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Josiah closed up a little earlier than expected and waited on his porch. Only three customers ventured in during the two hours he was open. One cut and two shaves. The way some people wandered past during the afternoon, and even at the moment, quick glimpses out of the corner of their eyes, made him consider. Word had gotten out that something might’ve happened...probably did happen. But, better not to ask uncomfortable questions that might come back to haunt you. Mudrackle Street was like that.
He breathed in the summer air, cooler air than there’d been in a week. Sure, it was tinged with smoke and the odor of sweat and animal waste, ground into the mud and cobblestones by wooden wheels, beasts of burden, and the sandals and boots of humans—and their occasional close-to-human brethren.
The barber’s mind drifted. He’d always been a city slicker, even in his real life. What he wouldn’t give for a lungful of diesel fumes. He sighed. Maybe a short trip out of Three Hills City, for some untainted fresh air, was in order.
Right on time, Josiah spotted Gurk, and his gnome friend, making their way down the narrow street. Behind them strode a tall warrior armored in chainmail and breastplate. He spoke to a shorter warrior in ringmail, who appeared to have heritage of an African American, based upon his skin tone and short-cropped, tightly curled brown hair. Uncommon. And was that a hint of a point to the dark-skinned warrior’s ears? Elven blood? Behind them, less forcefully than the warriors, strode a taller figure shrouded by a dark-green cloak with its hood drawn up.
The gnome had a cudgel, and a round shield slung across his back. Besides walking the streets with Gurk, he’d seen the short fellow on stage at the Blue Bugle—with a stunningly beautiful elf maiden. It’d be many years before Josiah would forget her magnificent visage, or her spectacularly sized chest. How she managed her pole dancing moves without toppling once or twice? He smiled and shook his head. Gravity and physics didn’t work the same in this world as it did at home. If it did, there wouldn’t be ten-foot ogres. Gravity and physics wouldn’t allow them to stomp about as they did...or tall, big-breasted elves to dance. Come to think of it, elves, especially elven women, were generally on the slender side. More like athletic, long-distance runners or runway models.
He dismissed the thought, instead recalling the beautiful elf and the chaos in the gambling tavern she’d left behind. Quite a night. Maybe it was her, trailing the warriors. If so her cloak made sense. Even in summer, it’d draw less notice than her beauty and over-sized feminine attributes, the latter of which the cloak couldn’t exactly hide. Proof positive, once he realized what he was looking at.
But, everyone else on Mudrackle Street? They were too busy with their drudgery, and smart enough not to draw attention to themselves.
Josiah stood and brushed off his brown trousers as three of the five approached. Gurk, the dark-skinned quarter elf—maybe the thief’s druid friend—and the abnormally tall elf maiden, made their way across the traffic. The gnome and warrior kept their distance. Neither of those two appeared very happy. Frowns, and arms across his chest—for the gnome—and gauntleted hands on hips for the warrior said as much. Maybe they wanted to be with Gurk during the business that was to take place. Or maybe they just didn’t enjoy each other’s company.
After letting a wagon filled with horse manure from Sampson’s Stables—it came by this time every week—pass by, Gurk hurried toward the porch, followed by the two companions.
The half-goblin smiled, and climbed the porch steps. He awkwardly extended his hand to shake. “You’re looking better,” he said.
“Same with you,” Josiah replied, shaking the young thief’s hand. Gurk had almost certainly shared with his companions what had happened in the shop.
The young thief said nothing on the subject. Instead, he pointed with his thumb over his shoulder at the dark-skinned warrior mounting the steps. “This is Lysine. He’s the druid I mentioned. Lysine, this is Josiah. He’s a barber.”
The druid extended his hand. Josiah noted a firm, confident grip.
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” the druid said.
“Same here,” Josiah replied. He took note of the brass rings sewn into Lysine’s leather armor, and the scabbarded short sword on his left hip.
Gurk indicated, by tipping his head back to the left, his tall friend. “That’s Marigold.”
She reached around Gurk’s head and offered her hand.
Definitely feminine, with long fingers, Josiah thought as he and Marigold shook hands. Gurk hadn’t shared her profession. Like the half-goblin, it was possible she was a thief.
“Good to meet you as well, Marigold. That’s a fine rapier. I see very few of them in Three Hills City.”
“Thank you,” Marigold replied.
The feminine name matched the voice that emerged from within the hood’s shadow.
The concealing outfit reminded Josiah of his early days as a thief in the Monsters, Maces and Magic world. Then, he bravely—or foolishly—stalked the nighttime streets, feeling the predator. Odd thing was, despite traversing the streets with his own cloak’s drawn hood to conceal his face from recognition, Josiah’s peripheral vision remained unaffected. Logically, that shouldn’t have been true, but that’s the way the sometimes quirky game world worked. The same way Marigold’s hood wasn’t impairing her view at the moment.
But, in recent years, Josiah’s cloak resided on a hook in his apartment. Now a garment he rarely donned for nighttime business, guild or otherwise.
After a few seconds of hesitation, Marigold tilted her head. Movement of her cloak’s hood indicated the action. She added, “I like your barber pole. It’s the only one I’ve seen in the city.”
Rather than sigh about nights long past, Josiah chuckled. “There are two other barbers with poles in the city. But they’re like my shop. Not on a main street.”
An awkward moment of silence followed.
Gurk broke it by patting his satchel. “Let’s get my, ahh, tool, figured out.”
“Sure,” Josiah said. “Higslaff’s pawn shop is down the street.” He pointed the direction before descending the steps. Moving to follow two porters with crates built from rough-hewn boards on their shoulders, he added, “Not far.”
For a moment the towering elf walked next to him. He was pretty sure she was that elf. Her hand was too delicate to belong to a half-ogre. And he’d never heard of a half-ogre named after a flower. Weeds and rocks, yes. But not flowers. The more Josiah thought about it, the more he convinced himself Marigold was the pole-dancing elf. The gnome had announced her stage name as Deandra, the Undomesticated Diva, Dancer of the Dawn.
Josiah was so distracted by the memory that he didn’t see Gurk move up on his right, matching strides.
Gurk held his hand in a fist and pressed it toward Josiah. “Here’s your silver,” Gurk whispered.
“Huh?” Josiah said. “Oh.” He kept his hand next to his hip, and opened it to receive the two silver and four copper coins. He looked around, confident no one had observed the handoff. “Thank you.”
“The pawn shop dude probably knows you’re getting something,” Gurk said. “But dealing with it there would just slow things down.”
That made some sense to Josiah. It might help Gurk with the negotiations by suggesting they had an established relationship that didn’t revolve around payment upon rendering of a service. Could be the young thief had a high Intelligence score, or maybe a skill in Diplomacy, or Bartering. Or both.
It was less than a two minute walk to Higslaff’s pawn shop. Actually just two cross streets. There wasn’t a sign, just a hook holding up three yellow balls, the paint faded and flaking from the wood. What advertised it even more was the broad-shouldered half-ogre seated on the porch. His leather armor appeared to be a size or two too small, which only made him appear more muscular. The half-ogre’s grim face was as angular and as fierce-looking as the battle axe leaning against the wall next to him.
“Big dude looks like he’s got anger issues,” Gurk mumbled.
“Rather,” Lysine said, “an unambiguous display.”
“That sticky fingers will pay,” Marigold added.
Gurk groaned at the tall woman’s comment, while the druid said, “Middling attempt at end rhyme.”
Josiah looked back and smiled up at the cloaked figure, feigning appreciation of her wit. His real reason for looking back was to verify that the gnome and human warrior had followed them. He spotted the warrior, not attempting to be subtle. The gnome, too short to be easily seen with such a brief glance, was probably with him.
Josiah mounted the limestone steps leading to the three-story brick shop. He made eye contact with the muscle that kept the riffraff out. “Thogg.”
The grim half-ogre nodded and didn’t impede Josiah’s progress. Nor did he challenge the three individuals following the barber up the steps and into the shop. A bell mounted above the door jingled, announcing customers.
Looking up at the silver bell as he stepped under it, Gurk commented, “I think Kalgore could take him.”
“Kalgore’s sword arm has not experienced a worthy challenge lately,” Lysine replied.
Marigold giggled and said, “You’re funny, my little man.”
“Remind me to verse you in securing a psychological upper hand,” Lysine sternly whispered to the lady elf.
The last comment, Josiah didn’t think Thogg heard. The first three, unquestioningly, he did.
Magical lighting equivalent to scattered 100-watt bulbs lit the room, leaving only a few shadows. The forty by twenty foot room sported a twelve foot wooden ceiling. Shelves along the walls stretched all the way to the ceiling. They held a variety of items, from ornate winged helms and swords with stylized animal heads for pommels, to bolts of fine silk, bottles of what had to be expensive wine, and carved wooden figurines. Four long shelves, similar to those found in a library, stretched across the shop’s floor, anchored by some means beneath the oak planks. They had no backing so that items for sale could be observed from both sides, as well as providing unimpeded observation by the security.
Higslaff’s pawn shop always looked the same, except for the change in items resting on the hooks and shelves. Bonnar, the stout dwarf warrior, sat upon a short stool. His piercing blue eyes observed, while his thick brown beard did little to mask his perpetual frown. Josiah knew the security guard’s war hammer, hanging on pegs set in to the wall, held magic. Exactly what type, he wasn’t sure. The chainmail armor appeared in pristine condition, as usual.
The woman standing behind the polished oak counter was past middle age, as her graying hair rolled into a bun attested. Not too many years in the future, it would match the color of her feline familiar. Today, as with most days, an Invisibility Spell concealed the cat so that it might wander and observe, with little chance of being noticed. Coleen Sammae was a more than competent spell caster. Important, since shelved behind her sat the real valuables. Gold rings, diamond necklaces, ivory carvings, and weapons and other items sure to be enchanted. Reflecting her station of importance within the shop, Coleen Sammae wore a white silk blouse and black leather trousers stuffed into calf-high boots. A gold ring adorned each hand, both set with blood-red rubies. A gold necklace with a ruby pendant hung in prominent view and matching earrings adorned her ears. The jewelry might be her property, or that of the shop. Either way, a commercially strategic display.
What caught Josiah’s eye was a trident on display behind the enchantress. Josiah hadn’t seen that the last time he’d visited. Fine etching along the weapon’s tines spoke to its quality. Probably pawned by some gladiator down on his luck.
A lot of people enduring unfortunate circumstances provided inventory. And opportunity, for others not so unfortunate.
Coleen Sammae could cast a powerful Fireburst Spell, Josiah knew, but she specialized in spells that wouldn’t destroy the pawn shop’s inventory, while dealing with any would-be thief. Unbridled woe, however, to any that made it to the street and remained within range of her castings.
More than a few times Josiah contemplated the possibility that Coleen Sammae might’ve been a Player Character once. Maybe one retired, where the Monsters, Maces and Magic player either quit or wanted to play another character.
When that occultist GM sucked Josiah and his friends into the game, they were running their characters in Secrets of the Dark Heart Swamp, a sanctioned Monsters, Maces and Magic game module.
Most GMs took the modules and incorporated them into their own created world, or at least modified the modules for their likes, especially the online versions that were becoming popular when he’d been sucked into the game world.
Many nights he pondered if the creation of the module somehow created the world he now inhabited, or if somehow the world influenced the writers and artists that created the module.
Over the years, he’d spotted fewer and fewer of what he believed to be PCs, which made sense. Older game modules got put away, or thrown away, or rendered obsolete by updated game editions. If one wanted a stable life, decreased use of the game module was good, since Player Characters shook things up, made things happen. For good or for ill.
All of a sudden an interesting thought struck Josiah. He looked over his shoulder at the three people accompanying him. That would explain much, if they were PCs. Gurk’s odd behavior, almost cavalier attitude about taking risks in his barber shop, because what did he have to lose? He, the player, could always roll up another character if his half-goblin thief died.
The three with him in the pawn shop, and the two outside, bore watching. It might be risky, but they could possibly be manipulated to act for his benefit, before they perished in whatever series of adventures their GM was setting before them, or they moved on to another game module.
Or, getting mixed up in their adventure could end his existence. Josiah wasn’t sure, sort of wondered if he was part of the Secrets of the Dark Heart Swamp module, now that he was incorporated in the world, maybe in an updated online version of it?
Did he have free will? Or was he an NPC whose actions were directed by a GM who’d incorporated the module into a campaign? He was pretty sure he retained the former, but couldn’t rule out the latter.
What a screwed-up existence. It didn’t take being any sort of an astrophysicist or philosopher to know that.
Lost for a half moment in thought, Josiah realized he’d reached the counter on autopilot.
Coleen Sammae stared at him with expectant eyes. She asked the distracted barber, “Long day of petulant customers?” Her smooth voice held no hint of sarcasm.
“That’s one way you might put it.” He turned and made eye contact with Gurk standing to his left. Beyond him stood Lysine, and Marigold towered behind her companions.
The young thief grinned. “Ha! That’s funny.”
“These are the potential customers I sent word to Higslaff about.”
Coleen Sammae nodded once. “I thought that to be the case.” She reached back and turned a knob built into the display shelf behind her.
Ten seconds later a thin youth with hair the color of damp straw stepped through a door, the front of which served as a small case. The items on it weren’t of the fragile sort, mainly folded silk garments, several leather-bound books resting flat, and various rings, necklaces and bracelets secured to wooden display mounts.
The only one who appeared to be surprised was Marigold who uttered, “Hmmm.”
Josiah thought the door mounted along the wall was obvious by the way its shelves were offset so that it might swing forward unhindered. Of course, he’d seen it open hundreds of times, and his thief training cued him to watch for such discrepancies in construction.
“Inform the boss that Josiah has arrived with the potential clients.”
The boy’s brown eyes scanned the strangers at the counter and said, “Yes, ma’am,” before closing the door to go relay the message.