Chapter 1:

It was a raucous crowd that inhabited the Reynolds Inn, Eatery and Tavern, a mixture of fishermen, dockworkers, and the occasional oarsman or sail handler from a merchant ship that was passing through on their way to the Crescent Sea. The push of bodies and the noise emanating from Reynolds Inn marked it as the best tavern of Ebenshire, and quite possibly the whole Island of Eben. Behind the crowded bar, a young man bustled about, fetching drinks, meals, and trying to maintain some semblance of order. Donovan Reynolds was both the Barkeeper and innkeeper for Reynolds Inn and had been since he reached his majority. His father, Adarian Reynolds, owned a chain of Inns on the mainland of the continent that made up the Ring Empire, and had arranged for his bastard son, Donovan, to take over the only one on the Island that he called home. Luckily, Donovan did not shirk his duties, and Reynolds had thrived under his care.

Donovan bobbed and weaved deftly around his many customers, delivering drinks according to each person’s preference, taking note of those who looked like they had had enough. Part of the reason that the Inn prospered so under Donovan’s management was that he took an active hand in with regards to business, personnel, and customers. Having him in charge of the inn also ensured that very little violence occurred, as Donovan unnerved most patrons who might think of it.

Donovan wasn’t a big man, although he did have a look of lean strength about him, nor did he have a reputation as a violent individual. At 25 years of age, the number of fights he had been in could be counted between your two hands, which was something of an achievement for a boy living among sailors. It wasn’t fear of the worn Quillon dagger that rested on his right hip either, as the blade had only ever been brought to bear on the bellies of fish, not men. No, it was not any of these things: it was his eyes.

Adarian had not been present for most of Donovan’s childhood. In fact, Donovan had met the man only a half dozen times, but if you stood the two of them side by side, there would be no doubt regarding Donovan’s parentage. While it was true that Donovan and Adarian shared many similar features, including bone structure, height, and a slightly hooked nose, the most striking feature they shared, and the one the almost certainly marked them as blood, was their eyes.

Donovan’s pupils were the same slits as Adarian’s, and his eyes glowed a striking green. These marked both Donovan and Adarian as Crocodilians, if a few generations removed from the main tribe. Neither had any of the scales often sported in patches by their relatives, nor did either of them possess a tail. Their slightly pointed teeth, uncanny night vision, and lung capacity were legacies from their ancestors. The crocodilian eyes, however, were enough to stop any fight in its tracks.

Donovan would look up from what he was doing, and just stare at any unruly patrons. He would make no threatening gestures. No angry movements. But despite holding nothing more than a platter of sweetbread, he looked positively predatory. If trouble persisted, he would smile. He had yet to do that and not send a customer running. Donovan didn’t smile often. His mother had told him that a smile didn’t go well with his eyes. He looked hungry, and cruel. She was right.

Right now, Donovan was grinning wildly at the three men in front of him, who had frozen in their scuffle. He didn’t know what it was about, and he didn’t care. The cause of the fight didn’t matter to him, what did matter to him was that one of his good stools had been broken over someone’s back. The three men got up and beat a hasty retreat. As they left, he thought he saw something flow out of one of them, but when he looked back, there was nothing there. One of the patrons who had just approached the bar was chuckling and bobbing up and down on his toes like an energetic child. He was a strange looking man, with a mess of wiry, tangled hair surrounding a handsome face with a well-kept beard and a toothy smile. Past his face, his clothing continued to be somewhat mismatched in style and quality. His bright red scarf looked expensive, if well worn, but his coat was a simple wool affair that any peasant might own, his pants were brown linen, and ordinary enough, but he wore high quality boots. The stranger’s breathy, singsong voice brought Donovan’s attention back to the man’s face, and he realized he was still smiling, he wiped his face of that expression quickly. He had no wish to scare a potential customer.

“Though some at my aversion smile, I cannot love the crocodile. Its conduct does not seem to me, consistent with sincerity.” The stranger smiled cheerily, and Donovan laughed, and replied,

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“Well, I promise not to smile at your aversion.” He gave a tight-lipped smirk, knowing that without his pointed teeth showing, he looked almost human. “What’ll it be?” The stranger smile grew wider still, something that Donovan would’ve bet was impossible a few moments before.

“Just water for me. I am waiting, and I want my wits fully about me when the time comes.” Donovan nodded and grabbed a cup of water, making polite conversation as he did so.

“What’re you waiting for?” The stranger took a long drink of water before answering.

“Someone, something, somewhere. I’ll know when I see it.” Donovan took that as the man politely telling him to slag off, so, he moved on to other customers.

The night progressed and customers dwindled as most married men left for their homes, heads drooping as they prepared for the tongue lashing they would be getting from their wives for being out so late. Donovan bustled about, taking care of customers, cleaning tables, and closing the eatery portion of the establishment. Through it all, the strange man sat, ever waiting. He didn’t appear to be watching anything or anyone Donovan noted, although he did occasionally hear the man mumbling what sounded like poetry under his breath. Donovan shrugged, the man wasn’t the first eccentric customer he had ever had, and most probably wouldn’t be the last.

The door blew open, snapping Donovan out of his reverie. He looked up sharply, to identify the individual who was abusing his precious Inn. There was no one there. Donovan pursed his lips in confusion, and his brow furrowed. One of the few remaining customers looked at him and laughed drunkenly.

“Mus’ be the wind.” The portly man let out an unmanning giggle. Donovan ignored the drunk merchant captain and stepped towards the door. When he reached the door, he stuck his head outside. As always, the streets of Ebenshire were clean, and in good condition. Everything was still, with a slight breeze coming off the Endless Sea. He ducked back into his home and place of business. Something nagged at him. A few minutes later he realized what it was. It was not windy enough outside to blow the front door of Reynolds open, even if it was unlatched. It also felt like the barroom was crowded, despite the fact that there were only 7 customers left in the building, and all quietly minding their business. More than that, it felt like someone was watching him. When he glanced around furtively, he saw the man at the bar looking directly at him. Not staring exactly, but appraising. Donovan was about to ask the man what he needed when a sudden wave of vertigo hit him. He stumbled, then fell to a single knee. He was seeing double, he had to be, there weren’t that many customers tonight.

Donovan rose unsteadily, eyes darting. No, he wasn’t seeing double, but that didn’t explain what he was seeing. It was almost as though there was a whole other tavern. there was a vaguely translucent barkeep behind the bar, whose skin, hair, and clothes were in various shades of gray. At the tables around the Inn, there were gray customers sitting around his other customers, either making very loud observations about the person they were surrounding or carrying a one-sided conversation with them. The non-gray customers were not reacting to the yelling of the gray ones. Abruptly, the gray barkeep turned toward him and shouted out gleefully,

“OI! Everybody! Lookie there, he can see us, he can!” Every gray-man in the bar turned toward Donovan and flashed toward him. Donovan very nearly wet himself in terror. A strange voice split the air.

“Stop!” Everything stopped. The regular men in the tavern seemed to simply stop moving completely, with no awareness that they had done so. The grey-men acted as though they had pulled up short on a leash. Donovan found that he could still move, and he looked around to find the stranger standing from the bar, and walking forward, and speaking in his strange sing-song way, “Manners, manners my fine deceased friends.” He chuckled darkly, and

Donovan shivered. There was something distinctly menacing about this man, despite his cheery smile. As he weaved his way between the many translucent gray figures, he spoke once again, his words flowing together and up and down like a melody. “Donovan Reynolds, I require your presence post haste.” Donovan’s mouth moved without his permission.

“What? Why?” The Stranger smiled manically, and replied,

“Why, because you are the spangled pandemonium.” Donovan was very confused, he had been called many things in his life, plenty of them uncouth, but never had he been referred to as a spangled pandemonium. He wasn’t even sure was a spangled pandemonium was.

“Who are you?” He asked as the man came toward him. It wasn’t the right question, but he couldn’t very well say, “What the hell is going on?” it wasn’t professional. Of course, nothing about this situation was professional, or normal. He was about to open his mouth and to hell with professional courtesy when the stranger spoke before he could.

“My name is Bogram. And we are leaving.” Bogram’s hand clapped down onto Donovan’s shoulder, and in a flash of light, they did just that.