the tavern.

With a sigh, Merek patted him on the shoulder. “Then there is no trouble to speak of. Make sure to come in after the fourth bell from now on.” He paused, considering for a moment. “Omny is a good ally, you are lucky she took notice of you, being a stranger in the city and all.”

“Merek, is it okay that I joined, then?” James asked, voicing his troubled thoughts. He might not be able to trust the barkeeper as much as he would like to, but his opinion mattered.

“Yes, but be careful, Avi’Gale is in a bit of a mess right now, we will talk later about it. I’ll get back to work before these thirsty hordes storm the bar. Here, take a pint, it’s part of the job perks.” Merek winked handing him a full frothy pint.

Eagerly, James gulped down the ale and savored the aftertaste. He restrained himself though from finishing it in one go.

The gleemix pair, before long, left to sit on an empty table. They hadn’t bothered with him, apart from the initial glare, yet he still felt that they had left because of him. Ann had given him a brief explanation of the race dynamics in the city and the gleemix were certainly the least friendly towards humans. It had something to do with old grudges and the fact that the Verithians had almost hunted their distant cousins, the goblins, to extinction.

Their absence left him with two open seats between him and the rowdy dwarf group that had asked about Ditr earlier. The three dwarves in question were drinking in between their chatter with Merek, who was partially fulfilling orders at the same time.

Dwarves, gleemix, ombraks, revenants, dusk elves, halflings, beastkin. All these races that he had seen for the first time a day ago should have made him tremble with fear, but that was not the case any longer. Their intelligence helped him view them as something more than monsters. He hoped, however, that there wouldn’t be any more surprises waiting for him. Anything hideous and dreadful could stay put and out of his sight. His heart was fluttering way too much these last few days.

He could handle some more of the gorgeous elves though. Nadia’s race had been a dusk elf. But their appearance could be misleading. On Ann’s warning, High elves were to be avoided at all costs. They were banned in Avi’Gale so he didn’t expect to see any, yet still, he was curious what the caution was all about.

Even if the night was noisy, it was quiet of trouble. He was thankful for that. Yet, it left him alone with his worries. He had not forgotten about the meeting with the cult leader that would come at some point, and the longer he waited there observing the patrons, the more nervous he became as it kept on surfacing in his thoughts.

When Martha hopped before him with a full tray, he almost jumped, flailing his arms and giving her a scare with his exaggerated reaction. Thankfully her marvelous agility saved the dishes from an untimely fate.

“Sorry,” James apologized as he leaned back once again.

She didn’t lose her smile, as she righted herself. “Not a worry, Martha never falls! You be careful, Mister. The big one over there is talking about you.” Martha said pointing straight at Omny, who chose that exact moment to look up at him.

What were the chances that she was nearsighted? He wondered. With a grin, the ombrak turned her head to the side as a curious dog would do. However, there was no semblance of a cute pup on her savage face. She saw him clearly, and she wanted him to come over.

James rubbed his sweaty palms on the rough fabric of his pants. Say whatever you want about him, but a coward he was not. Nevertheless, he eyed the open doorway as a potential exit as he slowly made his way toward Omny’s table.