Grundolf brought the Russians over to sit with the other humans, thinking that they were associates. He ordered everyone at the table a round, in order to loosen up the strange tension in the air. In the corner of the tavern a piano could be heard, softly playing.

Zhukov and his comrades were have a stare down with the other two humans, both of whom were wearing jumpsuits and aviator helmets. Though they both seemed to be pilots, that was the only similarity. One had the obvious markings of a German pilot, the other, a British pilot.

“Been awhile since I’ve seen a Tommy and a Kruat together, sharing a pint.”

“It’s been awhile since I’ve seen ze sober Russian.”

“Not for long…”

The group downed their glasses without saying much else. What followed was an awkward sort of silence.

“I suppose you fellows aren’t on good terms then?”

Grundolf wasn’t one to enjoy drinking in silence.

“Well we were at each other’s throats a few days ago. Which is why I’m surprised this Tommy here seems to be siding with our common foe.”

Sergei was very blunt, slamming his empty mug down and requesting a refill.

“Oh, is ze Russian fearful for ze war. Too bad ze war is far behind us now.”

The German was saddened by his own words. His brown eyes seemed to droop as they looked down to his mug.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, you haven’t figured it out yet? Ve are not in our own vorld anymore.”

The Russians were stunned. Perhaps it could have explained the strange occurrences they’ve encountered, but it was still a hard truth to take. Well, except for Vasily.

“Ey~, You got anything dat doesn’t taste like piss ere?”

Vasily had called out to the waitress that had been bringing them drinks. She almost looked offended by the statement, but they couldn’t tell. All the tiny people in the town looked as if they were angry straight from the womb.

Grundolf sighed and began to feel around his pockets. He withdrew a variety of coins and gave them to the waitress, asking for something a bit stronger. She returned quickly, bringing with her a new round of drinks. Vasily was satisfied with the new brew, downing it with an unquenchable thirst.

“Ah, dat hit da spot. Ey, you funny hat bastard over der. Why aven’t ye been talkin? Makin us seem like we’re da crazy ones.”

The British man fondled his mustache and, after taking a sip of his drink, finally spoke.

“Well, I was hoping all you blokes would have it out and be on your way. But, doesn’t seem like that will be happening now will it?”

“Zis would not be, had you left me in zat wreck.”

“Don’t be getting all mopey on me, you and I both know why I got you out of that mess.”

“But you got me out none ze less.”

While the German and British pilots were improving their relationship, the Russians were improving their drinking skills. With alcohol pumping through their blood, everyone became a bit friendlier. Except for Igor, who kept passing his drinks to Vasily.

“So, who are you two anyways?”

The British pilot introduced himself as Jack, the German pilot as Hans. The Russians shared their names too. After the introductions, Igor turned to Grundolf.

“So, where are we then?”

“Wut? Did ye suffer a concussion? We’re in Midgard you daft fool!”

“What, didn’t you hear our conversation from earlier? We aren’t from this place.”

“Oh, sorry. I twas just lamenting all me money you’ve been drinking away!”

“Hey, you’re the one who offered to buy us a few rounds.”

“Aye, that I did. Though I’m thinking you’ll be paying me back soon enough.”

While Igor was left confused, Zhukov leaned over the table and whispered into Hans’ ear.

“So uh, by any chance were you guys confused for bandits too?”

Hans was sent roaring in laughter at this revelation.

“Haha, oh scheiße. Ze Russians were confused for bandits!”

“Haha, you blokes are full of surprises, aren’t you.”

Zhukov drank in silence.

“You know, you guys are quite fluent in Russian.”

Yakov’s cheeks became rosy as he asked the others a question.

“Russian? I don’t speak any bloody Russian.”

“Den how da feck er yo-”

Vasily’s head dropped the table, sending a thud resonating in the tavern. He had passed out. Grundolf blinked a few times at the strange sight, but after seeing no one else concerned, disregarded it. He then went on to answer Yakov’s question.

“Well I don’t know too much about it, since I don’t care much for the legends. But, from what I remember after the great one killed the eater of the world tree; he brought peace to the lands with magic. Supposedly, scholars are claiming that the “peace” he brought was in the form of a universal language, only for the intelligent races of the world of course. The scholars in the Hub would be able to tell you more.”

“Da fuck?”

“See, I told you zis is not our world.”

“Well, where is this Hub place then?”

“It’s a few days travel to the northeast. We are one of the few settlements that exist outside of the Hub. Which reminds me, we lost contact with the only human settlement in the area a few weeks ago. All our attempts to reestablish contact…were failures. Not a single being we sent returned. And you fellows here just so happened to coming from the direction of that very village.”

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Zhukov was smiling, seemingly unfazed by the news. He wasn’t nearly as drunk as Vasily was, but he was definitely more than a bit tipsy.

“Oh, those jolly good fellows!”

Grundolf nearly jumped out of his chair.

“Are they okay!?”

“Yup, except those dead ones. Oh, and that one fellow, I tore his arm off yah see. Poor lad.”

“You damn bandits!”

Grundolf began to reach for a weapon, but before he could, Igor raised his hands up and attempted to calm him down.

“Wait, wait. I think there is a misunderstanding here. They attacked us first!”

“Of course, because you were bandits!”

The waitress that had been serving them drinks, after hearing bits of the story, decided to club Sergei with a chair. Igor smacked his forehead as he saw Sergei get knocked out in a single blow. Zhukov was enjoying the moment, laughing along with Hans and Jack.

“Dammit, they were undead!”

The waitress, who was about to club Yakov too, had her face flush with embarrassment, She quickly placed the chair back and retreated from their sight.

“Oh, well why didn’t you just say so?”

Grundolf slammed an axe into the table and left it there, a chill went down Igor’s spine.

“I…I…you know…nevermind. Anyways everyone was already dead when we got there. Zhukov could tell you more.”

Grundolf looked back to Zhukov who, like Vasily before him, had smashed his face into the table as he passed out. Igor’s eye twitched when he saw this.

“Goddammit…”

“Well chaps, it’s been a delightful evening. Alas, I must return…to…to somewhere.”

Jack got up from the table and started to wobble his way to the tavern’s exit, but he fell after a few unsteady steps. He didn’t even try to rise back off the hard wooden floor, beginning to snore shortly after.

“Haha, Jack must be be one of zose, what do zey call zem? Ah, yes a bloody lightweight.”

Zhukov roared in laughter at Hans’ crude joke. Meanwhile, Yakov, who had been sitting mostly in silence, suddenly rose up from his seat and strode over to the pianist. The pianist noticed neither Yakov nor the blow to the back of his head. Yakov put on the short man’s bowler hat and started playing a ragtime tune. The waitress had another chair in her hands, ready to finish what she’d started. But she was stopped by the tavern’s owner. Grundolf felt a chill as the owner glared at him. His wallet was going to be a lot smaller when he left.

“Zis music…I must become one with ze dance!”

Hans too got out of his chair. He grabbed the waitress, who could barely reach up to his stomach, and began to twirl her around in a dance. The small lady was not pleased by this however, and she retaliated by delivering a bone crushing punch, straight into Hans’ family jewels.

“Oh, scheiße…”

Hans fell to the ground, foaming at the mouth. Behind him, the waitress had her fist raised in triumph. Grundolf clapped for her, laughing nervously, while Igor simply hung his head in shame. The tavern was once again thrust into an uneasy silence as Yakov fell asleep in the middle of his song, his head striking a variety of notes as it collided with the keys. Grundolf and Igor looked around at the unconscious bodies that littered the tavern.

“Not my problem.”

Igor went over to Zhukov and fished a gold ruble out of the latter’s pockets. He then went to the tavern keeper and dropped the gold ruble into the man’s hands.

“I’ll take a room.”

The eye’s of the tavern keeper shined with a greedy light as he disappeared into a back room. He reappeared after verifying that the coin, was indeed, made of gold. He dropped a variety of shimmering coins and a key back into Igor’s hands, then shooed him off towards a staircase.

“Third room on the left upstairs.”

Igor nodded his head and disappeared upstairs, leaving Grundolf with the six unconscious drunks. Grundolf sighed, regretfully pulling out more coins and passing them to the tavern keeper. He then began the tedious task of dragging the limp bodies out into the streets, one by one.

After Grundolf disappeared with the six bodies, the waitress woke the pianist.

“My hat!?”

The pianist felt his balding head and looked around in confusion.

…..

Zhukov woke up to the stench of alcohol emitting from Vasily’s mouth. He pushed Vasily’s still sleeping body away and took a look at his surroundings.

“Aw, c’mon!”

Zhukov was in the back of a horse drawn carriage, along with his drinking companions from last night. Yakov was drooling on Han’s shoulder, Sergei was hugging Jack while sleep talking, whispering something about being the one who traded Zhukov’s greatcoat for his rifle. Zhukov would not be forgetting that anytime soon. But, there were more important things to deal with.

Zhukov peered over the cart’s railings and found that he was, once again, traveling through the winter tundra. The wagon was being driven by Grundolf and two others. Igor was nowhere in sight.