Ozzy really had to hand it to Benjamin. The Steamy Crate Inn was more or less exactly what he wanted out of a temporary residence. It was a quaint little rest-stop tucked away in a quiet corner underneath a bridge that ran over a sizable canal. The rooms were simple yet cozy and the few staff on hand knew better than to ask questions of the towering gentleman in the sharp suit with the bloodstained trousers. It would serve as a decent enough place for the druid’s wound to heal properly. He wasn’t sure how long he’d stick around, but he paid for a week in advance since the inn was offering some kind of discount.

Once inside his room, however, Ozzy spotted something hanging off of the wall that threw him for a bit of a loop. It was a calendar that revealed the people here counted the days very differently than back in Einhar. A week was apparently ten days, a month was four weeks exactly, and there were nine months in total for a combined three-sixty days in the year. Actually no, the last week in the year only had four days in it, but that was besides the point. What bothered the druid about this was that, even though the language and words used to describe long periods of time were the same, their actual length differed from his home.

For some reason, acknowledging this discrepancy was the thing that finally made him realize the severity of his situation. It was a weird thing to make him feel this way. One would think the seconds, minutes, and hours on his new pocket watch would have already driven home the fact that he was, in fact, in a strange and unknown world that was very different from his own. After all, people in Einhar didn’t have such units or any contraption capable of measuring them, and instead gauged the passing of time by the light of the sun. The druid had just accepted them at face value as the way things were here. It was the same with the strange fashion, automobiles, and even the firearm. Everything was so new and foreign that he subconsciously treated his surroundings as just another in a long line of fantastical locales he had stumbled upon during his career as an adventurer.

But this wasn’t some isolated village at the top of a mountain, a temple hidden beneath the desert sands, or the dead capital of a long-forgotten civilization of really smart orcs. Things wouldn’t go back to normal once he moved on from Last Flag. The funny-tasting water, the foul-smelling air, the near-total absence of magic, and the surprisingly civilized greenskins were things that likely awaited him wherever he went in this world. This realm was not Einhar with a few twists. This was not Einhar, period. Ozzy needed to stop relying on the common sense and knowledge of his home and embrace this world’s sensibilities, or a bullet wound to the gut would be the least of his worries.

Thankfully he’d have a lot of time to get his head in order while he stayed at the Steamy Crate Inn and waited for his wounds to recover like a good boy. He slept as much as he could at night, and kept himself busy with whatever chore he could come up with during the day. For food he had to rely on the inn’s limited menu, but porridge, potatoes, and sausages were more than enough to satisfy him. During his stay he confirmed that his body still healed at the accelerated rate he was used to, allowing him to recover fully in four days instead of ten. The only downside was he had to pull his stitches out himself. It hurt like hell and left a ladder-like scar on his stomach, but these were negligible inconveniences.

Once he was well enough to move freely, Ozzy started taking very long walks around the city. He was used to travelling long distances on foot, usually over rough and uneven terrain, and as such had no difficulty strolling around the paved streets of Last Flag from dawn until dusk. During his outings he avoided talking to anyone and focused on just looking around and eavesdropping on conversations, trying to get a feel for the local culture and customs. Little things like greeting others with handshakes, bathing more than once a month, and not slapping waitresses on their behinds no matter how plump they were. He also noticed that, in addition to orcs and goblins, Last Flag was also home to a community of dwarves. The druid made sure to keep his prejudices in check, but quickly found out that the stout-folk of this world were extremely similar to the ones he knew. They were rough, blunt, and honest people whose primary concerns were fighting, money, and alcohol. In short, Ozzy’s kind of crowd.

After a while the man felt comfortable enough with the city to engage in some light shopping, mostly for clothes and other personal effects. He revisited that Huxley & Smith outlet, both to pay off his credit and to order a spare suit. Richard wasn’t around since it wasn’t his shift, but the other employee present had no trouble handling Ozzy’s needs. While he was in the area the mountain of muscle procured a large suitcase with the intent of discretely recovering his stashed axes. Unfortunately someone had found their hiding spot and taken them. The druid was disappointed but not disheartened. Those weapons were disposable to begin with. He felt a bit foolish for having bought the suitcase, but then realized it could hold his things a lot better than that overstuffed duffel bag.

On the eighth day since his arrival, the druid was met with some unexpected news when he returned to the Steamy Crate for the night. Apparently a package had come for him while he was out and one of the maids had left it in his room after cleaning it. The surprise parcel turned out to be a woven basket filled with several types of fruit. He wondered who had sent it and why until he noticed the white paper card poking out between two apples. The front had some drawn-on stars and sparkles along with a ‘Get well soon!’ written in extremely curvy letters, but the message on the back was the important bit.

Mr. Stigandr,

I was shocked to hear of your injury at the hands of some despicable ruffians on the early morning of the 12th of this month. To think that such a thing could happen soon after you left my establishment! This used to be such a nice neighborhood, too.

Regardless, I can’t help but feel tangentially responsible. You would not have been at that time and place had I served you with the speed and respect you deserved instead of needlessly delaying you because of petty personal prejudices. I would’ve been racked with guilt had you perished because of my incompetence, so I was thrilled to hear you had made a splendid recovery. I assure you, had I known that things would turn out as they did I would have both expedited our transaction and arranged for a driver to take you home swiftly and safely.

I sincerely hope this violent and unfortunate incident did not sully your opinion of me or my establishment, and that I may continue to have the pleasure of counting you amongst my customers in future.

Sincerely,

Rizby Rattlecrank Jr.

Ozzy couldn’t help but laugh. Leave it to a goblin to take such care in avoiding blame while admitting fault. No, that wasn’t right. This sort of thinking was precisely the reason he got into that mess. Thankfully Rizby didn’t seem the type to hold a grudge. If the druid was reading between the lines correctly, then the pawnbroker was effectively saying that his thugs took things further than he wanted them to. Furthermore, he wished to put that whole affair behind him and was open to doing more business with the druid, presumably under the assumption that he had watched his tongue.

This gave the man plenty of food for thought to go along with his late night snack. Speaking of which, those fruits were really good. They were so much juicier and sweeter than the wild ones Ozzy was used to. They were definitely cultivated. Some druids were hardliners that considered such things offensive to nature, that anything civilization touched was ruined beyond repair. This particular practitioner was more open minded. From what he'd seen of it, the city of Last Flag teemed with a life and energy of its own, like a jungle of glass, steel, and concrete. Buildings and cars came from the ground just like trees and shrubs did, they just needed people instead of rain to grow. Admittedly the rampant pollution in the city’s air, water, and soil was bad no matter how one looked at it, but nature would adapt accordingly. It was really good at that sort of thing.

And as its disciple, how could Ozzy do the same?

The very next morning he made his way back to Rizby’s 24/10 Pawn and Bonds. Unlike his first visit he knew what to expect and kept his cool. The little counter at the back was staffed this time around, though not by the goblin he expected. The cashier on duty was a female of the species that was slightly more pleasant to look at. Her face was a little bit closer to a human woman’s, although she still had the pointy teeth, long ears, and large nose. Her brown hair was tied in a neat ponytail, she had on some bright red lipstick, and a similarly colored shoulderless dress that showed off her tiny cleavage. However, though visually more appealing, she was far from what Ozzy would consider attractive.

“Heya, welcome to Rizby’s. I’m Rizzy.”

Her manners also left something to be desired. She sounded superbly bored and annoyed when she greeted the man. She was also making a lot of wet smacking noises while chewing on something with her mouth open.

“Hello,” the man approached while keeping his remarks to himself.

“What do you want?”

“Is Rizby in? I’d like to speak with him.”

“Hmph. Of course, you do,” the fem-gob rolled her big green eyes. “Hold on a sec, I’ll go get ‘im.”

And by ‘go get him’ she apparently meant ‘turn her head and yell with all her might.’

“Rizby?! Rizby! Quit stalling in the shitter and get out here!”

“Damn it, woman!” a familiar voice answered. “Can’t I get even twenty minutes of peace?!”

“He’ll be along in a bit, hun,” she turned back to Ozzy. “Why dontcha have a look around while you wait?”

“Thanks, I will.”

He might’ve been a bit overwhelmed by all of the junk on display before, but he vaguely remembered there was something that had caught his eye. Sure enough, leaning against the shelf marked ‘Hunting Goods’ were two axes. Their grips were made of rubber, the handles were a bit short, and the blades weren’t bearded, but other than that they were very similar to the ones he’d lost. Their more compact nature would also make them easier to conceal. They still wouldn’t make a difference if someone pulled a gun on Ozzy again, but it was better to have them than not.

“Mind if I give these a swing or two?” he turned to Rizzy.

“Whateva’. Just so you know, you break anything, you buy it.”

The druid firmly grasped the ‘hunting goods’ and tried them out. The axes practically sang as he cut the air with them, much to the fem-gob’s mild amusement. She knew enough about her husband’s dealings to not say anything, but those motions clearly weren’t tree chopping ones. Not unless the tree had a head. Seemingly satisfied with the items, Ozzy walked up to the counter and set them down just as the boss finally emerged from the back.

“Ah, Mr. Stigandr. Welcome back,” he gently pushed Rizzy out of the way. “Did ya get mah fruit basket?”

“Yes. It was lovely, and much appreciated.”

“Good ta hear. Also, please excuse da wife’s behavior. Her customer service skills need some work, if ya know what I mean.”

He watched with a scowl as the fem-gob in question walked off while flipping him the bird over her shoulder.

“Now, will ya be purchasin’ these fine campin’ hatchets?”

“Indeed, though that’s not why I’m here. I actually have a problem I need help with.”

“I can’t promise nuthin’, but I’ll help if I can.”

“You see, I seem to have lost my ID.”

“Did ya, now?” the goblin raised an eyebrow, unsure of where this was going.

“Oh, yes. One moment it was in my pocket, the other it was gone. It’s unlikely but I might have dropped on or around these premises. You wouldn’t happen to have found any brand new identification, would you?”

Rizby gave the tiniest of nods when he picked up what Ozzy was putting down.

“Sorry, fella. Ain’t found nuthin’ like that.”

“Oh. That… sucks.”

“Is what is,” the goblin shrugged. “Now, would ya like yer purchase gift wrapped? Just one thousand sprocks.”

“Uh…”

Ozzy hesitated for a moment. Not only was the offer ridiculous, but also excessive when considering the axes themselves were two hundred each. However, he had a feeling he did in fact want the service given the meaningful glare the goblin was giving over his glasses.

“Sure. Wrap them up.”

“Okay. I’ll be right back.”

Rizby grabbed the weapons and carried them off in the back. He returned a few minutes later with a basic white cardboard box with a ribbon tied around it. He placed it on the counter with a hefty rattle and handed Ozzy a receipt for fourteen hundred sprocks that was promptly paid for in full. The druid left with a brief word of thanks and headed straight back for the Steamy Crate Inn, having resisted the urge to undo the package on the way. Inside were both of the axes and a white card similar to the one that came with the fruit basket, except this one said ‘Happy Birthday.’ Flipping it over revealed a set of instructions that included a date, a time, and an address.

Ozzy’s appointment was scheduled for half past three in the morning four days later. He arrived a little early and approached the destination alone and on foot, just as the card said. He also appeared unarmed, though he naturally wasn’t. Those axes he bought were tucked into his belt at the back of his waist and hidden from view by a long coat, just in case. He kept his eyes and ears open while walking down the specified alleyway, and occasionally stopped to scan for life signs. As far as he could tell he was completely alone aside from a trio of stray cats huddled up in some discarded cardboard boxes. He took a slight detour towards those felines. The homeless animals hissed aggressively when they noticed him, prompting the man to stop in his tracks.

“Easy, boys,” he spoke in a low voice. “I’m not looking for trouble.”

Some more hisses were all the answers he got.

“I just need to know if you’ve seen any strangers skulking around here tonight. Especially green ones.”

The growling he got wasn’t exactly promising, but he knew how to handle these temperamental toms.

“Tell me what I want to know and I’ll give you a little something-something to whet your whiskers.”

The cats went quiet for a few seconds before meowing something back.

“It’s ham, freshly sliced.”

Their heads and ears perked up at the mention of meaty treats. They approached slowly and sniffed the air, confirming this human did indeed have the goods. The three strays then meowed and hissed for a bit while Ozzy listened and nodded.

“I see. Thanks, boys.”

He upheld his end of the bargain and tossed them a slice each. It was a good thing he remembered to restock his pocket ham. Thanks to that he had it on good authority that he was the only person to have come by here in the last six hours, with the last one being some woman the orange tabby referred to as ‘the crazy granny.’ Ozzy felt a lot more confident there was no ambush waiting for him around the corner, though he still kept an eye out. Cats were more perceptive than most people gave them credit for, but they weren’t all-knowing.

Thankfully no green goons with guns leapt at Ozzy out of the shadows. Just as Rizby’s instructions said, he found a loose brick in the wall behind a certain lamp post. He carefully wriggled it free, placed an envelope in the back of the newly opened hole, plugged it back up, then calmly walked away. He returned at the same time two nights later to find his dead drop had been replaced by another. Like before, the druid resisted the temptation to open it until he was back at the inn.

Inside that brown bundle of paper was a rectangular object about the size of the average man’s palm. It was made of pressed off-white cardboard that felt remarkably rigid. On the left was a black and white picture of Ozzy’s face and shoulders. On the right were several fields that described him as one Osmond Stigandr, a caucasian, blond-haired, gray-eyed gentleman thirty one years of age that hailed from a place called North Wellington. The back had some more information, mostly regarding bodily measurements like height and weight along with some serial numbers. Last but not least, it also bore an official looking rectangular stamp that said ‘New Ostor Public Records Office’ in spotty red ink. All of this was covered in a layer of transparent resin that gave everything a slight orange tint.

Ozzy was impressed. This forgery was indistinguishable from the few IDs he’d spied during his outings. That said, he still wasn’t convinced that it was actually worth the four thousand sprocks he left behind in that dead drop. The average working man would need half a year or more to save up that kind of a sum, at least as far as the druid was aware. As for the picture and other details, those were included with the payment so there was no way they could’ve gotten those wrong. Well, except for the ‘North Wellington’ bit. Ozzy hadn’t the foggiest where in the world that was. He just hoped the home town those crooks had assigned him was a real place and not made up. In retrospect, he probably shouldn’t have left his birthplace blank when he submitted his request, but he had no idea what else to do. He obviously couldn’t put down his actual home and he knew next to nothing about this realm’s geopolitical landscape.

Thankfully, that was about to change. Throughout his daily excursions Ozzy had discovered the Last Flag Public Library. Books were apparently far more accessible here than they were in Einhan, and given the size of that building, it probably housed millions of them. Such an immense wealth of knowledge would surely contain history and geography books that would allow the druid to get a general grasp of where he was in this world and where his friends might’ve landed. Based on what he remembered when the lich’s magic first brought them here, Ozzy’s bubble had taken him westward. The other three members of the questionably-named Chuckle-nut Quartet had been flung to the east, north-east, and south-west. Roughly speaking, of course. It wasn’t much, but it was the only information Ozzy had to work with. He felt confident he’d have a better idea of where they all wound up once he got into the library’s maps and such.

The reason he hadn’t already delved into the place was twofold. The first was that, just as his physically endowed physique would suggest, the druid was not a big fan of reading. Squinting at letters on pages made his eyes hurt, and his mind wasn’t used to retaining written information. That and it was really, really boring. He had no idea how Cassie managed to pour through as many books as she did, but it never ceased to amaze him. It was immensely useful, as well. The Quartet’s leader always made sure she had as much information as possible before heading out on an adventure. The usefulness of such preparations could not be understated, though she openly admitted most of her efforts turned out to have been for naught. Still, that commitment and dedication was why the team followed her orders without hesitation.

Cassie wasn’t around, however, which meant Ozzy would have to do his own research, and he absolutely dreaded the prospect.

The second and far less childish reason why he had yet to enter the library was because he apparently needed an ID to be allowed access to the books within. Or at least that was what he gathered when he tried getting in there about ten days- about a week ago. He climbed up the wide stone steps in front and went all the way to the front door to see a sign that read, ‘No shoes? No shirt? No ID? No service!’ The druid obviously had the first two covered, but without the third he figured it was pointless to even go inside and promptly retreated. And now that he had fulfilled that requirement, he had no more respectable excuses to put this off any longer.

Ozzy arrived at the Last Flag Public Library at around eleven the next morning, which was rather late considering he got up at seven and this place was only an hour’s walk from the inn. Speaking of which, the druid needed to find another place to stay, maybe rent an apartment or something. The Steamy Crate was nice and all, but Ozzy’s starting budget of forty thousand sprocks had already dwindled to about twenty eight thousand, and that was after he cashed in the coins he’d left as credit collateral. He figured he’d be here a while, which meant he needed to make this money last as long as possible. That in turn meant he had to find either a job or a cheaper place to sleep, and he wasn’t exactly a nine-to-five type of guy.

The druid sighed at his own childishness. His friends weren’t going to find themselves, and he wasn’t getting any closer by stalling in front of the library. He trudged up those steps like a spoiled brat that had just been told to go do his homework, which was more or less the case. He went past the sign from last time and into the surprisingly spacious hallway beyond the front doors. The interior was remarkably nicer than he expected from a building open to the public. The floors were freshly waxed square tiles that alternated between gray, black, and red in various patterns. The ceiling was painted a soft off-white color and was adorned with an array of chandeliers that bathed everything in a warm golden light.

Everything else, however, filled the druid with dread. Because everything else was books. The walls were covered with books and dangerously tall ladders allowed access to the top rafters that had little else to offer except books. The central area was dominated by a maze-like cluster of endless shelves upon shelves, each of them filled to the brim with countless books. Spiral staircases led up to upper interior levels that held yet more books. Decorative archways on the left and right allowed access to side wings that Ozzy desperately hoped contained bars and restaurants, but he knew in his heart it was not so.

The druid hobbled over to the only island of sanity within reach that was free of those infinite tomes. It was a long table with ample seating and small lamps no doubt intended to facilitate easier in-house reading. A few people were already doing just that, but Ozzy paid them no heed as he took a seat and tried to steady his nerves. It was ridiculous for a man that had stared death in the face more times than he could count to be intimidated by leather-bound stacks of paper and ink. However, he had made the mistake of trying to imagine what it would be like to sift through all of this to find the few scraps of knowledge he actually needed. It was a terrifying prospect indeed. He hadn’t even started looking and he was already losing his mind.

He then had an epiphany that grew into a beacon of hope. Libraries had librarians. Those incredibly intelligent employees would surely be able to give Ozzy exactly what he needed. Hell, they probably knew this entire place like the back of their hand. The druid then realized he was giving mere mortals too much credit and reigned in his wild imagination. Still, the staff here probably had some kind of system in place that made sense of things and could at the very least point the man in the right direction.

But first, he needed to find one of these librarians. He glanced around and spotted a heavy semi-circular desk across the main hall. That seemed to be a good place to start looking, so he went over there only to find it vacant. He was definitely in the right place though, given the shining brass plaque bolted to the front of the desk that said ‘Eva Applebee, Head Librarian.’ Ozzy couldn’t help but imagine some strict no-nonsense granny dressed in a nun-like garment when he saw that name and title. He just hoped she would be patient enough to answer his questions before kicking him out for reading books wrong or something. As for how he could get her attention, that part seemed self-evident. Nestled between several stacks of b-words atop the desk was a shining service bell almost identical to the one in Rizby’s shop. He hesitated for a while, wondering whether using it was the socially acceptable thing to do. Eventually he decided to stop sweating the small stuff and gave it a sharp, clean ring that echoed slightly through the quiet halls.

“Coming!”

The voice that answered was much… smoother than Ozzy imagined the head librarian would sound like. When the woman emerged from behind a nearby shelf several seconds later, it became apparent that his imagination was way, way off. Firstly, she was no old bag. The smooth sun-kissed skin, bespectacled brown eyes, and full red lips painted the picture of a breathtaking beauty in her mid-twenties. Her glossy brown hair was done up in a neat bun in the back while her front locks were brushed to the right just enough to keep them out of her eyes, resulting in a style that seemed to mix business and pleasure. As for her dress, it was anything but chaste. The frilly blue garment afforded a generous amount of cleavage, which was emphasized by the push-up of her brown corset. The ankle-length skirt had a thigh slit that went up all the way to her hip, revealing fishnet stockings that were held up by a garter. Down below her long legs led into high-heeled bootlets that made her walk with a hip-swaying gait.

Ozzy couldn’t help but stare at the gorgeous woman. He wasn’t a lecher by any means, but he couldn’t help himself. The enormous gap between his pessimistic imagination and this fantastic reality had left him literally speechless. Naturally, the buxom librarian did not fail to notice his transfixed gaze. She’d have to be blind not to spot the towering man that stood at the foot of her desk and eyed her up and down with his jaw hanging open. She was so startled by how brutally honest the druid’s face was that she froze in her tracks, nearly dropping the small stack of books she was carrying.

What she did next proved that her personality, much like her appearance, was nothing like prudish tyrant Ozzy’s woefully incompetent imagination had conjured up. Rather than scream, shout, cry, or run off in a huff, she instead tilted her head, softly narrowed her eyes, and smiled through her big round spectacles. It was the sort of sultry expression that made it eye-bitingly clear that she also liked what she saw. And then, just in case the tall, blond, and mysterious stranger was as thick as a bunker, she made her interest clear with two simple words.

“Hello, handsome.”

Ozzy was suddenly overcome with the strange feeling he’d enjoy his time in the library after all.