Krungus stormed down the street, his temper simmering dangerously close to boiling over. His staff clicked sharply against the cobblestones as he muttered to himself, his words a mix of archaic curses and bitter complaints.
“The audacity!” he snarled, startling a nearby beggar who quickly scurried out of his path. “Nine thousand years, and they’ve turned my masterpiece into a cesspool! And that statue! ‘Fool?’ I’ll show them who the fool is!”
His tirade was interrupted by the sudden, tantalizing smell of roasted meat and stale beer. He turned to see a squat, weathered building with a hanging wooden sign that read, in faded, peeling letters: The Busted Chair Tavern.
“Perfect,” Krungus grumbled. “A den of drunks and degenerates. Exactly the kind of place where people might know what happened to my city. Or at least be drunk enough to guess.”
He shoved the door open and stepped inside.
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The tavern was dimly lit and packed with bodies, most of them sweaty and loud. The air was thick with smoke and the sour tang of spilled ale. Krungus wrinkled his nose but pressed forward, weaving through the crowd until he reached the bar.
The barkeep, a barrel-chested man with a bald head and an apron stained beyond salvation, looked up as Krungus approached.
“What’ll it be, old-timer?” the barkeep asked, his tone barely masking a smirk.
Krungus scowled. “Something strong. And clean, if that’s not too much to ask.”
The barkeep snorted and slid a mug of some foul-smelling brew across the bar. Krungus eyed it suspiciously, then took a tentative sip. His face twisted in disgust.
“This is revolting,” he said, slamming the mug back onto the bar.
“Welcome to The Busted Chair,” the barkeep said with a shrug.
Krungus sighed and took another sip, forcing himself to swallow. He had endured worse indignities. Probably.
“Now,” he said, leaning in closer, “tell me—what’s happened here in the last nine thousand years?”
The barkeep raised an eyebrow. “Nine thousand years? You been living under a rock or something?”
“In a box, actually,” Krungus replied tersely. “Now answer the question.”
The barkeep shrugged. “Dunno about nine thousand years, but this city’s been going downhill for as long as I’ve been alive. Corrupt officials, gang wars, lousy weather. Same as anywhere else, I reckon.”
Krungus frowned, unsatisfied. He was about to press for more details when he felt a shift in the room’s energy. A group of young men seated at a nearby table had taken notice of him.
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The group consisted of six men, all in their early twenties, each more obnoxious-looking than the last. Their leader, a tall, wiry fellow with greasy hair and a sneer that seemed permanently etched onto his face, leaned back in his chair and loudly proclaimed, “Oi! Who let the old beggar in?”
The others laughed, and Krungus’s grip on his staff tightened. He ignored them and took another sip of his drink.
“Look at him,” the leader continued, his voice dripping with mockery. “What is that, a stick? You planning to fight off some wolves, grandpa?”
Krungus closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Ignore them, he told himself. You are a wizard of unparalleled power. You do not stoop to—
“Bet he talks to himself,” another one piped up, and the group burst into laughter.
That was the last straw.
Krungus turned slowly, his eyes glowing faintly with suppressed magic. He rose from his stool and approached the group, his staff tapping ominously against the floor.
“Gentlemen,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, “I have tolerated your insolence for long enough. Apologize, and I may yet leave you with your dignity intact.”
The leader smirked, leaning forward with mock seriousness. “Apologize? Oh, we’re real sorry, old man. Sorry we didn’t invite you to the soft food buffet.”
The others howled with laughter, and Krungus’s patience snapped like a brittle twig.
“You have brought this upon yourselves,” he said, raising his staff. He spoke a single word—an ancient, powerful word that echoed through the tavern like a clap of thunder.
The air shimmered, and a brilliant flash of light filled the room. When it faded, the group of six punks was gone.
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For a moment, there was silence. The other patrons stared at Krungus, their expressions a mixture of awe and terror. The barkeep muttered something about “bloody mages” and began furiously polishing a glass.
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Then, from the center of the now-vacant table, a single figure emerged.
He was a young man, perhaps in his early thirties, with short-cropped hair and a bewildered expression. He was dressed in strange, simple clothing: a black shirt with a collar with some writing on it, jeans, and white sneakers with a red logo on the side. His face was pale, his eyes wide, and his nose was bleeding profusely.
“What the...what just happened?” the man stammered, looking around in confusion. “Where...where am I?”
Krungus stared at the man, his brow furrowing. “Who are you?” he demanded. “And what manner of attire is that?”
The man blinked at him, then down at himself. “Uh...I’m Eugene. Eugene Calhoun. And this is just...you know, regular clothes.”
Krungus’s frown deepened. “Regular clothes for what, exactly? An imbecile’s masquerade?”
Eugene looked offended but too confused to argue. “No, just regular clothes for...Earth. Wait. Am I still on Earth?”
Krungus’s expression shifted from irritation to confusion. “Earth? What is this Earth you speak of?”
“Oh, no,” Eugene groaned, sinking into a chair. “This is just like that Twilight Zone episode. Okay, okay, think. Last thing I remember, I was at Blockbuster. I was looking for a movie—Spaceballs, I think—and then...oh yeah, some guy punched me. And now I’m...here?”
Krungus pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is...not what I intended.”
“You think?” Eugene snapped, gesturing at the unfamiliar surroundings. “Where even is this? Some kind of Ren Faire?”
“This,” Krungus said, gesturing grandly, “is Aelintheldaar, the City of Cities! A once-great metropolis reduced to...this.” He grimaced. “As for you, I haven’t the faintest idea why you are here. The spell I cast was meant to banish those cretins, not summon a...whatever you are.”
“I’m a guy!” Eugene said indignantly. “From Cincinnati! I’m not supposed to be here!”
Krungus sighed and slumped into a chair across from Eugene. “It appears,” he said wearily, “that I may have overcast the spell. The magical weave is...less stable than it once was. You must have been caught in the ripple.”
Eugene stared at him blankly. “None of that made any sense.”
“Good,” Krungus said dryly. “You’ll fit right in.”
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The tavern patrons gradually resumed their drinking and arguing, though they kept a wary distance from the strange pair. Eugene dabbed at his nose with a rag provided by the barkeep, his hands trembling slightly.
“So,” he said after a long silence, “how do I get back? You can send me back, right?”
Krungus tapped his staff against the floor, muttering under his breath. A faint glow surrounded the staff for a moment before sputtering out.
“Unlikely,” Krungus admitted. “Not without significant preparation. You are an anomaly, Eugene of Cincinnati, and anomalies are...troublesome.”
Eugene groaned, burying his face in his hands. “This is a nightmare.”
“For both of us,” Krungus said, draining the rest of his disgusting drink. “But perhaps not entirely without merit. You seem...unimpressive, but you have a certain bookishness about you.”
“Yeah, I read a lot,” Eugene said. “So what?”
Krungus leaned forward, a glint of curiosity in his eyes. “Tell me, Eugene. What do you know of history?”
“History?” Eugene frowned, his expression brightening slightly. “Oh, yeah, I know a lot about history! I took a few electives in college. Like, you mean ancient civilizations? Rome? Greece? The Industrial Revolution?”
Krungus squinted, confusion flickering across his face. “I don’t recall any of those.”
“Well, I mean, everyone knows about Rome, right?” Eugene said, leaning forward eagerly. “The Empire? Gladiators? Caesar? ‘Et tu, Brute?’ You know, Julius Caesar gets stabbed? Shakespeare wrote about it?”
“Stabbed by whom?” Krungus demanded. “A rival archmage? A coalition of jealous dukes?”
“No, his own Senate,” Eugene said with a grimace. “Like, his political peers. Really dramatic stuff. Happens on the Ides of March—March 15th.”
“Fascinating,” Krungus muttered, rubbing his chin. “What an odd-sounding calendar. I suppose this Rome was one of the great cities of your world?”
“Uh, yeah. It was huge. Conquered a lot of Europe, parts of the Middle East, North Africa…” Eugene trailed off at Krungus’s blank stare. “You know. Earth. Geography?”
“I have no idea what an Earth is,” Krungus said flatly. “Are you suggesting there’s an entire realm—perhaps even a plane—named after dirt?”
“It’s not—” Eugene sighed, his enthusiasm deflating. “Look, the point is, I don’t know anything about this place, okay? I’m from Cincinnati.”
“Cincinnati,” Krungus repeated, the word heavy with disdain. “Is that the name of your kingdom?”
“It’s a city. In Ohio. In America.” Eugene’s voice was tinged with resignation. “You’ve never heard of any of this, have you?”
Krungus glared at him. “Why would I concern myself with the politics of some obscure backwater? I need answers about Aelintheldaar, not this nonsensical Earth of yours!”
Eugene threw up his hands. “Great! That makes two of us, because I don’t know jack about this place, except that it smells like garbage and everyone here is rude.”
Krungus sighed, rubbing his temples. “Clearly, this is going to require more effort than I anticipated.”
“Yeah,” Eugene said, slumping back in his chair. “Same.”
For a moment, the two sat in silence, the weight of their respective predicaments settling in. Finally, Krungus stood, his staff tapping against the floor with renewed purpose.
“Very well,” he said. “If you are as ignorant as you claim, then we must seek answers elsewhere. You will accompany me.”
“What?” Eugene sat bolt upright. “No! I need to figure out how to get home, not go gallivanting off with some guy who looks like a rejected Gandalf cosplay!”
Krungus scowled. “First of all, I do not know this Gandalf, but I already despise him. Second, you are here because of my spell, which means your fate is tied to mine. If you wish to return to this Cincinnati of yours, you will assist me in uncovering what has happened to my city.”
Eugene opened his mouth to protest but stopped himself. He had no better options, and something about Krungus—despite the wild hair and general aura of chaos—seemed oddly reassuring. Or maybe that was just the lingering effects of the spell. Either way, he sighed and stood up.
“Fine,” he said. “But I want it on record that this is a terrible idea.”
Krungus smirked. “If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t be involved.”