“An’ who, by the braided ball hairs of me da, are you?”

‘Oh, shit…’

John resisted the urge to gulp as he stared down at the diminutive man

‘Identify’

Vulgad

Dwarf

Level:

4

‘Dwarf?’

Long seconds passed as the two held an impromptu staring contest. Rivulets of sweat poured down John’s face and his back.

John apprehensively dropped his shirt sack. Seeing no further hostile action, he slowly raised his arms above his head. He dearly hoped they weren’t shaking half as bad as he thought they were.

The glare of the Dwarf intensified momentarily before relaxing a bit. Now only a mere scowl. The axe was lowered from John’s neck.

Finally given some literal breathing room, John reached to his neck and rubbed it gingerly.

‘I could’ve just died right there…’

“Relax lad, if I wanted tah kill ye, ye wouldn’t ‘ave saw me comin’.”

John was laser-focused on the Dwarf as he began speaking. The dangerous little man was terrifyingly muscled. His physique was poorly hidden by the leather jerkin he wore.

The Dwarf, Vulgad according to the system, quickly turned around and began sauntering back to his fire.

“Come on then! Take a seat, I take it ye need to remove your heart from yer throat before you can tell me anythin’. An’ I ‘ope you didn’t soil yerself. The smell would make me wanna actually kill ya.”

Disregarding the last words of Vulgad, John shuffled over to the ground beside the fire and slowly lowered himself to the ground. His eyes darted between the owners of the fire he now warmed himself by.

The one called Baff expelled quiet snickers of amusement. His broad shoulders heaving in mirth.

Seeing Vulgad next to him, Baff was clearly a Dwarf like his companion. Though he did look a great deal younger, the stubby limbs and impressive beard were a dead give away as to his heritage.

Vulgad busied himself cutting a piece of meat from their meal. A large animal of some sort was spitted upon a metal rod, greasy fat dripped from the beast.

To his surprise, Vulgad handed him a simple wooden plate with a chunk of the meat on it. John looked at the Dwarf questioningly.

“Eat.”

The gruff command was all John needed to be driven into action. Never turn down the chance of a free meal, it could mean the difference between starving till the next sunrise and a pleasant night’s rest.

With juices freely flowing down his chin and his mouth busy, John occupied his eyes with further observation of the camp he now sat in.

The things the two Dwarves had in their camp were actually quite unorthodox. There were no vehicles around, and no horses either. That made the presence of all their bulky items quite odd.

There were two padded stools, upon which each Dwarf sat. Their campfire was actually just a bowl. There was no wood burning, yet hot flames still flickered in the now dark forest. A table decked in cooking implements and various spices stood off to the side. One large tent sat behind the Dwarves; its door flaps tied shut. A second, far humbler tent sat beside it.

Something didn’t add up, but John knew magic was a thing here. He was resolved to not embarrass himself further in front of his hosts. No matter how confused and out of his element he was.

“Well then, Johnathan-“

“it’s John.”

“Pardon?”

“John is what I prefer to be called.”

“Right, well, moving on.” The older Dwarf, Vulgad, cleared his throat. “Eh-hem, Now that I’ve fed and given ye a seat at me fire, I ‘ope you’ll answer some questions o’ mine?”

Noticing the question for what it was, John gave a silent nod.

Vulgad nodded back, happy he was cooperative. “So, John, I’d like tah know why ye thought to sneak up on an old Dwarf and ‘is apprentice? Some folk would have reacted far worse than I.”

The question was fair, and John could understand where Vulgad was coming from. John wasn’t trying to sneak. His caution could have been easily misconstrued as subterfuge.

“I was scared of who I’d find. I’m a lost traveler who was desperate to have a warm fire to rest beside. I had to be sure whoever I approached was friendly. I apologize for any threat I made on you.”

“Ha! Threat? Vulgad an’ I felt yer stompin’ long before you even heard our voices. Ya damn Humans never learn. Sneaking up on a Dwarf atop solid ground is nigh impossible, at least for those as low of level as ye.” Baff interjected with a mocking grin.

He never saw the hand coming.

A hefty *thud* landed on the back of Baff’s head. John was in the same boat as the surprised Baff. He didn’t notice the straight-faced Vulgad get up to hit him either.

‘What the hell! This guy makes professional fighters back home look like children!’

“Apologies for me apprentice. He seems to ‘ave forgotten his manners for when guests are present.”

“But master-”

Baff tried to complain but was cut off by Vulgad.

“Yea, I’m yer master! That means it is me duty to correct my wayward charge, no?”

It was John’s turn to chuckle. The scene was endearing in a sort of way, and Baff’s smug grin was replaced with the indignation of a scolded child.

Vulgad returned his bum to his seat, and his focus to John.

“I forgive ye John, yer argument holds water, but I will not apologize. I’m sure you understand my caution.”

And John did, he certainly didn’t like to have a blade against his throat, but to blame the Dwarf would be unfair. Now John thought it prudent to ask a question of his own.

“Then why didn’t you kill me? What made you stop?”

Vulgad’s eyes took on an appraising quality.

“I didn’t feel like ye had malicious intent. There was no aura to ye. Yer appearance matches what you told me. A shirtless, level 1, man stompin’ around the forest at night don’t exactly get me ready tah draw blood.”

John’s cheeks burned a bit at that reasoning. He knew he wasn’t the most dashing of figures right now, but he didn’t think he looked that bad.

“Why’re ye out here anyway? Halflings don’t usually let poor wanderers traverse their forests. The greedy bastards.”

It was Baff who asked this question. His last statement was spoken under his breath.

John immediately had memories of Lord of The Rings. Of Elves, Hobbits, Orcs, and of course Dwarves. He was never a fantasy nerd. But he’d seen the movies with Sarah. This world seems to have a whole bunch of various races. It may become important in the future for John, so he filed the knowledge away, confident in his superb memory to recall it.

John also took a moment to contemplate how he’d answer Baff’s question. Vulgad seemed to want an answer to that as well.

‘I guess I’ll tell them the truth, at least mostly.’

“I can’t rightly say actually. This may sound strange, but I woke up on a hill somewhere back that way.” John lazily swung his and over his shoulder indicating the direction. “I wish I could tell you guys more, but my memories are pretty spotty of the last few weeks.” John shrugged while giving his best ‘I’m innocent look’.

“Hmm is that so…?” Vulgad said in contemplation. He asked the next question.

“Where are ye from anyway lad? If I ‘member correctly, there ain’t a Human settlement for weeks from ‘ere. I can only wonder how ye got all the way out ‘ere.”

Vulgad’s gaze now harbored a hint of suspicion.

John knew he needed to choose his cover story carefully. Vulgad had clearly been around the block a few times. John could see it in his demeanor. The stony face, half coiled posture, and piercing gaze reminded John of hardened criminals he had gotten to know in his past career. The type that not only survived in prison, they thrived in the stressful environment.

That wasn’t to say he was a bad guy though. Just crafty. Like John had to be if he wanted to have good chance of getting out of these woods.

“I don’t rightfully know where my home is from here. I come from a secluded village some ways from any other people. We don’t like to interact all that much with outsiders anyway. Our ways don’t really mesh all that well with most people…”

“Ways?”

“My people don’t like using the system unless necessary. We’re taught to believe it brings us closer to ourselves, and that the system pollutes our souls.”

‘I hope he buys this; I can’t fit in anywhere he knows if I don’t know the ins and outs of the system.’

Vulgad stroked his grey streaked beard for moment.

‘He doesn’t have any reason to believe I made up such an audacious lie. The system is something nobody here should think twice about. Sure, my story is odd, but in his mind, there is no reason to lie about not using the system. If anything makes him suspicious, it’s that I come from such a remote place.’

“What land does yer village reside in then?”

‘Shit, think fast, I have to give him something!’

“It’s called Mordor.”

“Never ‘eard of it.” Baff blurts.

“And where are we now?” I ask Vulgad, ignoring Baff.

“We sit between the kingdoms of Berkia and Tyrshal. This land we stand in presently is claimed by the Halflings and is known as the Bet’ital Wood.”

John smoothly continues, not missing a beat. “-Which I have never heard of either.”

John makes a point to look at Baff condescendingly. Clearly, this lie would require both cluelessness as well as confidence. To blend the two was no easy task. Luckily, John had some practice.

Vulgad shook his head at John, perplexed. “You ‘ave a pretty unbelievable story lad. I want to trust you, truly I do, but somethin’ is still naggin’ me brain. What force’d take you all the way from yer home to ‘ere? If you truly haven’t ‘eard of kingdoms like Berkia, or even Tyrshal for that matter, ye must be from somewhere of great distance. ‘specially if I ‘aven’t ‘eard of this ‘Mordor’ ye hail from.”

“I wish I could tell you, but I don’t know the answer to that question myself. It’d be great if I knew where my home was from here, and I knew how I traveled so fast. Go-system knows it’ll be hard enough getting back home just from sheer distance.”

Vulgad stretched his arms above his head, letting out a stifled yawn.

“Well, I ‘spose ye wouldn’t know much accordin’ to yer tale.”

The old Dwarf knelt before the artificial campfire and waved his hand. The flames sputtered out at his gesture.

He heads to the large tent with his padded stool in one hand and turns around as he opens one of the tent flaps.

“Seein’ as ye don’t ‘ave any lodgings of yer own, I’ll let you borrow one o’ me spare cots and a piece o’ floor in me tent. ‘ope ye don’t mind yer legs ‘anging off the end, damn tall-folk.”

John’s ears perked up at the offer. It seemed that he was trusted enough to share the tent. Internally, John whooped in joy, no more back breaking roots against his back all night! He quickly got up and followed the Dwarf into the tent.

He wasn’t prepared for the interior of the tent in the slightest.

When one goes camping, John recalls hearing that it should be almost entirely the essentials you bring with you. That was not the case in Vulgad’s tent.

Lavish rugs, fancy paintings, even wonderfully sculpted figures decorated the walls and floor of the tent, the rafters themselves had such adornments.

‘Wait! The rafters!?’

John was shocked at the size of the tent. From the outside, the tent was perhaps 15 by 15 feet. A large size all by itself, but the inside…

It was bigger than the outside.

“How is this possible?”

Vulgad grinned as he watched John attempt to recover his figurative jaw from the floor.

“Welcome to me ‘ome away from ‘ome.” The Dwarf yelled enthusiastically as he spread his arms out.

The inside of Vulgad’s “tent” was more like a ballroom in size.

Remembering he was there, John looked to the Dwarf.

“I take it ye ‘ave never seen spatial magic before, ‘ave ye?”

No, no John had not.

***

John had only slept once in his eternal punishment, twice if one counted his rebirth. On those two occasions, he hadn’t actually dreamt.

John’s last ‘natural’ sleep had been 17 million years in the past. So, he had some catching up to do.

Something primal fueled John’s desire to snooze. Once his body had a taste of the concept, the soft respite of a pillow in this case, it was ravenous in its hunger for slumber.

For most people, dreams are very passive. As if the dreamer is only an observer. That is only most people though. John, now existed in the minority…

‘A dream? Huh, neat.’

He couldn’t put his finger on it, but John knew he was dreaming. Nothing leapt out and shouted it at him, it was a feeling in his gut that made him sure of it.

He walked forward though his dreamscape. Reality was fluid here. On a whim, towering trees turned to beasts of the wilds, then to mere statues, and those then became dust to the wind. All like ripples on a pond’s surface.

John strolled through the palace courtyard of his dreams. Faces of his past visited him, old friends, mentors, enemies, rivals, and even Sarah herself all greeted John like long lost friends. They laughed, they drank, they sang, and they wept.

The joyous atmosphere of reunited friends shifted, evolving into the light conversation of content company, devolving into the thinly veiled barbs of spurned lovers and jealous friends, finally a status quo was met in goodbyes one gives on the day of a funeral.

John’s funeral.

Now in a church, many faces he once knew turned up. Faces he thought of in his private moments. Adversaries and allies, no matter John’s relationship with them, they all showed up. Those responsible for creating the man he became were all in attendance.

Mr. Romanovich from down the hall. More of a father than the actual deadbeat had ever been.

Peter McBride, his friend from high school. He’d been shot in a robbery gone wrong, saving John.

Danny Cortez stood close to the door, like always. The Latino man had taught him most of his best tricks.

Mary “Stitches” Calvin. A godsend in his line of work, at least when the more violent events happened.

Sarah Harding…

‘She could never be described with words alone.’

John swooned in his heart

‘She’s as beautiful as ever. Fitting really, black always was her best color.’

Sarah’s hands rested on her own stomach. Gently laid across her rounded and distended midsection.

It was a scene that broke John’s heart.

He could only watch from the window of the church they placed his casket in. No amount of will could expel the words from his mouth. What was the point?

They were all dead and gone now. Nothing could change that.

Not now. Not ever.

***

In the now darkened tent of Valgud, the old Dwarf stood over the sleeping form of Johnathan Cribb. His thoughts were interrupted by the sight before him.

Tears streamed down the face of the Human man.

Shaking his head in pity, Valgus spoke softly in the lavish tent.

“I hope yer lies are between you, and only you, manling. I will protect my interests. Let’s ‘ope ye don’t find yerself at odds with ‘em.”