Hidden deep in the wilds far to the South, in a cavern long forgotten by the people of the land, something stirred in a place blessed by the heavens. A dark chamber housed a simple stone altar surrounded by clinging moss and fungus overgrowing ancient burial mounds to either side. None had entered this place for centuries, but now there was something twisting in the air above the altar like a tear in space. Wisps of ethereal power drifted through this breach in time, and by their command the room shifted and writhed as magic and matter were moved in place.

The ground shook and cracked as the burial mounds were pillaged of their resources, and a large framed skeleton took from atop the stone slab. The vegetation took on a gray hue as its vital components were taken away, and in response the bones were wrapped in flesh. Energy in the air that was invisible to the naked eye shone in brilliant green light as the mana flashed into being and burrowed into the lifeless husk on the table. Finally, from the swirling break above the body came a rippling orb of pure white that descended slowly into the body’s chest. The silence was gone, replaced now by the steady breathing of the unconscious man lying on the stone slab.

As Dean stirred from his slumber, three braziers that had yet to rust into nothingness sparked with flames and became sources of light and heat once again. His new eyes opened for the first time, and with some effort and groaning dragged himself into a sitting position. Joints creaked and muscles strained, but despite this he was able to swing his feet over the edge of the altar in order to survey the chamber he found himself in. He wondered aloud, “Geez, I thought I was supposed to be in a new body, so why do I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus?”

No answer came to his query, so he decided to remove himself from the cold slab he was still putting his bare skin against. His feet found more stone where he landed for the first few steps until he was clear of the altar space, then he was standing on soft soil covered in the dry remains of the plants that were used in his revival. Despite not having any reference point to go from, Dean was quick to fall back on his training and began surveying the room he was in. His shambling steps became proper strides as his legs warmed up, his shaky grasps became firmly clenched fists , and his head went from slow achy turns to quick snaps between items of interest. Slowly but surely he was getting up to speed while also mapping the room he was in.

The chamber was circular with two doors on either side, a single hole in the ceiling that acted as some kind of air vent, and an alcove where a ruined statue sat crumbled and decayed. Aside from the altar he awoke on and the three fuelless iron braziers giving him light there was nothing else to this room but the dead vegetation and cracked mounds. He approached one of the doors, which had long since rotted off its hinges, and peered his head inside to find that it was a sacristy of some kind full of long decayed vestments and cots. Feeling the chill in the air of the room he decided that it would be best if he found something to cover his nakedness as soon as possible, thus began a period of rummaging through the decrepit bunkhouse for anything of use. He asked the empty air, “Nobody is going to mind if I take anything from here, right?”, but no response came.

Through his search he came across a few items of interest, only able to find them by the light of the fires slipping in through the entrance. Beneath one of the cots he found a somewhat undamaged blanket that only barely stank of mildew, by the back wall he found a coffer containing a handful of coins that had only tarnished, and on the opposite side of the room from the cots he found a crate that had escaped decay due to being coated in some kind of fragrant oil. Fetching one of the bands from a destroyed brazier in the main chamber, Dean used the rusty iron bar to wedge the lid open until he could fit his fingers under in order to finish prying it open. Finally, he thought to himself, some clothing.

Though they were simple pants and shirts of bland beige and brown, they were a definite upgrade from nudity in Dean’s eyes. A new problem arose when he tried to find a set that would actually fit him, though eventually he found coverings for both his top and bottom half that wouldn’t burst at the seams when he moved. Tight as they were, Dean was certain that they would manage until he found somewhere civilized to buy something tailored for him. With nothing else in the room besides some empty shelves and a bug-eaten prayerbook, Dean collected the coins and blanket and moved them to the altar as he made his way to the other door.

This passage had a door that was in a similar state to the one previously, but instead of a small room of beds and robes this doorway led to some kind of prayer hall lit by two windows set in the ceiling above. Rows of pews long turned to splinters and shards, faded murals of angelic figures on the walls, and a lonely mounting fixture that once might have held a banner of some kind. However, there was something else that drew the recent reincarnate’s attention in the room: a long streak of dry blood running from the doorway on the far side of the room to a space just out of view. Cautiously he stepped around the room making sure that he was a good distance from the area of the blood until he was able to see it from afar.

Instead of bodies in that space, he could only see tattered clothes and skeletal remains of both a human and some kind of dog. Dean’s first assumption was that perhaps it was a canine and its master, but the knife-like weapon stuck in between the ribs of the slain wolf beast and locked jaw bones of the beast on the body’s arm told a different story. His eyes instinctively lingered on the weapon, both because it appeared to be a well crafted steel weapon and he didn’t have anything on him to defend himself in case wolves were a common threat in this region. Dean scowled at the grisly scene as he gently plucked the blade from the bones. He whispered quietly to the skeleton, “Sorry pal, hope you don’t mind me borrowing this.”

Off to the side he noticed a leather bag with buckles and straps that wasn’t as musty as the rest of the cryptic temple he was in. Dean judged by the angle it sat at and the path through the debris that it had leading to it that the bag was tossed aside before the final confrontation of man and beast that the skeleton had. It would be a waste to leave it there in the ruins to decay alongside everything else, so he took it as well as. Nothing else in the room caught his eye so he turned back to the altar, muttering a quiet thanks to the dead fellow as he passed them again.

When he returned to the room of burial mounds he found that one of the braziers had stopped burning its unseen fuel and had collapsed into a pile of broken scraps. He mused that perhaps they were enchanted or something along those lines, and they were nearing their breaking point. Not that it mattered to him, as he didn’t plan on staying much longer. Turning the bag over atop the altar he took inventory of its contents: two sacks of what must have been travel provisions that were now nothing but dust, a broken vial of some kind with a dry red crust on the inside, a length of rope that still had its durability, a pair of socks that looked to be a size smaller than what would fit him, and a shredded page that depicted some kind of hand drawn map of the area. Not exactly the best things in life, but adding in the assorted coins and the blanket gave him some semblance of equipment to start with that carried some heft on his back.

One final search of the main room and the sanctuary in the back revealed no more than he already had gathered. The second flame sputtered during his search, and with its dying light he decided that he would depart before the last one vanished. He returned to the chapel and followed the path forward towards what he thought would be the exit, his eyes briefly wandering over the skeletal remains as he trudged past. There were boots on the body’s feet but taking any more would make him uncomfortable. Instead he offered them a single nod of appreciation as he continued on his way, merely thankful for all that he could get out of the tomb-like holy site.

Exiting the church took longer than Dean expected due to the surprising length of the entrance corridor and the dense plant growth that had overgrown the path at the end. The knife was dull and his body still aching slightly, but he persisted until sunlight poked through the roots and vines and the plants gave way to the new man. Stepping out into the warm sunlight brought a sense of ease to his mind, but seeing the unfamiliar landscape made his eyes widen in amazement. Before him was an expanse of wildlands unlike anything he had seen on Earth: rolling green hills, towering pines, a glistening blue lake, and towering mountains capped with pure white snow. Following the edge of the horizon with his eyes had him looking up, realizing that he himself had just left the interior of one of these mountains and was almost at the point where grass and trees would give way to rocky slopes.

This location served as a great vantage point for him to get his bearings, and pulling the tattered old scribble of a map he was able to notice that there were four landmarks he could see both on the sheet and in the distance. The lake served as the largest marker to the North-West and a wall of dense red trees marked the far East of the area, and if the maker of this map were accurate then Dean was on the slope of a mountain South of a settlement of some kind. Turning his eyes North, Dean could vaguely see a few rising wisps of smoke from the forest as well as a part in the treeline towards the lake that must be a road. He adjusted his grip on the bag and tucked the knife into his belt before setting off in the hopes of arriving somewhere civilized before nightfall.

Embarking down the slope of the mountain was slow going, as Dean made an effort to avoid places with sharp rocks for the sake of his bare feet. Eventually the rough going ended when the barren stony floor became lush and covered in soft springy grass. Despite the favorable terrain, Dean still wished to keep his pace in order to avoid any sudden encounters with the wildlife. Wenorria had said that the worst was home to monsters, so until he knew just what kind lived around the area he would not risk being caught off guard. Still, the gentle breeze through the woods carried with it the scent of nature's bounty in the form of flowers and tree sap, a collection of smells that the world he used to live in had all but lost.

Unfortunately, the pace at which he moved was not fast enough to complete his journey so it became necessary that Dean settle in for the night. A bit farther along his path was a fallen tree, something that would work as the perfect foundation for a survival shelter. Dean collected as many branches and ferns that he could find and sat them beside the fallen log, then began to arrange them in such a way that he created a leaning wall over the space where he would sleep. Since he did not know how cold the night would get, he erred on the side of caution and decided to collect materials that he could start a fire with in case it became necessary. His final preparation was to unpack the old blanket and crawl into his temporary home, his knife kept close under the cover.

As was usual for Dean from his previous life, his sleep did not last long before he was woken by haunting nightmares. He had long since given up on ever seeing more than a full night’s rest, so rather than worry about it he decided to peer out of his shelter and watch the sky change colors. The night was not as cold as he thought it would be, which meant that his preparations for making a fire were useless. Rather than leave all of the sticks behind he opted to use his rope to tie them all together in a bundle and hung them from his pack. He shouldered his pack and set off through the morning mist heading North once again.

Two hours later Dean began to see signs that he was getting close to a place where people dwelled as evident by the increase in stumps he was coming across. Soon he found himself reaching a clearing in the trees, in which was the settlement he had been going towards. The location was no bigger than what most would call a village, with only thirty or so log cabin homes surrounded by a wooden wall made from the same brown wood. There were four towers at each corner of the village, with the nearest one overlooking the Southern face that Dean was looking at. Even as far away as he was, Dean could see that his approach had not gone unnoticed by whoever was in the tower before him. He silently prepared himself for whatever they would ask him upon his arrival.

There was little over a hundred feet between Dean and the wall when a gruff voice in a strange tongue called out from the watchtower. There were three individuals peering out from their cover, each armed with a bow with arrows nocked. He halted and raised his hands non-threateningly, which prompted the gruff voice to confer with the other guards before hollering again in a language he knew. “Stranger, can you understand me? Are you human?”

Dean yelled back, “Yes I can, and yes I am.”

There were some hushed orders spoken in the strange sounding words again, then the voice turned back to Dean with stern authority. “Who are you and why’re you here?”

He thought for a moment on what he could say that would possibly make him less conspicuous than he was at the moment that wouldn’t be called out as a lie. “My name is Dean, a lost traveler looking for directions. I only mean to find food and shelter here.”

Another pause of back and forth between the archers, then a voice from a terse woman took over the conversation. “We cannot allow you entry unless we search through your belongings and reveal your magical aura. Will you yield to such?”

Dean nodded silently before replying “Yes.”

A woman with broad features wearing dark blue clothes, a uniform of some kind, left from the side of the tower and stood on a walkway beyond the palisade. She was still a ways off, but Dean could clearly tell that she had a green tint to her skin. She beckoned for him to approach, then when he was within a dozen feet of the wall she spoke in a normal volume. “Follow me around to the gate so we can get you checked in. Be warned, we will not tolerate any kind of deceit, stranger.”

His confirmation was to follow silently as she went towards the Eastern face. The woman had initially moved with a quick pace, but when she looked down again and saw how Dean was treading barefoot she slowed her pace to match him. Their silent march to the gate ended once a fellow uniformed individual with a grayish hue to their skin ran to the woman on the wall, both quickly speaking in unknown phrases before jogging ahead of Dean until they reached the next watchtower that overlooked the entrance. By the time he had reached the gate there were already four guards waiting by the entrance with weapons drawn, including the woman from the wall.

“Remove your bag and discard any weapons you have on you, then step back. Do not approach until we ask you to.”

His bag hit the ground with a rattle of sticks, his knife landed beside it, then he stepped back until there was more than enough distance for them to be comfortable. One of the guards, a rather young man with pointed ears, crouched beside Dean's bag and began unpacking it slowly. He unrolled the blanket, read the tattered map, unbound the sticks, and even snuck off with one of the silver coins. Dean said nothing of this and just let the inspection go on, even after the man searching his bag went to speak with the others but left the bag spilled on the ground. The guards chattered among themselves for a moment, then returned their focus on the newcomer.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

From behind the group came the grayish woman and a figure dressed in a nightgown. The figure and the guards spoke for a moment, then the greenish woman spoke and nodded her head to Dean. “Approach slowly and turn around here. Our mage will inspect your aura now.”

The patience Dean held onto was slowly grinding away, but he obeyed calmly. His back was turned to the supposed mage, who stepped forward and began to chant an incantation while drawing sigil in the air around Dean's shoulders. A chill ran down his spine as the caster pulled something from his back, but still he didn't dare move. The caster began whispering something to the guards, and a moment later the woman spoke again. “You may turn around now.“

When he did turn around he found the guards had lowered their weapons and were standing at ease off to the side of the road, save for the green guard with the bow. She strode towards him, and only when she was on ground level with him did he notice that she was a bit shorter than him. She bowed her head apologetically, “I wish to offer you thanks and regrets, sir. Please understand that we were merely suspicious of a person appearing from the woods in no more than rags asking for entry. Such an occurrence is rare, but there was the possibility that you were possessed by a mind controlling creature or were a shape shifting monster attempting to gain entrance.”

Dean hummed to show that he was following along as he stooped down to pick up his scattered belongings. Taking his silence as an invitation to continue, the woman resumed speaking to him. “That being said, I have to admit that I am curious as to how you came to be here. Farnest is the most Southern settlement in the lands, so seeing a wanderer approach from the South causes me to question the validity of this claim. Tell me, are you from some kind of village in the deep woods?”

Dean stood up and shouldered his pack with all of his belongings now packed again, his voice more like a grumble than words. “No, I just wandered here.” His eyes fell on the wary eyes of the other guards, then he looked down to the one before him. “Is there someplace I can eat?”

The guard jerked her head to the side saying, “Follow me, I can show you to the tavern.” As she walked past the others her eyes lingered on the one with the big ears, her fist clenching hard despite her impassive expression.

The two passed through the threshold of the gatehouse and into town itself where Dean could quietly gaze in awe at the location. Everything he had ever known was compact cubicle housing and cramped military style barracks, with the idea of cottages or longhouses being something reserved for people with lots of money. He liked the rustic appeal of the houses, and some part of him wished to one day own one. He pushed those thoughts aside as he remembered that he was somewhere unfamiliar and openly cautious of him, so the chances of that happening were low. It was also becoming obvious with each passerby that he stood out enough to earn a number of worried and fearful looks from the locals.

The guard leading him stopped suddenly before a large building with a sign above the door. Dean may not be able to read whatever the language written was, but he could recognize a soup pot when he saw one carved so finely into the sign. The guard turned to face him and rummaged through her pocket for two silver coins that she held out for him. “This should be enough for a night stay in one of the rooms and a meal to go with it, as well as cover the silver that Hugo snuck out of your bag. I'm going to give him what he deserves later, so do not worry that his theft will go unpunished.” She turned to leave, but before she left she cast Dean a sideways glance and added, “This may not mean much to you, but I am truly sorry about the hostilities and rudeness. Please do not hold the people here in contempt for our wrongs. Farewell.”

Before she got out of earshot Dean called over to her with a simple “Hey.” She turned to face him, allowing him to ask “What's your name?”

“Walne Resh, Junior Captain of the guard.”

Dean nodded with a flicker of a smile. “Thank you, Junior Captain Resh. You have my respect and gratitude.”

The guard nodded in stoic fashion before turning back to the gatehouse. Dean watched her walk away, admiring her for the integrity she had shown him. He didn't really care about the money, but the gesture made him happier all the same. He clutched the silver coins in his hand and pressed his arm against the door until it creaked open.

His senses were assaulted by the warm atmosphere of a lively tavern full of men and women enjoying meals all throughout the space. His arrival caused a short lull in the conversations around the room, but most simply stole a glance and went back to their food. He stood in the entrance for a minute and surveyed the room quietly, taking note of the hand carved chairs, the second floor balcony overlooking the main dining hall, and crackling fire to his left. A true medieval tavern, complete with the smell of beer and grilled meats to make Dean's stomach rumble.

“Hey ogre, hurry up and shut the door before you let in the strays.” These words came from a girl sitting behind a counter to his right who was busily making marks in some form of ledger. Dean complied with her request, though as he reached for the handle she muttered under her breath. “Damn it all, another vagrant looking for a handout.”

A second voice came from the other side of the room as Dean shut the door. “Loza! What have I told you about being rude to customers?” A stout man in an apron with hair and eyes the same dark walnut as the girl strode to the counter and shooed her away. She growled and trudged off, leaving him there looking up at Dean. “I’m very sorry for my daughter’s behavior, she doesn’t let her head do the talking when she’s upset. Oh but that’s my problem to deal with, you’re here for something to eat, aren’t you? I’m Depner, owner and cook of the Fairy Stew Tavern, and you are?”

Dean palmed the two coins in his hand until they were visible between his finger and thumb, then held them out to the man. “Dean. I just arrived, but the Junior Captain recommended me here for food and rest.”

A smile spread over Depner’s face as he took the coins from Dean. “You couldn’t have come at a better time then! The mornin’ crowd is on their way out and the fire is still hot, so I can fix up anything you like. If you’re thirsty too I highly recommend having a flagon of ale, made specially by the town’s own brewmaster. So, what’re you hungry for?”

There was no menu for Dean to get any idea of what was available, so he went with his hungry gut. “Whatever is the most filling. I’ll take an ale, but I also want some water.”

The stocky man grinned and gestured for him to head into the dining area, which had become much quieter as people filed out of a side entrance. Dean found a comfortable spot close to the fire that was warm without the glaring light, right in the corner where a boar-like creature's head had been mounted to the wall. He took off his bag and set it next to him on a bench before resting his arms on the table in front of him. A deep sigh rumbled through his chest as he physically and mentally relaxed.

While he was sitting there waiting to be served, Dean rummaged through his pack and produced his sack of coins and began to sort them. He kept an eye on the other patrons to make sure they weren’t getting too curious about what he was up to, and as an extra precaution had set his knife on the table next to him for all to see and used his arm as a visual barrier. He counted out ten silver coins, two gold coins, one blue coin, and forty assorted bronze and tin coins. Some were in better condition than others, with the coins he had found in the coffer appearing to be completely different in size and shape to the ones from the skeleton. Whether these variations of the coins affected their value was unknown to him, but he wouldn't know unless he asked someone knowledgeable about this world's currency.

Setting the coins to the side and placing the burlap sack atop the piles to hide them from view, Dean folded his hands together on the table and waited patiently for his meal. His eyes wandered the room and took note of the other hunting trophies that had been mounted, some odd decorative banners hung from the rafters, and most of all the remaining patrons. There were more of the type of people that resembled the guards in having gray, blue, or green tinged skin and slightly pointed ears, a few sturdier folks with stony skin and dark eyes, and some run of the mill humans of varying complexions. A few of the people dared to look back at him, though their eyes quickly changed direction upon meeting his. He didn’t want to appear intimidating, but after what he had seen from one of the guards and from the eyes of everyone around him, he could tell that weakness would be exploited here.

Depner arrived at the table shortly with a tray loaded with more food than Dean expected. Most other occupants had a bowl and a plate before them, but Dean’s was twice that and then some with a full pitcher of ale on the side. There were poached eggs, slices of dark red meat, a small loaf of dark brown bread, and a steaming bowl of vegetable soup. He felt the urge to question this portion size, but the burly man cut him off first. “A full special plate, with all the trimmings and sides. Don’t stress about it costing extra, I would have had to toss the extras out to the dogs if nobody had come and eaten them. Same goes for the ale, it got left out from a lightweight thinking their belly was like iron. Eat your fill big man, and don’t be afraid to ask for more!”

Dean gave his thanks by way of nodding silently, waiting until the other man had left before digging in. His expectation of how the food would taste was initially low due to the unfinished appearance of the town itself, but his first bite into a slab of red meat made him rethink that assumption. It was salty and gamey, but had a fine smokiness that told that the wood used was properly selected just for this meat. Compared to the old MREs and their replacement nutrient packs he had to suffer through for years on end, this food was an entire magnitude above them. Fortunately for Depner and his cooking skills, Dean actually liked the taste of wild game, and his own meals were usually given a generous portion of salt due to his own preference.

Before Dean realized it, he had taken the entire pile of meat and devoured it, his fork finding its way to the eggs, then to the soup, and finally to the bread. The ale also dried up before his eyes, leaving him with a sweet and sour aftertaste as the final morsel of his meal was put away. He had not expected to be so famished and thought to himself that perhaps being reborn in a new world left one in need of a high number of nutrients in order to finish the process. The creakiness of his joints disappearing and a new clarity of thought in his mind were small indications that this might be true, but it was the improvement in his mood that convinced him that he might be right. Regardless, he mused that he might spend a second silver in order to get another helping.

Depner came back to the table a minute after Dean had finished, a look of surprise written on his brow. “By the storms, you must have been starving! Do you need some more, then?”

“Yes, please.” The words escaped his mouth before he realized they were there, but they weren’t the only thing he wished to say. “Also, could I have a word with you afterwards?”

The tavern keeper nodded, then went back to the kitchen for a second tray piled high with food. Dean took things slower this time and savored the medley of aromas and textures, his heart feeling fuller with every bite. His plate diminished to half of its size before Depner returned from seeing to the remaining customers, and as Dean gestured he took a seat across from him. He waited until Dean finished his second bowl of stew before beginning their conversation. “So, what is it you wanted to talk about?”

One final mouthful of ale washed down that final bite, allowing him to reply. “I have some questions.”

“Ask away.” He crossed his arms and smirked, settling his weight on the chair comfortably.

Dean reached over and lifted the edge of the burlap sack, revealing the small pile of coins underneath. “I want to know how much these are worth, and if possible where I can exchange them for some necessities.”

Depner reached a hand over and scooted the pile of coins closer, his eyes squinting at the coins. “Hmm, these look like old coins. I’m no expert, but they look to be just like the Tygs we use nowadays.”

“Can you explain these Tygs? I’m not familiar with them.”

A look of confusion crossed Depner’s face for a moment before he caught himself and answered. “Tygs are the coin system of the Southern Empire, named after the old king Tyg that set them in place. Not the prettiest coins, but the system is simple enough that trade with the other countries isn’t too bad. Usually it goes by tens: ten of these tins or bronzes makes a silver, then silvers to gold, and from then up it gets to coins that only the kings ever see.”

Dean nodded along, his mind latching onto the idea of pennies and dimes. “And the blue one?”

Depner lifted the coin up and rubbed his thumb across it, his face scrunching as he tried to make out the image on it. “No clue. Looks old, maybe some sort of coin of the old tribes that lived here long ago. Might have to ask a historian about it, but you won’t find anyone like that out here in the woods.”

After some mental math, Dean looked to the man and pointed to the coins. “So, that means I have three hundred and forty Tygs, right?”

“Yep.”

“Is that a lot?”

Depner scratched his chin for a moment, then looking at this customer’s attire he shrugged. “Depends. You say you need necessities, which I take it might be clothes and equipment for travel, that means you’ve got just enough that you could scrape together something halfway decent. Makes me wonder…you ever heard of the Slayers?”

Dean almost said that he had, but the idea that the Slayers this man spoke of were the same suicidal armored hovercar drivers from Earth made him pause. “I haven’t.”

Depner raised an eyebrow at this answer. “Wherever you’re from, must be way out in the mud. No offense, just never met anybody who didn’t know them. They’re monster hunters, got a whole system of ranks and requests that their kind take. They usually just come around, ask about their prey, then set off to go and cut it down, but every so often they spy a big lad such as yourself and try to get them to sign up. I was sure that you must have been tied to them somehow, but I guess you’re from out of their reach.”

Something about the way Depner talked about them roused the doubt inherent in Dean. “Do these Slayers have some kind of reputation?”

“Er, of a sort. Low ranks of theirs are sometimes real boulderheads and think that being called a slayer is all it takes to get respect. A hard fist to the chompers is enough to humble them, but not all of them are that dumb. Higher ranked slayers usually have a good head on them, know where they stand in the food chain, understand that without people backing them they’re no better than a chump with a sharp stick. Regardless, if one of them has a critter in a bag when they come back, you know they’re gonna be spending big that night.”

Dean likened the analogies used to what he heard about mercenaries: rude and boisterous, but the ones in the business for a long time knew better than to piss off the people putting meals on their tables. “Slaying monsters, is that all they do?”

“Not all the time. Normal practice is new blood are sent out on scavenging runs or recon duty, and usually the big shots are hired on as bodyguards. Magic casters often take on requests too big for one man, like regrouping an entire Grove of trees or refilling a well.” He paused, his expression growing darker and his voice dropping low. “On occasion there comes a request for a criminal to be brought in alive. This is usually only necessary if the target is a known murderer, and usually allows for some leeway in how the quarry is brought back.”

Dean's brow furrowed, going over the information methodically. “Why do they only hunt murderers, and why bother bringing them back alive?”

The question caught the older man off guard and almost made him laugh, which came out as something between a cough and a bark. “Don't tell me you've never heard of the Divine Decree? You must have been born in a cave to not hear about it, no offense. ‘Blood taken is blood owed’, least that’s how it’s remembered nowadays. Sums up to mean that if you kill someone, you owe the family of the fallen a life in exchange. They get to kill you the same way you did in their own, and if you went and offed than one person the royal guard will put a curse on you that makes you unable to die until your next sunrise, which means they’ll kill you that many way and you get to spend a full day suffering for all that you wrought.”

A bead of cold sweat rolled down Dean’s forehead as he thought about how agonizing that must be, and if Earth had that same rule how he would fare. A single day wouldn’t be enough for his own skin, and some of the ways he had to eliminate targets didn’t leave bodies to be recovered. He discarded the thought as that was in the past and he was not on Earth any longer. “It’s about revenge, isn’t it?”

“Right you are.” Depner reached over and poured himself a mug of ale, sighing softly as he did. “Pay is higher the better off the family you took from. Kill a regular man like us and they might get away without a bounty being put on them, but kill someone in power and there’ll be a fortune in gold for your still beating heart.”

Depner slowly chugged at his ale until his bristly mustache came back covered in froth, which he cleared away with his sleeve. He cast Dean a reassuring smirk as he thumped the table. “All right, that’s enough of that business. I can fetch you your room key and you can stash your pack in there, do a bit of shopping and get something better than those rags, maybe even come back by the time supper is ready. Unless there’s something else you wanted to talk about?”

Dean shook his head and reached for the coins, a silver one under his thumb when the tavern keeper’s hand stopped him. Dean shot him a questioning look, earning him a wide grin and a pat on the shoulder. “I don’t need any more of your coin, least not until you say you want to stay a while longer! You’re going to need every Tyg you’ve got if you want to make it out here. You know, there’s a mighty fine seamstress about five doors down the road, might even give you a discount if you say I sent you. She’s a bit crass, but she’ll put something on your back and put some covers on your feet. Alright, now go ahead and finish up while I get your key, stranger.”

“Dean.” The name slipped through his teeth before he even knew it, and he found himself locking eyes with the hardy businessman. Depner nodded and turned away, heading towards the counter where the girl had been. Alone again, Dean found himself smiling from how well he had been treated by the man and how different this world was from his own. It had taken all this time to sink in, but he really was in some kind of fantasy world. Now, with his second plate almost resembling his first one, he was ready to get some clothes and look the part as well. He could hardly wait.