Chapter 4- Crazy, on you
Part 2
My mind reeled. The other me, the Game Master, had laid it all out. We had been separated. I was the conscious mind, and he, along with everything around me, was my unconscious mind. This world had been created by me while I was awake, and was only meant to exist as an unconscious projection while I was dreaming about it. It had been made real when a fucking dream eating alien entered my mind at the moment I had become aware. At that moment, the rules created by my conscious mind had activated because they included mechanisms for dimensional and planar travel; it had interacted badly with whatever the alien had been doing in order to actually travel from its reality to my dream. Apparently human dreams are "close" to their reality, which allows them to enter and interact as if everything was part of their real world. That made it real enough for the rules of my game to take over, and now we were all trapped in some pocket dimension until the campaign is completed? Insane anime logic, but I didn't have a better idea. I was still in survival mode.
Apparently I wasn't completely trapped in the dream. I should still be able to wake up in the real world without any issues, not at-will or anything, but I wasn't cut off from my family. That wasn't entirely a good thing though. The main problems were:
Risk of dying for real.
My psyche was split and no one knew what the implications of that could be.
Until it was over, I would return to the same "dream" when sleeping in the real world.
Time progressed and my body remained in the dream while I was awake in the real world. Time didn't flow the same though. Meaning, if Krom wanted food and woke me up while I was in a burning building, I'd possibly get cooked.
The game master version of "me" was barely aware of what was going on. It seemed to be operating as if this was a super meta table top game, complete with table talk. And knowing myself like I do, this would have serious drawbacks.
"Where is Bubby now?" I asked, lacing up my boots."The waterfront by the bay... I've been... keeping him busy.""Random encounters? Nice," I threw on my jacket, "that might do more harm than good though. Stop messing with him, he'll come in handy... For the story," I added, uncertainly. "I'm going to get some things on my way to the tavern," I said.
It was still early when I left Oliver's; the old wolf hadn't even woken up yet. Most of the streets were lined with large houses, similar to Oliver's, complete with wraparound porches and back yards with fences and animal paddocks. They could have almost looked modern if not for the hitching posts and dirt roads. It seemed that most people in this area had an ox or mule to pull their wagons; a couple had horses. A five minute walk down the road brought me to a cluster of shops. The left side of the road had a bakery, which was a long single story building made of stone, with 4 chimneys pumping out white smoke. An ox cart was out front with two young dwarves unloading firewood to stack in front of the bakery. By the bakery was a shop that sold roasted and smoked meats, it was adjoined to the butcher. On my right, across from the bakery and sitting on the street corner, was a Tailor. The Tailor's shop was two stories tall, with a big window display in the front with gold lettering Fabricia Fantastica- Clothing and dyes. Across from the tailor was the smithy and leatherworks, with other, smaller, trade shops lined down the street.
I bought a baguette and some smoked brisket for a sandwich and browsed the shops. There was a cobbler a couple doors down from the tailor. I bought a pair of sturdy leather shoes, and put in a custom order for lambskin gloves and boots, which I wanted modeled after my cheap work boots."What s-s-sort of m-material is-s this, a-anyway?" The gnome man asked me. He was a thin man who stood around three feet tall, long hair and bushy civil war style moustache making him look like the littlest Allman Brother. "I've n-never seen it before.""I'm not really sure," I said, eating my sandwich, "I think it's some kind of plant fiber made to look like leather, but I don't know. You can keep the materials."He seemed interested, "I'll g-give you a d-d-discount then," he said, "the new ones w-will be r-ready in two hours-s."
I made my way to the tailor. The window had a couple of different styles of clothing on display. One appeared to be a suit made of green velvet with the big lacey sleeves and giant ruffly silk cravat. Big nope. One item was a dark gray Sari style dress with peridots sewn in the lining. The last was a loose outfit that appeared to consist entirely of wrapped cloth, which just seemed like it would complicate getting dressed. I just needed something comfortable, presentable and easily replaceable. If these formal designs were original, they wouldn't have any trouble accommodating my request.
"Welcome to Fabricia's, dear," a woman said, appearing from the back. The little bell above the door announced me as I entered. The shop was crowded along the walls with racks of clothes and fabrics of all colors and materials. There were stools and mannequins around the center of the room in a semi circle, opposite a trifold standing mirror. The display case that served as a counter contained a few elaborate bags and silk gloves. The woman behind it was good looking, she had a Mediterranean complexion with dark curly hair covering her shoulders. Her thick eyebrows were drawn together disapprovingly over her large brown eyes as she noticed the state of my clothes."Hello!" I said, feeling a bit awkward and hoping we wouldn't need to talk about the bloodstains, "I was hoping you could help me with a new outfit, I'm new to the city and as you can see, the road was rough.""Of course, of course," she said, gliding around the displays to get to me. She pulled off my jacket and shirt, then started taking measurements. She had my dimensions in less than a minute, "what are you looking for? The leatherworks would be more suited if you're... prone to adventurous endeavors." She said it like she was about to send me packing if I was going to be mistreating my garments."No, no," I said, laughing, "I need something where I can be received as a respectable guest, but comfortable enough to wear day to day." I pointed at the loose fitting wraps in the window, "something similar to that, but gray in color and easier to put on."She brought out some Baggy, harem style pants that tied in the front, along with a loose sleeveless shirt, all gray. She made me put it all on. She bounced around the room and fussed with the folds a bit, making a few marks and applying some pins to the fabric. She didn't chat while she worked, and that was fine with me, I was a little preoccupied anyway. She popped into the back and returned with a dark green coat, long and hooded. The material was something like canvas, flexible, but tough, and she said it would keep me dry. I took it all, plus two additional outfits. She'd have the alterations done before lunch, and the backups ready by the end of the week.
By the time I had made it down to Busty Sherman's, I was a couple of gemstones lighter than I had been, but looking pretty heroic (if I do say so myself). It turned out that the coat had a minor weather resistance enchantment on it, so it was well worth the money, even if I got fleeced on everything else.
Busty Sherman's Alehouse was a large, three story building. The foundation was stone, but the rest seemed to be crafted from a mix of timber and salvaged ship parts. The building had an elevated "deck" out front with several long tables and benches arranged behind thick rope railing that was wrapped around big posts that had been driven into the ground. I walked up the stairs to the deck and made for the main entrance. I could hear shouting and jeering inside, "That's enough, it's barely noon, you lot. Calm yer bits or I'll calm 'em for ya," I could hear a rough voice calling from inside.
A moment later, a man walked through the door onto the deck. Tall and lean, with medium length, almost-black hair, too wavy for it not to be styled, but he had it pulled back in a bun. He was a good looking guy, and his posture was too good, I felt a little sloppy standing near him, but that's not what had me rooted to the spot. This dude was wearing a fitted Paisley button up shirt, a navy vest and burnt orange ascot complete with bluejeans, designer boots and aviator sunglasses. I had so many questions. I just stared as he drunkenly walked through the door, sat down and started looking through his phone. What the hell?
He saw me staring, "whydda you -hic-want, bish? Yooou can' afforrd me." He had held up his hand as he spoke... and held it there, frozen, in the process of dismissing me. I think the movement must have turned his stomach. I had been there before. He was hammered. Plus, he looked like he had been in a fight. A bruise was starting to form on his cheek and his clothes had been disheveled, the ascot was hanging loose around his neck and his shirt missing the top buttons. I had missed it because of my shock, but to be fair, it really just created a rockstar effect, so it was difficult to spot at a glance. He slowly put his hand down and made a visible effort to hold his lunch."What the hell are y- Jesus Christ." I struggled with how to reply, "who are you? How did you get here?""Iii can telll you who I'm nott..." He said with some effort, "Jean Valjjjean! Those troggles...troggly... trogloDYTES," whipping his head around to shout at the door was a terrible idea, and I never heard what he was going to say about the troglodytes.
The vomit went the distance. It was probably a good ten feet from the bench the man occupied to the door, and it hit dead center. Just one huge spurt of vomit, and that was it. We sat there staring at the door, splattered with the catch of the day.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it."Holy shit""Holy shiiit," we said it at the same time, and then busted out laughing. That led to more vomiting, and so on. It was a disgusting cycle.
I ended up having to pay Busty Sherman a cleaning fee to keep the esteemed Mr. Valjean, from being tossed out on his ear. Busty was not "boobing around the bar boobily," as his name implied, he in fact was not the least bit booby. Busty was a huge, heavily scarred lizard man, who earned his nickname by busting heads as a bouncer when the place was called The Salty Siren. He had apparently settled down since those days and seemed to be a central figure in the community for a lot of the people in the neighborhood. Nobody messed with Busty, and when he spoke, people listened.
My new friend Pukey, was sleeping it off upstairs. I had paid a couple of dwarves to haul him for me, so I could get the story from Busty over a drink."When did that guy come in?" I asked, sipping at the bitter ale."Yesterday afternoon," Busty told me while he packed his pipe. "He strolled in, gawking and laughing at everyone, pissed them all off, and then hopped on stage and started singing." He reached under the bar for a match, but I offered a lit finger instead. He nodded appreciation once the tobacco burned, "honestly, he was really good," he said through a cloud of smoke, "but he lost the crowd before he even got up there. It's a shame, I'm always looking for new acts too.""You're a patron of the arts then?" I asked him."Oh yes, my mother was a painter, and I've always been fond of music." Busty took another big drag from his pipe and let it out, "but there's only so much I can do to keep the peace. He called me a Troglodyte earlier when I wouldn't let him get on stage again, and those are fighting words. I didn't hurt him though, might even do him some good, getting socked once or twice.""Maybe." I said, "I don't know him, but I think we're from the same area. He seemed confused. If he comes down, tell him I need to talk to him," I pulled out some coins, "I've got his tab, but I need him sober. Water down his drinks if you have to. I also need a corner room up top if there's one available.""Can do," Busty said, as he scooped up the gold coins, "corner rooms come with private dining and bathing tub. The maids leave 3 hours after sunset though, so keep that in mind." He produced a large key with a wooden tag."Thank you." I said, then added another coin, "if a skinny kid comes by looking for me, let him wait for me upstairs. I'll be back shortly."
I left the alehouse and made my way West down the street towards the warehouse district. Each of the wardens and many of the city's guilds and businesses had warehouses near the wharf, technically in the territory of the 9th ward, the warehouse district was considered neutral territory. As such, any activity in the district related to the Wardens was heavily scrutinized, even from the 9th ward. Anyone with a stake in a warehouse used a private security guild to protect their goods, and too many conscripted soldiers in the area raised their hackles. It was also the district with the greatest number of unresolved thefts and murders in the city, and Warden Corvis wanted to do something about it, but would have to do so under the radar.
The warehouse district covered a huge swath of the city's waterfront on the Eastern side of the Ol Pass river. The roads were twice as wide here as anywhere else in the city, and the buildings all had stone or brick foundations, with most of them sporting heavily reinforced double doors, big enough for large carts to drive through with room to spare. Guards were stationed in pairs at the corners of some of the larger warehouses, but most had only a single pair flanking the doors. While the West side of the river had the fish markets, shipyards and berths for captains of ill repute, the East side was all about moving and storing goods. This side of the wharf was the heart of commerce in Nelsholm, almost everything coming into or going out of the city was moved through here.
Tons of people walked through the wide streets, gravitating towards a single side. Most were hauling sacks or boxes, but some prodded oxen or mules or even camels with cargo tied to their backs. They all made sure to leave enough space for the horse carts that didn't appear to slow down or stop for anything. I weaved through the crowds and buildings, and got a good look at the bazaar on the wharf before turning down a narrow alley. There were several people loitering about on either side along the walls, some talking to others in low voices, most were human or maybe half elf, but there were a couple of dwarves arm wrestling on a crate, and a group of halflings throwing dice. They all looked up at me when I entered the alleyway. I wasn't too concerned, if I were going to be stabbed, it would have happened before I got this far... Or it would happen after I left.
I put some distance between myself and the alley entrance, "I'm here to enlist with the thief-catchers."A half elf woman, about a head shorter than me walked up, "arms out," she said. I complied, and she proceeded to pat me down. She relieved me of my knife and my bag, but didn't seem to care about my pouch. Well played. She motioned for me to follow her, and I followed.
She approached a door in the center of the wall on a smaller building to the right and knocked. The metal slide opened, revealing yellow, cat like eyes, "what is it, Elmo?" The voice spoke softly."Neeew applicant," the woman said, bouncing on her toes, like standing still was too much to handle. I could relate. The slide shut, and I could hear the muffled squeak of a bar being lifted behind the door before it opened and was ushered inside. The whole building essentially looked like a large barn that had been stripped out, what was left were the support beams, the walls and a loft. Lanterns hung on hooks around the single room, revealing stacked crates and barrels along the walls. Some had been moved towards the center and repurposed to be used as seating or tables. The Felistine doorman, who had the coat of an orange tabby, held the door as we entered and secured it again behind us. The only real furniture was an actual dining table in the center of the room with a single armchair. There were a couple of people chatting and laughing by the table, a man and woman, both humans, both athletic. The man was wearing dark leathers with studs in the breastplate and seemed to have a tough time standing still, like Elmo. The woman, on the other hand was standing perfectly still, back straight; clearly in uniform, she wore a steel breastplate, bracers, and leather greaves, complete with a green half-cape sporting Warden Corvis' sigil- a golden Jackalope.
"I'm Lt. Fozzie," the man told me, "you want to help clean up the city?""Casimyr. I'm looking for work," I said, "I'd like to offer my services to help make the city a better place, and I heard that's what you do here.""Alright then," Fozzie said as he looked at me appraisingly, you'll need to pass a test first. "To join the theif-catchers, you have to bring me a thief. It doesn't matter who it is, what they stole or how you do it, but you've got to have proof. No proof, no pass." He turned back to the armored woman, who chuckled."Okay... I'd like to turn in a thief now," I said. Everyone turned their attention back to me. "Elmo, you lifted my coin purse when you took my knife," I produced the bag of stones at my waist and tossed it on the ground, "then you replaced it with that. The proof is in my real purse, it has my name burned in the leather."No one said anything for a long moment, Fozzie just looking between me and Elmo and Elmo looking at me like I had grown tentacles."Well, that doesn't usually happen," Elmo said finally, "what gave me away?"I shrugged, "nothing, I only noticed that you were trying too hard not to look where I keep my coins. If you were concerned about me bringing in something dangerous, you would have confiscated it. If you had someone else assisting with the search, I wouldn't have caught it at all."
That was a lie. I knew she'd be conducting her own separate test. There were three organizations represented in the room. The first was the thief-catchers, led by Lt. Fozzie, whose purpose was to actually help catch thieves, by recruiting former thieves to train the 9th ward guard. It was a semi-off the books enterprise. The 9th ward guard was represented by the woman in uniform, a Captain. The guard was exactly what it seemed to be. And then Elmo, not officially associated with either group, led efforts on the ground for a more ambitious kind of organization that had no name. All three were viable pathways through the story, set up to accommodate whatever play styles the players had chosen.
She tossed me my purse, now looking amused, "we're taking this one Fozzie, he's quick. If his first assignment doesn't work out, you can have him." Elmo walked me outside, and through a series of alleyways while conveying the details of my first assignment.
"While seeking employment with the thief-catchers, you've instead been recruited into an unnamed organization, whose stated goal is to make the city a better place. Your first assignment is to investigate a guard captain named Walter, who has been selling on the black market. Recover the cargo and find out who Walter's associates are at all costs, but kill Walter if you can."
I made my way back to Busty Sherman's, avoiding corners and shadows. I tossed a coin to a busker singing down the street from the alehouse. It wasn't anything amazing, but it added to the vibe in a good way. My new sickly friend was still sleeping it off, and Bubby hadn't shown up yet. I had a drink and some lamb stew, then went to my room.
The room was actually really nice. There was a main chamber with some cushioned seating on the floor around a low table, a decent sized wood stove built into an interior stone wall, and secure looking double doors leading out to a balcony. There were two bedrooms adjoining the main room, identical, but one had a tub in it. I rang the service bell and had a maid bring up some water for washing.
Once I was living-in-a-pirate-town-with-no-soap- clean, I lay in the bed and thought about home again. I was going to have to start investigating the guard captain the following morning, and I knew what I'd find; human traffickers and people who were taken from their families and abused. I don't understand how people could be so horrible to each other. I was lucky. I knew that this wasn't real, and it would all be a product of my own imagination. I had never had to witness that kind of cruelty first hand, so it probably wouldn't even be close to real life. But would it feel real? Like it felt when I killed those people? I tried not to think about it, but it still crept up on me. I didn't know what it was like in real life, but the imagery in my head was bad enough. The man gasping rapidly in the kitchen, confused, eyes wide, stripped down to only panic. In the moment I had been able to just keep moving, and it all happened so fast I hadn't even realized I had seen it, until things had calmed down. It was different than sitting around a table and rolling dice; dispatching bad guys was a big part of the game, hardly worth thinking about at all. I wondered about the things I was going to witness during this assignment, about the things I would do, and what they would do to me.
The ink on my arm burned, but I was already asleep.