Three silhouettes stood face-to-face, with two of them gesturing wildly at each other. The skeleton of the tavern covered them with an orange shroud of bright flames; that didn’t stop Joe from scooping out their faces from a constantly waning view.

One man with wild black hair. That bush of spikes would make an electrified hedgehog proud. Then another man with a withered field on the top of his head - merely a mirror for the fires, not a single strand in sight.

Joseph remembered them both well.

But it was the third figure that truly gave him shivers.

Tall, lean. Cloaked in black clothes from their very peak to the bottom of their heels - nothing but a black hole in the middle of an otherwise luminous spot. They moved their shoulder slightly - and Joe lost his breath for a moment.

He recognised the shimmer beneath the coat of that person. Moreover, he would not mistake this form for anything else. Hours of him pouring enamoured glances upon his left arm before he put his foot down on this cursed island had left him with the (admittedly situational) ability to fish the image of this glass-like armour out of his memory bank anywhere.

So, whatever name and allegiance that black crow would shout when he and his crew catch them and play a kid’s game of run-a-fork-along-a-side-of-a-glass-bottle-for-hours-straight, it better be one that rhymes with a mountain. Preferably of gold; but social status would do.

He had to get into Mage University one way or the other.

The bald mercenary grabbed his fellow friend by the collar. Whatever the discussion they were galloping around, it reached the climax very quickly. The ‘hedgehog’ was helplessly swaying in bald mercenary’s arms, forcing himself to look away as his agitated comrade was, no doubt, pouring some very hot sauce upon those unwilling ears. Joseph briefly wondered what kind of disaster led to such spectacle - but then he noticed something more important.

The black figure stared right at him.

Against all the earthly logic, against the brightest of flames right above the trio in front of the tavern, in the middle of the goddamn night… This person could clearly carve him out from the shadows. While he was on top of a fairly tall, around six-story high tower, no less.

No, this person couldn’t possibly be a crow. An eagle - perhaps. They were looking at Joe from the ground, their thoughts buried behind black rags. What were they waiting for?

“Well, clearly you’ve seen me. Do something then, you coward…” The words left his lips before he could contemplate how stupid he was being.

The black figure slowly raised their arm. Straight as an arrow, the ‘head’ pointed straight at Joseph’s eyes. They gradually turned their wrist upright, as if forming a ‘Stop’ gesture…

…They waggled their finger at him.

Joseph had to put the spyglass down for a moment before pulling it back up to his eyes. The figure clasped their hands together, still keeping their head high, not paying a sliver of attention to the two mercenaries barking at each other in front of them.

“What in the damndest lands of Lower Reaches they are doin’ down there?” Joseph heard steps approaching from his left. Ralf peeked behind the parapet - impressively for the pirate’s size, he was keeping his balance well, not exposing even a fifth of his massive exterior to the enemy.

And at that glimpse of a moment, Joseph caught something with his spyglass. A strange trance enveloped him - and he continued to watch events unfold as if the time itself chained its stream down just so he could witness all the details…

As the flames raged on, unable to chew on the remains of the building, a small amount of orange tongues stopped their dance. No - they marched, in an unbroken line to the person who was looking at Joe this whole time.

Towards the black figure the winds and fires shifted - manifesting into a small tornado of orange and translucent, side-by-side they laid around the figure’s raised arm, swirling and growing.

Joseph did not like the look of that ‘drill’ - not more than the gaping maw of an Archrhyder. It was more of an ‘arrow’ than an arm at this very moment-

-And he wasn’t wrong.

Time snapped to normal. Joseph felt his shoulder rushing out from his body, torn away by a powerful hand. A loud ‘Jump!’ came from his left - when the ‘arrow’ blasted through the night towards the tower.

All sounds instantly died.

Joe could only feel ringing in his ears. His feet suddenly found no floor to stand on - and now he was facing the stars. Before he could appreciate the image, the force of a speeding train rammed against his back and stole his scream.

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He forgot where he was, who he was, and why he was. All he knew was burning pain. All he remembered were pieces of stone raining down from above…

…From the bottom of his clouded mind a little thought knocked into his head.

Wouldn’t it be funny if this building became his grave right now?

Wouldn’t it be funny if his adventure ended just as suddenly as it began, right here?

Five days in this accursed world - and all he was getting would be a collapsing medieval tower as his gravestone. Truly, not everyone would be able to afford even a tenth of such generosity - the unfortunate are betrayed to the ground without a cross or a stone.

Or sometimes, even without a grave itself. Mother Nature always cared about Her children, didn’t she?

She thoroughly cleaned up the carcasses of animals he left behind during his childhood hunts. Of course She would greet the nameless and fame-less with a warm hug at the end of the path, even if Her hands felt cold and sturdy as a brick right now.

Joseph found that thought hilarious. Dying without a legacy was a beggar’s job; and he was a serious man with serious plans. A business man, if you would. He was bending his back for a company back home for five bloody years - this world got nothing to scare this corporate drone with after five mere days!

He laughed. And all he could hear coming from himself was a growl of a dying crow.

But well, the bird did not fall prey to the eagle just yet.

And he got up. Rebelling against his muscles, trumpeting bones and necessary common sense, he absently forced his body straight. The right side hissed at him louder than normal, paying for his efforts in pain, forcing his left hand to rush there on instinct.

His eyes finally formed a picture for him.

A picture worth a thousand words, as they say. Because, truly, the treacherous reality did, and always would, remind him of his best qualities. Like about his stock of foolishness that certainly went several ranks up right now.

Because now he was face-to-face with at least ten hot, long barrels of angry metal that were bristling from the wall above the broken gate; two acquaintances he personality had a hand in pissing off before; and a mysterious black scarecrow. While his legs were buried at least halfway up in the rubble and his body was asking for an early retirement.

Whoops.

For his one-man-sad-clown show this audience didn’t look so forbearing. So he did his best to greet them with the nicest smile he could sell. The bald man released something between a pig grunt and a laugh, so Joe considered his attempt at least somewhat successful.

“I, ah… I got lost again.” …Really, what else was there to say?... The person in black clothes slightly moved their head up and down as if they were sighing. Unlike the man with wild hair who licked his lips, spit on the ground, and lifted a small revolver in his hand to the level of Joe’s abdomen.

“Dusty…” the man mumbled before looking at the ‘scarecrow’. “What do we do?” The mysterious person spared only one short nod - and the mercenary with a gun apologetically smiled.

“Sorry man… you were one of the better ones.”

A thunder hit Joseph’s ears, bringing back the hissing and the headache. He felt a light push in the lower half of the body and heard a brief, loud clang. Both did absolutely nothing.

The mercenary’s revolver arm drooped down for a second, then sprang back up. Joseph didn’t wait for any surprises; he threw his head down, blocked his face with his left arm, and twisted his body to the right as far as he could, just in time for several shots to cut the awkward moment of silence. Like the hail of the spring, the bullets peppered all over, doing no more than a racket bump worth of damage at the worst.

Once the shooting stopped, Joe gathered some courage to peek forward using the relative safety of his covering arm. Seeing the absolutely bewildered face of the mercenary paid the risk three-fold. Joseph smiled, feeling even more vindicated when he heard the bald mercenary grasping for air, interrupting it with small laughs.

“’Da man is ‘da rock! Shoot another drum, see if it works!” The mercenary was now outright snorting, clapping the annoyed, unlucky executioner on the back. The wild man only pushed his comrade away with his free hand, freeing a long sigh charged with a subtle growl of anger.

The mercenary’s throwaway glance at the person in black was returned with a barely noticeable shrug. However, Joseph caught the moment when the figure crossed their arms on their chest and tilted their head slightly to the side. He briefly wondered - were they seeing this whole thing as annoying or amusing?

Since, by all accounts, they were enjoying cosplaying a statue and not moving a single muscle to stop the circus, he figured it was the second option. Good for him - it gave him a few minutes more for… something.

For what? How exactly was he planning on getting out of this predicament? Where the hell did Ralf and Alchfrid disappear to? Unless… Oh no.

He threw a quick look at the rubble at his feet. There was absolutely no way they fell down with him, was there? Was there?!

His right hand frantically moved to search through his belt, hoping to grab anything helpful. And he found just a thing - a round ball with a pin, miraculously still in a serviceable condition. He had no idea which exact one he just swept from a pouch - and prayed silently so it would do something useful for him.

He had no illusions left. Throwing a bomb successfully under a dozen pairs of eyes would be an achievement in and of itself. But if he dragged down into Hell at least those three… Well, that’s a night well partied, wasn’t it?

But he was rudely interrupted.

Too bad the scarecrow was doing its job quite well. To enlist the fear in a crow would mean it followed its purpose to the end, regardless of the way it did so. Joseph caught only a blink of a gesture - and before he knew it, stones surrounded his vision once again. The pain came seconds after - that lazy, annoying kind of pain, like the clouds of dust he raised after flying backwards. His body stopped just short of the flame wall, burrowed into the same rubble he stood in before.

The black figure lowered their arm-

The gate wall burst into flames that ate the mercenaries on top of it. A loud bang disrupted the night, with the mercenary trio twisting themselves around, weapons ready. But before Joseph could pull out the bomb and add some spice, the mercenary in black briefly turned their head around - and with a swish of a hand the translucent winds dropped a pile of stones atop Joseph, leaving him only a small gap to look through. He jerked his hands several times - they didn’t move an inch.

He could only helplessly watch as Alchfrid jumped down from the wall above, cutting off the exit route for the mercenaries. No matter how hard he tried to push the stone away from him, the resistance was such that even a centimetre of a distance looked like an impossible dream. He was fully buried alive beneath the remains of the tower.

His own prophecy came to be true. He only hoped that his crew would not forget about him - after they won the incoming fight.