Ozzy thought long and hard on what his next move should be. Well, long and hard by his standards. In actuality he considered his options for only about five or six minutes, which was how much it took him to climb down the strange metal staircase that had been bolted onto the side of the building. He had no way of knowing this was a fire escape meant to be used only in emergencies, though his predicament more or less qualified as one. Thankfully the smothering fog did indeed get thinner the lower he went, though it did not disappear completely. Nevertheless, he was able to breathe much easier by the time his heels greeted the pavement.
More importantly, he had also decided on a basic plan of action.
First and foremost, he needed to get the lay of the land. This endeavor was shaping up to be not as challenging as he initially suspected. Based on what he saw and heard from the dark alley he wound up in, the people here were a lot like him. They were human, and they spoke his language. Admittedly the accent was weird and there were a few words and terms he overheard that were unknown, but overall he’d have no difficulty communicating with the locals. Ozzy thanked his lucky stars for this stroke of good fortune. Language was never his strong suit, so the prospect of having to learn a new one from scratch was terrifying.
The second part of his plan was to keep a low profile and avoid getting mixed up in anything. The man knew full well this was going to be the real challenge. These folk were much classier and more dignified than the wild mountain-raised ruffian, which was immediately evident by the difference in clothing. The druid still had his adventuring gear on, which consisted of outdoorsy apparel made from layered leathers and furs with a pair of axes sheathed at his back. The locals, on the other hand, wore fancy outfits that made each and every one of them look like nobles. The men touted a mix-and-match of pressed shirts, leather vests, clean slacks, smooth-shaven chins, neat haircuts, light tailcoats, cylindrical hats, and various forms of decorative eyewear. The ladies boasted tight corsets over low-cut blouses, delicate gloves poking out of wide sleeves, voluminous skirts that hid high-heeled boots, and had way too many buckles.
The contrast between the pedestrians’ flashy fashion sense and Ozzy’s strictly functional equipment was staggering. The various bloodstains on the latter weren’t helping, either. Actually, those would probably raise a lot of questions. The same went for his weapons. The people on the street were completely unarmed as far as he could tell. If the druid wanted to even make an attempt at fitting in, he needed to dress the part and ditch the axes. His first thought was to find a clothing store and have the employees there help him out. There were no such establishments in the dark, dingy alley he was currently in, but there were plenty of garbage containers, metal boxes, and other obstacles to keep him hidden while he snuck peeks at the main streets.
After prowling around as quietly as a man of his significant stature could for the better part of an hour, he managed to locate what appeared to be a suitable clothes shop. It had a big window up front with some sharply dressed mannequins behind it and the words 'Huxley & Smith’ painted on the glass in stylized lettering. The lights were on and the establishment seemed to be open despite the late hour, so Ozzy decided to take his chances. He stashed his weapons under some wooden pallets and emerged from the dark alley, startling a few pedestrians in the process. He briskly crossed the street while being wary of self-propelled carriages and walked into the shop with a little ‘ring-a-ding-ding’ of the bell above the door.
The interior was average in terms of size, though all of the clothing hanging from the walls and the dozens of mannequins around made it feel a bit cramped. Behind the counter was a lanky gentleman with a head of brown hair in a slicked-back style, his outfit consisting of a black-and-white shirt, vest, and bowtie combo. The look he threw Ozzy over his half-moon spectacles was one the druid had seen many times before. It was the same stare he got whenever he walked into most businesses back on Einhan. It was almost as if the salespeople could see an aura of un-civility around him. Even though it was a bit rude, this shopkeeper’s familiar reaction nevertheless eased the burly visitor’s nerves.
“Welcome to Huxley & Smith, sir,” he tried his best not to sound condescending. “May I assist you?”
“I sure hope so. As you can probably tell, I’m not from around here. Just flew into town, actually. I’ll be staying for a while and I was hoping you could help me fit in better.”
Ozzy silently congratulated himself for delivering that introduction as smoothly as he did. Those ten minutes he spent working on it before coming in were completely worth it.
“I am not a miracle worker, sir, but I can certainly make an attempt,” he remarked while adjusting his glasses. “However, if you’ll forgive my asking, can you actually afford to shop here? Our goods are of premium quality, with prices to match.”
“Ah.”
That was a difficult question to answer. Ozzy’s numerous adventures and humble lifestyle had resulted in him amassing a considerable amount of wealth. Naturally he didn’t carry all of his assets with him, but the coins and precious stones in his money pouch were enough to buy several village houses up front. However, it wasn’t until this moment that he considered that those might not be acceptable forms of currency around here. He also felt it would be a bad idea to openly admit he was carrying that much treasure around. Thankfully he remembered a few of Happy’s tips on bargaining, which helped him figure out what to say next.
“What sort of price range am I looking at?” he inquired.
“The average going price for one of our suits is about three thousand sprocks, up to four thousand if we include matching accessories.”
“I see.”
Ozzy had no idea what the hell ‘sprocks’ were, though he guessed from the context that this was the local currency. The golden solars and silver lunars in his pouch weren’t going to be of any use after all, and he doubted a tailor traded in cut gems. Come to think of it, was it possible that such metals and minerals were considered worthless around here? No, that couldn’t be it. No self-respecting culture would shun the earth’s most dazzling gifts like that. Otherwise there wouldn’t be entire professions dedicated to the manufacture and trade of pretty baubles.
Actually, that gave Ozzy an idea.
“To be honest, I don’t have enough sporks with me,” he admitted. “I have a bunch of valuables from my home country, though. Do you happen to know a nearby pawn shop or jeweler that might buy those off me?”
The shopkeeper, whose name was Richard according to the little badge pinned to his vest, raised an eyebrow. He then rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He knew several places like that, but the only one still open this late was rather far from here. There was no way this out-of-towner could make it there and back before Richard had no choice but to close up shop. Normally he’d ask him to return tomorrow, but the sharp salesman sensed the stranger’s urgency. The haberdasher had no idea where this foreigner came from or how he got this far downtown looking like that, but he clearly walked in without knowing or caring about the Huxley & Smith brand. He wanted to buy clothes as soon as possible, and likely wouldn’t wait until morning to find something - anything - to change out of those dreadful, filthy leathers. Richard sympathized with his plight. He too would be desperate for a new suit if he was stuck looking like some Rust Town reject. He couldn’t bring himself to just send this guy off in that pitiful state.
That and he didn’t want to miss out on a potential sale.
“Perhaps we can work something out,” he suggested. “If it’s fine by you, you can make the purchase on credit.”
“And, uh, how does that work?”
Richard suppressed a sigh at this shocking lack of common sense, but quickly chalked it up to a difference in culture. After all, selling on credit wasn’t exactly common practice for clothing stores. Or most businesses, for that matter. Still, it was an entirely legal way of handling a business transaction.
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“It’s quite simple, sir. Instead of paying up front, you sign a document promising to do so at a later date. All we need from you is to leave us with some form of collateral, an object of equal or greater value than your bill. This will, of course, be returned to you once your debt to us is settled.”
“Oh. Oh!” Ozzy’s big face lit up. “That’s perfect! Let’s go with this credit thing, then.”
“Very well, sir. To start off with, can you please show me what collateral you can offer?”
This wasn’t exactly proper procedure, but the tired tailor wanted to make sure the monumental effort he was about to go through was worth the while.
“I’ve quite a few things. I’m not too sure what they’re worth, but they should be enough.”
The druid fumbled with the various pouches hanging off his belt for a few moments before revealing a large fistful of gold and silver coins. Richard’s eyes nearly leaped out of their sockets in shock. He had a hunch this man wasn’t as poor as he looked since the word ‘jeweler’ had fallen out of his mouth, but this was way beyond his expectations. A rough inspection and educated estimate revealed the precious metals on their own were enough to buy half the items on display. That wasn’t even considering the potential collector’s value of them being in coin form. Richard then felt a sleazy voice within demand that he take this savage ignoramus for everything he was worth, but he quickly discarded that vile impulse. Huxley & Smith was a renowned and respected establishment, and such dishonest practices would only sully its prestige. No amount of money was worth that. Not to his bosses, at least.
The important thing was that this customer could easily afford the store’s goods and services. Without further ado Richard guided Ozzy into the back room and took his measurements. It then dawned on the shopkeeper that he didn’t have anything in stock to fit the plus-sized individual. At least until he remembered a certain article from a few years ago. A since-fired employee’s bad handwriting on a custom order had led to the creation of an outfit that was far too large for its intended recipient. That blemish on the establishment’s history had remained tucked away in the corner of the basement ever since. Richard retrieved it, steam-pressed it, and had Ozzy try it on. It was still a smidge oversized even for the bulky two-meter-tall mountain-man, but Richard felt confident he could achieve a perfect fit with some alterations. The only issue was he’d need more time than was left in his shift to do the work, but the customer agreed to pay extra for the ‘emergency service.’
It wasn’t until an hour and a half after closing time that the haberdasher finally finished. Despite his earlier claim that he was not a miracle worker, he managed to turn the uncivilized barbarian into quite the dapper gent. When Ozzy emerged from the shop he was rocking a black silken shirt, a sharp, dark orange vest with a vine-like pattern sewn into it, a matching set of trousers, and a pair of heavy boots. Richard had expressed significant dismay at the choice of footwear, going so far as to call it a ‘crime against style.’ However, Ozzy refused to wear dress shoes because he hated how tight and pointy they were.
The tailor also recommended several items from the store’s limited selection of accessories to go along with the outfit. The druid had never seen most of the offered products, but playing the part of a wealthy foreign tourist earned him a quick explanation of each object’s purpose and function. He ultimately decided to add two trinkets to his purchase. The first was a silver-plated watch with a matching chain that dangled from his left breast pocket. It was both stylish and functional, as the ability to accurately keep track of time seemed like an immensely useful thing. The second addition was a face mask of polished brass and soft rubber that would hopefully help him breathe this filthy air a bit easier. The other accessories were entirely decorative things like cufflinks or neck ties, so he gave them a hard pass. He was a practical guy first and foremost, so such pointless opulence offended his sensibilities.
Truth be told, Ozzy also felt this way about his new clothes. They looked gaudy and made him feel uncomfortable, though not because their quality was lacking. Whatever fabrics they were woven from felt smooth, soft, and cool against his rough skin, and that tailor had done a splendid job at making them fit just right. The issue was that the druid wasn’t used to wearing luxurious textiles and fidgeted constantly as a result. However, he had to set his personal feelings aside and bear with the unfamiliar sensations. He hadn’t walked into Huxley & Smith seeking comfort. The most important thing at the moment was making sure he was as inconspicuous as possible.
“Are you sure this will make me fit in?” he turned around. “I don’t want people on the street giving me weird looks.”
It was already the third or fourth time he’d asked something like that throughout the evening, but Richard tried his best to maintain his professional courtesy despite being dead tired.
“Mr. Stigandr, it is impossible for a man such as yourself to not garner attention. You create a spectacle by merely walking down the street.”
He did not succeed.
“However,” the tailor adjusted his glasses, “I can give you my personal guarantee that our brand of products will make sure you leave a favorable impression on anyone that looks your way. Well… so long as they don’t notice your, ugh, boots.”
“I’ll take your word for it, then. Thanks for all your help, Richard.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Stigandr. Just, please, do not forget your luggage. I’d rather not be associated with the crimes against fashion therein.”
The man politely pointed at the overstuffed duffel bag just inside the doorway. Ozzy picked it up with a muttered apology and set off into the night while mulling over the events of the past few hours. He’d chatted with the haberdasher while he worked and learned quite a few things as a result. He could have learned a lot more if he was better with his words, but talking was Happy’s speciality, not his. Ozzy wasn’t anywhere as good at lying on the fly and had to be careful with his questions lest he reveal too much about himself. He felt it was for the best that he kept the fact that he was an other-worlder to himself as much as possible.
Still, he had sussed out some vital bits of information. The local currency came in the shape of paper notes and zinc coins called sprocks, which only had value because the government said they did. This nation was called New Ostor, and this place was Last Flag, its second-biggest city. Ozzy had at some point realized that all those names were mostly useless to him since he had no frame of reference, so he instead inquired about more local and pressing subjects. Like those self-propelled vehicles that were apparently called ‘cars.’ Or ‘automobiles’ if one wanted to be fancy. He was also given directions to a pawn shop that worked around the clock and could turn his treasure into cash with no questions asked.
Ozzy had been walking for about thirty minutes when he suddenly remembered he neglected to collect his axes. He briefly contemplated whether it was a good idea to go back for them. He wasn’t all that tired and the extra hour of walking he’d have to do was no big deal. However, carrying those things around would bring him the wrong kind of attention unless he had a way to disguise them, which he didn’t. The weapons themselves were nothing special, either. They were a perfectly mundane pair of axes one would expect to find on a woodsman or lumberjack. Okay, they were maybe larger than average, but that was it. They weren’t of any sentimental value, either. Ozzy had gone through at least twenty of those things over the past year alone, and had five more waiting for him back home.
On second though, perhaps they had some value of the sentimental kind. The man ended up backtracking after all, but not to take them with him. He instead found a better, more secure hiding spot to leave them in with the intention to come back for them once he had a good way of transporting them. The duffel bag he’d gotten from Richard was already filled to the brim with his other gear, so that wasn’t an option. By the time he made it back to where he about-faced it was almost one hour past midnight. It was so late that the streets were practically deserted. It would appear Last Flag did sleep after all, it just had a later bedtime than the cities Ozzy was used to.
A worrisome thought then crossed the man’s mind. What little of Last Flag the man had seen gave him the impression that it was a peaceful, safe, and prosperous city. Commoners walked around unarmed while dressed like nobles and a lone shopkeeper did not hesitate to offer his valuable goods to a weird foreigner that randomly appeared in his store. However, every civilization had a darker side, a seedy underbelly that reared its ugly head once the good and honest folk had turned in for the day. Admittedly this place was significantly better lit than the settlements of Einhar, but there were plenty of dark spots and very few potential witnesses. Surely there were plenty of muggers, pickpockets, and other hooligans who would love to make a victim out of a well-dressed stranger walking along all by his lonesome. To assume otherwise would be utter foolishness. Ozzy wasn’t all that smart, or especially clever, but he was no fool.
Still, he wasn’t worried. Having his axes to rely on for self-defense wasn’t a bad idea, especially since he was struggling to manifest all but the most basic of his druidic abilities. However, he didn’t need any of those to handle a bunch of hoodlums. This was a man that was used to arm-wrestling ogres, putting bears in headlocks, and suplexing griffins. The worst a bunch of street rats could do to him was ruin his new clothes before he pummeled them into submission, even if they came at him armed with blades and clubs. Arrows, crossbows, and spells were a different story, but Ozzy had yet to meet a random hooligan who could wield any of those with enough proficiency to be a serious threat. Such people invariably had better things to do than mug strangers in the night.
So, the experienced adventurer decided to let his axes sleep for the moment and continued on his way.
However, what the druid had yet to learn was that, in this world, even petty criminals had access to weapons far more terrifying than sharpened hunks of metal.