The lights were dim and the air was smoky as they settled into the packed inn. Momo wore a mask that covered both her face and horns – a reflective metal thing that drew more attention than she’d like, but less attention than if she were to go bare-faced.

It turned out that the price of queendom was celebrity, and not the fun kind.

“How are you supposed to have a drink with that ugly contraption taped to your face?” the bartender asked, his furry, rat-like face twisted up in confusion. He poured a series of drinks without so much as looking at them, his practiced fingers winding around glass bottles.

“I won’t be,” Momo squeaked. “Actually, we’re not here to drink, we’re looking for…”

“Not here to drink?” Grimli chimed in, aghast. “Speak for yourself, metal-cheeks.”

Grimli slapped two banknotes down on the table.

“What’s the specialty here?” he asked.

“Lavender Stabbers,” the bartender said, waving towards a poster in the corner.

Momo raised her eyes. The poster was vintage, wrinkled and old. It had an illustration of a lavender plant caressing two daggers, purple blood running down the hilt.

“I’ll take as many stabbies as this money gets me,” Grimli said with a tipsy grin. Momo squinted. She had assumed that the flask he was carrying had been apple juice. “And two for my friend in the helmet. Kyros knows she needs a drink.”

The bartender rolled his eyes, taking the money before setting ten glasses in a line, turning the spigot, and letting a shimmery purple liquid rush out and over the cups. He queued them through the spray like cars in a car wash.

“Ten Stabbers,” he said dryly, placing them down. “I wouldn’t suggest having more than two if you have any documented gastrointestinal issues. More than five of these will split your stomach into two distinct organs.”

Momo grabbed one for inspection. A bit of electricity jumped off the surface of it. “Yeah, I’m good. As I said, we’re looking for someone named, um….”

She looked towards Radu sheepishly. She wasn’t good with names.

“Cedric,” Radu filled in, giving her a look that meant your memory is depressingly bad.

The bartender stopped his whip crack movements, stilling completely. Purple liquid sloshed on the ground and all over his apron. He didn’t seem to notice.

“What business do you have with Cedric?”

Momo swallowed. The bartender slowly regained control of himself, switching off the tap and grabbing a napkin to plot the stains. His mouse-like nose twitched, his teeth chattering.

“He invited us here,” Momo said. “As… um…”

She looked around the room. Alongside posters advertising drinks were several of her own campaign ads. She had them distributed weeks prior – hung up in every city on the campaign trail. They had arrived in pristine condition, fresh off the Jarvirium printing press, but were now in a state of complete disrepair.

Each of them was graffitied with increasingly alarming iconography: skulls drawn over her eyes, her throat slit, bunny ears jutting out of her head. That one is kind of cute. She had expected that she would have a hill to climb with her popularity, but she didn’t realize that the bottom of the hill began in hell.

Sumire had assured her that each town on the trail would welcome her, plus or minus a few haters. Plus or minus seemed to be a huge understatement. Refuge’s End was her first proper campaign event – everything else had just been practice with a few villagers and Radu in the audience giving her a thumbs up – but it was not looking to be a well-received debut.

“Look, I don’t even want to know,” the bartender said. “I just want you all out of my face. Cedric sleeps under the bridge in the center of town. If he’s asleep, just throw a stone at him.”

“Sleeps there?” Momo said, eyebrows lifting. “Is he homeless?”

The bartender shook his head. “You must be new here.”

–

Political failure #1: Momo should have paid a little more attention to the town’s slogan.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Refuge’s End – When There’s Absolutely Nowhere Else To Turn

She had assumed the hundreds of tents littering the perimeter of town were meant for camping. And she supposed they were – but in the more permanent sense. The tents were proper dwellings, with chairs and couches and coffee tables. The house-shaped buildings weren’t houses, but post offices. Bustling package centers for pickup and drop off.

After a few minutes of careful observation, Detective Momo deduced two things about the local population: one, that the town’s top import was nomadic outcasts and refugees, and two, its top export was handcrafted letters for far away loved ones. Just kidding – it was black market goods.

“Just how many cities in Jarva’s kingdom based their whole economy around banned items?” Momo remarked as she saw a lizard man carry a certified leaning tower of Pisa of boxes marked NON-ILLEGAL SUBSTANCES into one of the post buildings, shove each through the tiny mail flap, and then carry on with his day.

Radu shrugged. “Jarva’s banned-item list was longer than his allowed-item one. He even banned cabbage because he didn’t like the taste.”

Momo stopped in her tracks, thinking back to her complete failure to find dumpling ingredients.

“That explains so many things.”

–

They walked through a sea of hooded pedestrians as they approached the town bridge. They weren’t unfriendly in the Nam’Dal sort of way; not snooty like the birds, or thieving like the… thieves, but a different brand of asocial – scared, apprehensive. Momo could only feel bad for them. They had obviously been through a lot.

But I have the power to make things better now, she thought, filled with fleeting conviction. She chose not to think about the fact that most of them wanted her dead.

A small river split Refuge’s End in two distinct parts, separating the city center from the tent-populated camping grounds. A small, furry creature stood in the middle of the bridge with a stamp, pressing it to a booklet offered by each passing resident.

“Is that… Cedric?” Momo whispered, peering past the people and down below the bridge.

Beneath the bridge, cast in shadow, was an enormous figure. Like the creature on the bridge, it was draped in fur and dressed in tattered clothing. Its chest rose and fell to the tune of the water rushing by, snoring loudly and sleeping soundly.

“Must we really wake him?” Grimli squeaked. “I’d much rather make any necessary dealings with the smaller version.”

“That’s a child, Grimli,” Radu said. “We’re not making business deals with a child.”

“That child is a professional border patrol agent,” Grimli argued, crossing his arms. “Look at him stamping all of those visas. We’re drawing the line at this but not at child labor? How grim.”

Momo ignored them, choosing to travel down to Cedric’s side while they argued. At closer proximity, she could see the pattern of his fur, orange and brown like an Australian Shepherd. He reminded her a bit of a more feral, wilder Totoro. But still – very cute.

“Hi Mr. Cedric,” she whispered, patting at his side. “I’m Momo. I’ve been told you run things around here?”

Another large, billowing breath escaped his nostrils. It made the bridge wobble.

Momo tried a few more times – with increasingly loud greetings – but nothing seemed to work. The beast could sleep through anything.

Remembering the bartender’s advice, she turned to a stone on the ground. This feels like animal abuse.

“Please don’t throw anything too pointy. It gives Da migraines.”

A measured, childlike voice came from behind her. She whipped her head around to see the small creature from earlier. The one on the bridge stamping passports. It was about the same size as Momo, wearing overalls and a hat.

Type: Mogli. Name: Junior. Level 4.

HP: ?

The fat, furry guardians of the forest. The Moglis are forest spirits which watch over villages and cities, usually requiring patronage in exchange for their guardianship. They have a warm and friendly disposition, but don’t anger the larger ones. They have a lot of room in that belly of theirs.

The audio-courier read the description out to her as her eyes raked over the furry thing. A mogli. How cute.

“Hello there,” Momo squeaked, embarrassed to be caught about to maul the thing’s father with a rock. “I wasn’t going to actually throw it, promise. I just don’t know how to wake him up.”

The smaller mogli picked up a round stone and tossed it from hand to hand. “Don’t worry about it. Only way to get my Da up is a big pebble to the head. Either that, or entering the city without your proper registrations. Then he’ll gobble you up.”

Momo gulped. That’s not terrifying at all.

Rearing his hand upwards, the tiny mogli threw the rock hard and fast at the bigger one’s head.

“Urgh.”

Cedric blinked suddenly awake, groaning as he raised his head. Not thinking clearly, he collided with the bridge. A clump of bricks dislodged themselves from the bridge, clamoring to the ground around him. Residents screamed from above, running around the newly created hole.

“Junior,” the beast grumbled, glaring at his son. “Didn’t I tell you to get that bridge renovated? I can’t keep hittin’ my head every time I wake up from a nap.”

Type: Mogli. Name: Cedric. Level 12.

HP: ?

“I did get it renovated up a foot, Da. But then you started falling asleep a foot higher than before,” Junior responded, obviously exhausted. “It’s a whole cycle.”

“And we can’t just build the bridge at a right angle like I asked?”

“No, Da. I told you for the last time, humans can’t just walk vertically.”

“Can’t they climb?”

“Not all of ‘em,” Junior shook his head. “I ran all the numbers and the models. If we make the bridge vertical, we lose ninety-nine percent of our profits.”

“Gah,” Cedric said, throwing one of his ginormous paws through the air. “Forget about it. Who’s this?”

“No idea. Found her here in the river with a rock headed straight for your head.”

Junior and Cedric both turned to her, looking expectantly. Momo turned red.

“I'm Momo,” she squeaked. “I think I can help you with your bridge problem.”