The Wandering Inn_Volume 1

by Pirateaba

  And spoke. Quietly, giving voice to words in his chest.

  “We are not monsters yet;

  But we do not forget;

  We are lost, outcasts all.

  I caught him too late. His sigh—

  A shudder. Last goodbye.

  Time passes, cities rise and nations fall;

  And yet they will always hate us all.

  Goblins. Why do they hate us so?

  Why does the wind blow?

  I suppose I will never know.”

  He paused, but no one had heard him. Pyrite whispered the words a few more times. Not bad. But not good. He’d used ‘all’ twice, and he wasn’t sure about the second to last line. Why does the wind blow? A bit too silly, he felt. But it had promise.

  Pyrite thought the rhyming at the end of the lines was important. But he wasn’t sure. It sounded pleasing to his ears, though. He wondered if other species had something like this. Songs? No, this was different.

  He sat, and slowly fished out a burnt out coal from the fire. It was still very hot. He bit into it anyways, and chewed slowly as the night ended and the sun began to rise. This was how he lived. Day by day, hour by hour. Sometimes he despaired. Other times he laughed.

  But always, he dreamed of a day where Goblins would live freely. He looked south and added one more thought to the list in his head. He wondered if there was a way for Goblins to live in peace with other races.

  Probably not. But he waited for Rags to wake. To wake, and show them, show all Goblins she was worthy of being a Chieftain. Of being a Goblin Lord.

  Of someday, perhaps…

  Being a King.

  —-

  The night ended. Rags woke up, this time without a bad smell in her nose. She yawned as her camp began to stir with the dawn, and spotted a familiar shape. Pyrite, the former Gold Stone Chieftain, sat by a fire, chewing on something. She grunted, pleased he hadn’t fallen asleep. But then, he never did.

  He was dependable, like that. Rags got up, stretching, and saw Pyrite’s head drift towards her, and then back to the fire. She shook her head as she wandered over to where the Redfang warriors were already training for the morning.

  Some days Rags wondered what Pyrite was thinking. The huge Hobgoblin sat in front of the fire, chewing calmly, staring into the flames. He was always so calm. And he never seemed bothered by anything.

  He was delightfully simple, Rags concluded. He could think deeply at times, but by and large he was uncomplicated and straightforward. She envied him for his narrow view of the world. It wasn’t easy being her. Not easy at all. She walked away, and began thinking of what to do next. Time to lead her tribe again. Life was hard.

  But she was up to the challenge. And behind her, the Gold Stone Chieftain sat and chewed, and thought.

  Then he farted.

  1.02 C

  I have a confession to make. When I first came to this world, I was excited. I thought I could be someone else. They told me I could be a hero. But it turned out that people don’t change that easily. Cowards are still cowards. And I was a coward.

  But then I was afraid when I learned that people could change. People could change entirely, and that scared me as much as not changing. Then, I was frightened of what I might become.

  Now I know the truth. People don’t change so easily. They can, but what this world does isn’t change us. Rather, it shows us who we are. Heroes. Cowards.

  And monsters. And I am all three. They call me a hero, I know I am a coward, and I have a monster in my soul. The devil dances in the mirror and laughs. I call his name.

  Tom.

  —-

  “Tom? Hey Tom, you’ve got snow in your hair.”

  A tentative voice wakes me up from my thoughts. I pull myself up on my horse and brush at my head. I don’t feel any wet. And when I find what’s stuck there, I realize it isn’t snow. It’s a flower petal. White, beautiful, fallen from high overhead.

  White petals. They float down softly among the sounds of people cheering from the rooftops of houses. I look to my left, the little petal in my hands. Richard grins at me and tugs the hat on his head a bit higher. It should be silly to wear a cowboy hat over armor, but I have to admit, Richard pulls the Stetson off quite well. Maybe it’s because he’s also mounted.

  Nothing like a cowboy [Knight] to get the crowds going. I flick the petal towards him as my own horse plods along the paved street.

  “Nice crowd.”

  “You should smile and wave at them. They’re cheering for you as well.”

  “Mm. That’s because they don’t know me.”

  Richard shakes his head. I sigh, but obligingly wave a hand upwards. A few more people add their voices to the cheering. It’s a small crowd, really. A thousand people in a city built to hold far more than that. But they gather, and around me, the others are waving, blowing kisses. They’re glad to be here. And as the petals float down, I admit, so am I.

  Petals. They’re whiter than snow. In Rhir, snowfall is cold and wet. And often—tainted. Grey, or sometimes black, by whatever curse lies upon the land. It’s said the black snow is a product of the blighted lands themselves, and the people avoid touching it where it falls.

  Not that that’s a problem here. I look up, and up, my eyes travelling across sky bridges, made of wood and stone, buildings which reach up like small skyscrapers, layers of houses, shops, and more packed into one place. It’s like and unlike a city from my world in so many ways. The height is there, yes, but the aerial walkways and ramparts? No.

  “New York City looked like this, once, you know.”

  “Really?”

  I look back at Richard. He nods.

  “Keith told me. He’s into architecture.”

  “Engineering major. Right.”

  It’s funny, I’d forgotten. But of course, Keith would have been a freshman in Pennsylvania. Lehigh University. It’s so strange. I never went to college, but I can’t imagine being that certain about what I’d want to do with my life that early. I didn’t know what I wanted when I was taken, that’s for sure.

  “So New York looked like this a while back? Why’d they stop?”

  “I don’t know. Construction costs? People falling? You should ask him.”

  I glance back down the line of people on horseback, catch sight of Keith. I hesitate, shake my head.

  “Nah. I’m not that curious.”

  “Come on, Tom.”

  “Nah. But I will go for a walk up there sometime. Looks like fun. So long as you don’t slip.”

  “Yeah. Emily’s going to hate it, though.”

  “Oh? Why?”

  “She gets vertigo something fierce. Maybe we can get a room on the ground floor, do you think?”

  “Not sure. I guess that depends on the impression we make. Hey, I’m going to ride ahead, okay?”

  “Alright, then.”

  I gently nudge the horse I’m riding on with my heels. The brown creature grudgingly accelerates a bit while Richard slows his to hang back with the others. He makes it look so easy. He sits on his stallion like they’ve known each other for years. I can barely get my mare to stop.

  Alone again. I know Richard’s trying to be nice and talk to me, but I don’t need it. I keep my horse more or less between the group from my world, the twenty or so Americans who were summoned to this world, and our escort. Soldiers ride ahead and behind me, armor gleaming, but showing evidence of battle. The people cheer us all the harder because of it.

  We are heroes. And some of us are [Heroes]. I’m not.

  Not anymore. I gave that up with everything else months ago. Now I’m just Tom. Thomas, if you’re my mom. And I’m riding through the city as petals fall onto my shoulders and get caught in my hair. I look up again.

  And the city takes my breath away.

  So beautiful. The tangle of buildings and pathways through the sky really are a sight unique to this world. There are bridges large enough for horses to ride across, and for wagons to roll through! A city
climbing to the sky. And why not? The people live close together, behind walls. Why not build a city like this, in this continent of ceaseless war?

  This is Rhir. And this is the heart of the kingdom, the shield city known as Paranfer, whose walls have stood for thousands of years. But even here, behind the four great walls built by generations of the inhabitants, safety is not always guaranteed. As I look up, I see evidence of that in the form of watch towers, manned even in the capital city.

  And of course, we passed through the six successive outer walls of the city and the seventh, being built as we rode in. Each wall is taller than the last, and of course, patrolled by guards. I’m told that with each new wall, a new layer of housing is added to the ones beneath. I wonder how the architecture can handle it? The foundations of each building must be hundreds of feet deep. Or enchanted.

  Probably enchanted.

  In this sprawling, tightly-knit overgrowth of civilization, it’s possible to walk up six stories and walk with the covered roofs of the city shielding you from the corrupted rain or snow that might pour down without warning, or venture far, far beneath, to the streets and gutters where the sewers run black, depositing their contents into the sea.

  Apparently people live down there, in the sewers. The magical pollution does something to them. But whatever dangers the contamination might pose, it still runs into the sea. And there it flows west and north. Towards the edge of the world.

  Beyond Rhir, there is no world. A few islands perhaps, and oceanic depths no one has explored. But beyond that? The end of the world. A great abyss from which no one returns. The world is flat, and you can sail right off it. Rhir sits at the edge of the world—so do the islanders, a group of strange foreigners who clash with Minotaurs and sometimes sail towards civilization.

  Or so I’ve been told. I know only what other people tell me about this world. I have never left this continent, not in the months I’ve been here. And I’ve only ever seen this city once before.

  My heart stirs as I watch the petals floating down. The people are still cheering above, waiting along the route of our procession. Not a lot of them, but some. They’re shouting, crying out the rallying call of Rhir.

  “The Walls stand!”

  “The Blighted King sits upon his throne!”

  “To the ends of the world and back! Rhir! The last war! The endless war!”

  Fierce shouts, from men, women, and children alike. There’s no doubt in their voices, no sense of embarrassment for what they say. Each one is filled with burning pride in who they are, love for their country.

  Patriots. It’s an odd thought. I feel a chill and look towards the palace rising above the rest of the city. It is gigantic, apparently taller than any other such building in the world. It was designed by Dwarfs, added to year after year, and made to never be taken. Yes. Rhir might be blighted, afflicted by dark magic and attacked by strange new monsters year after year. Yes, the Demon King waits and sends his armies forth to bring down the walls.

  But it is great for that reason. Because Rhir will not fall. It alone boasts the most skilled and deadly warriors from all races. The kingdom has ancient treasures, unyielding protectors, and its [King] is known throughout the world. All nations know of Rhir, and if the horns call, they send their armies. For if Rhir falls, the world is next.

  …Or so I’m told. It sounds to me like Rhir is isolated, cut off from the rest of the world by the battle only the people here will fight. But to the people, their struggle is pride and purpose.

  Another petal floats down. It’s truly beautiful, and I’m glad to see it. I’ve had enough of grey and black snow, or worse, red snow. I reach up as it flutters towards my face.

  This petal is soft and cool, chilled by the air, but warming, like the weather. I catch it and sniff at it. The smell is sweet, vanishingly faint, and melancholy. Just as soon as I sniff, I sneeze. I wipe at my nose and feel my skin itching. I quickly brush the petal off and note that my skin is already turning red.

  “Great. I think I’m allergic to that.”

  Why can’t I have nice things? I sigh. I ride on, and hear a little voice.

  Maybe because you’re not a nice person. Or maybe it’s genetics. Either way, you’d better hope you don’t inhale one of those or you might die of anaphylactic shock. Now, how funny would that be? There’s no EpiPen in this world. Go on, sniff another and see how fast your throat closes up.

  It’s not a nice thought. I ignore it and sigh.

  Come on, you can’t ignore me. Or rather, you. Is it me or you? Both? It’s like a thought you can’t ignore. Or a song. Remember the one about badgers?

  “Goddamnit.”

  The voice is back. I’m afraid it’ll plague me all day this time. My voice, to be exact. No one else’s. Nothing to be worried about. It’s just a voice. In my head. Everyone has a little voice in their head, right?

  It doesn’t make me crazy. Even though I am insane. But [Lesser Insanity] isn’t…isn’t…

  Fun? Entertaining? Totally batshit crazy? Where were you going with that one?

  Let’s try this again.

  Hi. My name is Tom. I’m a Level 28 [Clown]. Only, I’m retired. You’d never know it to look at me, as I ride through the streets of Rhir with an escort of soldiers and my friends. I look normal. Just a guy in slightly worn clothing, slightly overweight, but not as heavy as I used to be—I lost weight. I have scars you can’t see, and a funny walk. But that’s all. I’m white, American, and as bland as you can be.

  I don’t wear the face paint any longer. I don’t color my nose red, or paint my face whiter than it usually is. I don’t juggle, do tricks, or anything remotely funny if I can help it. I’ve given up being a [Clown]. I really have.

  And I’m not insane. I’m not. Not entirely. Not yet.

  Keep telling yourself that.

  “Okay, maybe Richard was right.”

  I gently pull on the reins of my horse. She freezes, and I nearly topple off her. I groan, turn her around, and walk her back. Towards the others.

  There they are, twenty of them. Not all clustered up at once of course; they’re riding in a procession, so it’s two to four abreast, all moving slowly down the street. Not the widest of streets, either, and not one lined by cheering people, you’ll note. This is one of the entry streets to Paranfer, and as such it’s meant to be kept empty of all traffic except those going this way. The general citizenry stays above.

  I was riding at the head of our little procession, but now I head back. There are four people there. Richard, our own southern cowboy [Knight], the leader of our ragtag group. Emily, another leader, beloved, a [Hydromancer]. And next to them Keith, a [Blacksmith] who wants to find out if there is an [Engineer] class, and Chole. Chole’s a [Nurse].

  “Tom!”

  Richard breaks off from talking with Chole and the others at once. They all fall silent as I awkwardly guide my horse over to them. I see Emily actually pull her horse back a bit. That’s fine. Understandable, even.

  “Hey Richard, guess what? Turns out I’m allergic to the pretty flowers.”

  “Well, that ain’t good. At least we’re not being showered by the stuff, then.”

  Richard shakes his head. I turn my horse and fall in with him. Emily hesitates, but it’s Chole who backs up until she’s behind us. I ride next to Richard, pretending not to notice the way Keith stares at me. Of course, Richard acts like nothing’s amiss. He’s considerate like that.

  “Reckon we’ll be in the main part of the city soon. It’s a big place, isn’t it? I didn’t see much of it the first time we were here, but we’ll be going through a bigger section soon, with a larger escort.”

  “Are they actually going to throw a parade for us? I thought all of this was what we were going to get.”

  Emily waves a hand up at the balconies overhead. A girl cheers down at her, which doesn’t in turn cheer her up. She wanted a parade, and we barely got that. I don’t care. Keith looks as skeptical as Richard and I feel.


  “I don’t know. We’re not exactly in favor, are we? It’s only ‘cause you and Richard are over Level 30 that we’re getting acknowledged at all, right? For fighting Demons and monsters. Well, that and…”

  He glances sideways at me. I ignore the look and hunch my shoulders.

  How can you ignore a look and respond to it? Just say it out loud, Tom. We’re getting invited back to the capital because you killed a bunch of innocent people. Wait, I mean, the Demons killed the innocent people and you killed them. That makes you a hero! Right?

  Richard clears his throat.

  “So long as we can get behind some actual walls for a spell, I’m grateful. And if the Blighted King wants to see us, that’s fine. So long as we can impress his majesty, that is.”

  He’s looking at me now, too. I look up and meet his eyes.

  “I’m done, Richard. I told you that.”

  He nods. Emily doesn’t look convinced. Keith opens his mouth and Richard speaks.

  “Look, we’re here.”

  Our street opens and takes us into a grand plaza. One of many, but grand nonetheless. It’s large enough to hold thousands of people, or at least, make us feel tiny as we enter it on horseback.

  “Alright, we’re here! Off the horses!”

  As we enter the square, our leader calls out and I gladly slide from my saddle. I hear one of our number, Eddy, grumbling as we do.

  “Why can’t we ride to the palace? I can see it from here!”

  “If you can see it, you can walk to it. Besides, some roads are foot traffic only. Stop complaining.”

  Vincent calls out as he helps Chole off her horse. Eddy mutters, but doesn’t respond outright. He grumbled when we had to ride as well, since he wasn’t used to riding in the first place. I guess he got used to it.

  Now we’re in the plaza, I look around. There are many roads entering here, and the ground has some kind of spiral pattern to it. The colored bricks make me feel as though I’m being drawn to the center.