by Robert Bevan
Around the side of the building, he heard the simultaneous sounds of Tim sighing and a gush of liquid spraying onto the ground.
“That's just your alignment shifting to Evil.”
“Evil?”
“I went through the same thing when I turned into a wererat. My inclinations tend to lean more toward violence and manipulation, rather than spying on women going to the bathroom, but I guess it's different for everyone. Just handle your shit, and you'll get used to it.”
“For the last time, I wasn't watching her go to the bathroom! I have absolutely no desire to watch her, or anyone else, go to the fucking bathroom.”
Vaeryn grunted loudly as she soiled the other side of the Chicken Hut. “You just stay where you are, dwarf!”
Dave raised a middle finger in her general direction. “What was that about my alignment shifting to Evil?”
“It's in the Monster Manual,” said Tim. “When you contract lycanthropy, your alignment changes to match whatever kind of creature bit you.”
“Nobody bit me. I caught it from a turkey leg someone dropped on the floor.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he wished he'd thought before speaking.
“Ew,” said Vaeryn.
Dave clenched his fists. “Oh like you're one to talk while you shit Taco Bell on a restaurant wall.”
“I don't know, man,” said Tim. “That's pretty fucking gross.”
Even Officer Williams was looking at him a little judgmentally. “You don't know where something like that's been.”
“Can we forget about the fucking turkey leg for a second?” said Dave. “I don't want to be evil.”
“And I don't want to have a one-inch dick,” said Tim. “But here we are. Would you mind running inside and grabbing a roll of toilet paper? There should be some on the shelf in the office.”
Officer Williams cocked an eyebrow. “I'm afraid that was taken in as evidence.”
“Evidence of what? That people who work here need to take a shit every once in a while?”
“In cases like this, we tend to take everything we can get our hands on. After a few months, if nobody claims it, we use it at the station.”
“That's fucking corruption, plain and simple!”
“I must say I'm curious as to how you knew exactly where the owners of this establishment kept their toilet paper.”
After a long pause, Tim sighed. “Goddammit.” After a longer pause, he said, “Is the shop next door still open?”
Chapter 20
“You almost done in there?” Randy asked Denise through the outhouse door. “The longer we stay here, the harder it's gonna be to find Jay.”
“And the longer you keep talking to me, the longer it's gonna take for me to finish. Besides, I do my best thinking on the shitter. So why don't you pack some snacks or somethin' and let me do my business.”
Randy went back into the Whore's Head Inn and looked behind the bar for something they could eat on the go. The pickings were slim. All he managed to scrounge up were a few scraps of dried meat. He had a little money though, so they could always stop somewhere if the need arose. They were in a far better situation than poor Jay, who had neither food nor money, and didn't know his way around.
“I got it!” said Denise, barging in through the back door. “I know how we're going to find Mordred.”
“You mean Jay?”
“You play his little game all you like, Randy. I know a Mordred when I smell one.”
“What's your idea?” asked Randy. A pointless argument wasn't going to move them along any faster.
“Just like I said. We'll sniff him out. I got skill in Tracking.”
It wasn't a bad idea, but there was a crucial part missing. “Tony the Elf and his dog went off with Frank and Katherine and them.”
“Tony the Elf can suck a dick,” said Denise.
“We ain't got a dog,” said Randy, just in case the point needed clarifying. “Does your Tracking skill give you a supernatural sense of smell?”
“No, you dumb shit. But who needs a dog when we got us a magical basilisk?”
“Basil?” Randy thought about it. Maybe the idea had some merit. “I reckon it don't hurt to give it a try.” He pulled some tables out of the way to make space for his Special Mount. “Basil!”
Basil appeared, majestically bathed in soft white light, nobly awaiting Randy's orders.
“Good to see you again,” said Randy, stroking the massive eight-legged lizard on the cheek. “How you been?”
Very good, thank you.
“What?”
“I ain't said nothin',” said Denise.
I have been very good. Thank you for asking.
“Son of a biscuit!” said Randy. “You can talk?”
Denise put her hands on her hips. “Dammit, Randy. We got stuff to do. I need you to keep your shit together.”
Randy turned to her excitedly. “Basil's talkin' to me.”
“I don't hear nothin'.”
“No, he ain't talking out loud.” Randy tapped himself on the temple. “He's in my head.”
Denise rolled her eyes. “There's room enough, I s'pose. It's like the inside of a goddamn opera house in there.”
Randy ignored her and turned his attention back to Basil. “I'm so excited to finally be able to get to know you. Tell me something about yourself.”
I like food.
“Me too!”
“Randy!” snapped Denise.
“Alright, alright. Hey listen, Basil. I was wondering. How's your sense of smell.”
Basil sniffed the air.
It appears to be functioning normally.
“No, I meant, how does it compare to a human sense of smell?”
I don't know. I've never been a human.
“Jesus, Randy,” said Denise. “I thought you was the one in such a big fuckin' hurry.”
Randy picked up the stool Jay had slept on the night before and held the seat in front of Basil's nostrils. “What can you smell?”
I smell wood. Wood is not food.
“Can you smell any trace of a person? An elf, perhaps?”
Small trace of elf. But not enough to make me want to eat wood.
“I ain't trying to get you to eat the wood, Basil.”
Denise snorted and shook her head. “Well, if you ain't two peas in a fuckin' pod.”
Randy scowled at her, then continued waving the stool in front of Basil. “Do you think you could follow the scent of the elf you smell on this stool?”
Maybe. If it did not travel far.
Randy looked doubtfully at Denise. “Basil said he can only track Jay if he didn't travel too far yet.”
“Then we best get moving,” said Denise. “We might get lucky and find that some city guards stopped him not long after he left.”
“Stopped him for what?”
Denise shrugged. “Possession, most likely. A little bag of weed is pretty easy to plant after you beat the shit out of someone.”
“I don't think –”
“But just in case, we should try to think of where we might go if we was Mordred and colored. I'm thinking maybe some place kind of secluded, so I can check out my new big junk.”
“That's certainly worth considering,” said Randy. “But let's rule out the immediate area first. Come on, Basil.”
When Basil and Denise joined him at the door, Randy opened it.
“Hey, man,” said Jay. “I wanted to – AAAAAAHHHHHHH!”
Basil pounced on him through the doorway, knocking him to the ground, and bit down on his arm.
“Basil!” cried Randy. “NO! Stop that!”
When Basil backed off, Randy was relieved to see that Jay's arm, while bleeding profusely, was at least still attached. He lay a hand on Jay's shoulder. “In the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, I heal you.”
The bite wounds sealed themselves back up, and Jay wiggled his bloody fingers. “How did you do that?”
“I'm a paladin,” said Randy. “That's what I do.”
/>
“What is that thing?” Jay stared wide-eyed at Basil as he used the door frame to pull himself back up to his feet, leaving a bloody handprint on the wood.
“That's Basil. He's my Special Mount.” Randy turned to give Basil a disappointed glare. “And he's usually much better behaved than that.” He picked up a reasonably clean-looking cloth off a table and tossed it to Jay to wipe the blood off his arm.
You said to find the elf food. I found it.
“He ain't food, Basil. He's our friend. We don't eat our friends.”
I am sorry.
Randy patted him on the cheek. “It's alright, buddy. Everybody makes mistakes. Now, why don't you run along and play in the celestial plane? I'll call for you again later.”
Okay.
Basil started fading. When he'd completely disappeared, Randy turned back to Jay.
“We was just about to go out and look for you. It can be dangerous out there for someone who don't know their way around.”
“That's why I came back, only to have some magic dinosaur nearly bite my arm off.”
“Basil ain't meant no harm. He's had a rough couple of weeks, and he's coping with being a celestial beast as best as he can. We're both going through an adjustment period. Before a few minutes ago, I didn't even know he could talk.”
“I appreciate you patching me up,” said Jay. “I know you two are in a hurry to get out of this place, so I don't want to get too friendly.” He let that thought linger for a moment while he gave Denise a cold stare. “But I wonder if I could bother you to help get me started.”
Randy smiled. “That ain't no bother at all. We'd love to help you. What would you like to –”
“Wait just a goddamn minute,” said Denise. She stomped into Jay's personal space but thankfully didn't take off any of her clothes. “It don't take much more than a big ol' black dong to turn Randy's mind to mush, but I see right through your little charade. I know who you are. The question is, what is it you want from us, Mordred?”
Jay had stood his ground when Denise stepped up in his face, like he wanted to let her know he was prepared to defend himself if need be, but now he laughed at her. “You think I'm Mordred?”
“It ain't a matter of thinking.” Denise pointed to her head. “I got intuition.”
Jay pointed to his chin. “What you got is some kind of hormone imbalance.”
“Female dwarves have beards! That's perfectly natural!”
“Listen. I don't give a shit about your hairy face or your hairy tits. I just want to know what you can tell me about this.” Jay pulled a silver tube out from under his shirt.
Randy recognized it immediately. It was identical to the one he and Denise had found on their persons when they arrived in this world.
“That's your character sheet.”
“Okay, now we're getting somewhere,” said Jay. He twisted off the tube's cap and unrolled the paper inside. “What does all this stuff mean?”
Randy stared at the paper, trying to figure out where he should begin explaining. The ability scores seemed like the simplest place to start.
“These are your ability scores,” he said, pointing at the block of stats in the upper left hand corner. Your Strength score tells you how strong you are. Your Dexterity tells –”
“Stop right there,” said Jay. “I understand what the words mean. I spent a long time in that cell with nothing to keep me occupied but a bunch of rats and this piece of paper. Through a series of tests I conducted on myself, I came to the conclusion that 10 is an average score, and the pluses and minuses below the scores reflect how much better or worse I am than an average person. But what's this here, under Class and Level?” He pointed to a field on the top of the page. “Ranger 1, Rogue 1? What does that mean?”
“We're kinda new to this as well. But from what I gather, your class is what kind of character you are. It affects what kinds of special abilities or powers you have. I'm a paladin, Denise here is a barbarian. It looks like you got two classes, ranger and rogue.”
“What kind of ranger? Like a park ranger, or Walker, Texas Ranger, or what?”
“I think it's more like a Robin Hood type of character, but you fight to protect the wilderness from folks who would do it harm.”
“And a rogue? What is that? Like a maverick cop who plays by his own rules?”
“My understanding is that it's someone who sneaks around and stabs people.”
Denise squinted long and hard at Jay. “You really ain't Mordred, are you?”
Jay rolled his eyes. “Way to go, Sherlock. You caught me. What gave it away?”
“With all the knowledge he has of this game, there ain't no way he'd only be a Level 1 ranger and a Level 1 rogue after all the time that's passed.” She looked down at the sheet. “That's just fuckin' pathetic.”
“So sorry to disappoint you.” Jay turned to Randy. “You were saying something about special abilities and powers? What kind of powers do rangers and rogues have?”
“That ought to be listed on your character sheet somewhere.” He scanned the sheet. “Look here under Skills. It says you got Animal Empathy.” He smiled. “Well, that's nice.”
“I figure that's what helped me lure in the rats. I'd just put down my hand, and they'd come right to me.”
Something on the other side of the paper down near the bottom caught Randy's eye, causing him to frown with confusion. “And it says here you got animals as a Favored Enemy. That seems kind of at odds with the Animal Empathy.”
“That wasn't there when I first arrived here,” said Jay. “I kept feeling this strange compulsion to choose some type of creature that I'd be extra good at killing, but I tried to ignore it because I thought I was losing my mind. What if that's the first step toward becoming a serial killer, you know?”
Randy shrugged. “Not personally, no.”
“But when my prison guard stopped showing up, my survival depended on me being able to kill rats. So I made a choice. Since then, I've had this strange sense of hatred towards animals in general. I was luring in more rats than I could eat, just as a way to pass the time.”
Denise laughed. “I know the feeling. I used to sit on my back porch and shoot at coons.” She looked up sharply at Jay. “I'm talkin' about the animals, you understand.”
Randy scowled at Denise, then turned back to Jay. “Please continue your story.”
“I was trying to use their bones to pick the lock on my cell, but I didn't have much luck. But I noticed that as I killed more and more rats, I was gaining these Experience Points.” He pointed to the field on his character sheet. “When this number reached 1,000, The rogue stuff appeared. And just like that, I knew how to pick a lock.”
Randy gave him an encouraging smile. “Good for you.”
But Jay wasn't smiling. He stared down solemnly at his character sheet. “Is that it? My special powers are that I can sneak around and I hate animals? You can heal wounds with magic. That's a hell of a lot cooler.” He eyed Denise. “Can you do anything special? I mean, besides growing facial hair?”
Denise pointed at him. “You better watch yourself, son. My special power is Rage, and you don't want to be on the wrong side of me when I unleash it.”
Jay frowned at her. “I guess emotional instability is on par with hating animals, but I kind of expected something more, I don't know... fantastic, seeing as how this is a fantasy game.”
“Don't you worry,” said Randy. “You'll get more special powers as you increase your level.”
“You ain't got it so bad,” said Denise. “Just count your blessings you ain't a bard.”
“From what I've seen, being a bard doesn't look so bad. What kind of powers do they have?”
“Singin' songs and suckin' dick, if that Cheese guy is a proper representation. The shit he wears makes him look gayer than Randy.”
“Excuse me,” said Randy. “I understood you was locked in a cell for most of your time here. When did you see any bards?”
“That ci
ty I escaped from, Hollin. There's a singer there who's taken the city by storm recently. It's all anyone seemed to talk about over there. I swear, the guy's got a cult following like Elvis.”
A worrying thought suddenly occurred to Randy. “He ain't actually Elvis, is he?”
Jay shook his head. “No, he had some kind of proper fantasy name. Duke, or Count, or Squire, or something like that.”
Randy sighed with relief. “Okay. For a second there, I wondered if maybe –”
“Knight,” said Jay. “That's his name. Jordan Knight.”
Denise laughed, but Randy's blood went cold.
“What did you say?”
“The singer in Hollin I was talking about. His name is Jordan Knight.”
Denise stopped laughing. “Hang on a minute. Are you fuckin' serious?”
“Yeah,” said Jay. “Why? You guys know him?”
“Know him?” said Denise. “We ain't personally acquainted, no. But I'm familiar enough with New Kids on the Block.”
“Who?”
“Come on, man. You know. Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh.”
Jay brightened up again. “Right! That's one of this guy's songs. Everyone in Hollin is singing it.”
“You're telling me that Jordan fuckin' Knight, from New Kids on the Block, is doing concerts in this world?”
“I don't know this New Kids on the Block thing, but a guy named Jordan Knight is singing that song in Hollin.”
“How do you not know New Kids on the Block?” asked Denise, apparently unaware of the more severe implications of this revelation. “Where the fuck was you in the late eighties and early nineties?”
“I was born in ninety-two.”
“Well while you was swimmin' around in your daddy's nutsack, that song was all over the fuckin' radio.” Denise stroked her beard thoughtfully. “I don't recall having heard much from them since then.” She looked up at Randy. “You reckon Mordred banished New Kids on the Block to this world?”
“I have another theory,” said Randy. “What if this Jordan Knight is actually Mordred?”