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Melvin, Rich and Jason formed a semi-circle around the body. An arrow from Jason’s bow protruded from the corpse. This was one unlucky rabbit.
“What do we do now?” Rich asked. He looked around like an answer was lurking in the grassy plains around them. But there was no answer, or much else other than grass and occasional shrubs, for miles around in any direction.
“We clean it and cook it,” Jason said with a shrug, smirking with satisfaction at his kill.
“How the hell do we do that?” Melvin asked. Jason may have been celebrating his martial proficiency, but Melvin wasn’t.
They didn’t even need to make a meal of poor Mr. Rabbit. The Hierophant Majora had seen to it they had plenty of field rations in their packs. But as they had cruised along in the hava-chaises, the rabbit had shot out from some undergrowth and made himself a tempting target to a guy who had recently learned he was a crack shot.
None of them had experience with meat that wasn’t prepackaged. Before the fatal arrow, Jason’s statements of “I need the practice,” and “we need to preserve our rations anyway... we don’t know how long we’ll be out on the road,” had sounded great, but didn’t go a long way for Melvin now that he was standing in a semi-circle looking down at a dead rabbit after the hunt.
If Jason had any qualms about Step Two, he didn’t show it. “Well, we take a knife and skin it,” he said. “And gut it.” Apparently, a person could learn a lot watching cable TV.
“But we don’t have a knife,” Melvin said.
Rich and Jason stopped looking at the rabbit and turned their gaze on Melvin. His brow furrowed as he thought through his last statement for any evidence of nonsense. No, it made sense, so why were they looking at him like he held a solution?
Because he was a warrioress with a double-edged bastard sword on his back.
“No!” he cried. “Not me. It’s not even a knife.”
“It’s a big knife,” Jason said.
“Big,” Rich mumbled in agreement with a nod of his head.
“C’mon, guys! How am I supposed to skin something this small with a sword this big?”
“Slowly?” Jason asked.
“Carefully?” Rich asked with a shrug.
They both patted Melvin on the back and walked back to the hava-chaises, leaving him alone with the tiny carcass. For long moments Melvin wrestled with indecision. He wanted to leave it. But the least he could do was eat it... otherwise the bunny took an arrow for nothing.
What would Mike do? He probably wouldn’t have a qualm about skinning a rabbit. The thought of his missing brother sent fear pangs through Melvin, and he had a mind to forget everything, jump on his hava-chaise and head back to the Hierophane. Maybe Mike had made it there and was waiting for him.
But how would his friends fare out here without him? Hell, they didn’t even have a knife between them to skin a rabbit. Mike wouldn’t leave friends in need. He also wouldn’t stall on creating carnage. Melvin looked down at the rabbit and pulled out his sword with a sigh.
After a minute or two at the task, Melvin knew with certainty he would have nightmares about it. Pulling blood-stained fur, cutting into muscle, it was unadulterated gruesome with every sloppy slash of his sword. He didn’t think a little rabbit could possibly hold so much blood. It stained his hands, smeared his boots and legs, streaked his face as he wiped away the mounting sweat.
“Finished,” Melvin said at last. He held up his hard-earned bundle, a little mass of bloody meat. Small tufts of fur still clung wetly to the creature.
“Dude,” Jason said, “it looks like an aborted fetus.”
“Yeah, Mel, that looks worse than the weagr you chopped up,” Rich said.
“Well, next time you bastards can do it. Then I won’t be the one looking like a crime scene.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jason said. “I couldn’t pull off that look. Nothing says dangerous like a woman who shows she’s not afraid to get dirty, and right now Mel you are a dirty, dirty girl.”
Jason looked at him straight-faced, like it was a statement of fact. Melvin cut his eyes at Rich and swore he could see Rich’s smile under that bushy gray beard.
“We gonna cook this thing or what?” Melvin asked. Some battles just weren’t worth fighting.
Melvin and Jason both had to cajole Rich, who wanted to gather dry sticks instead of casting a fire. The obvious argument of where to find dry sticks in the middle of a grassy field held little sway until they coupled it with the observation that everyone should contribute to the meal. It took even more prodding before Rich would create a bowl of water for Melvin to wash the blood off his hands, legs and face.
After their resident mage made fire and water, grumbling the whole time between casts, Melvin took to washing up while Jason manned the grill. He overcame the lack of sticks by impaling the rabbit with an arrow, kebab style, and holding the shaft low to the flame with his bone hand. The bones might be disturbing to look at, but they didn’t suffer from muscle fatigue and were impervious to fire. Lucky him.
Thirty minutes worth of slow turning over the fire, lunch rabbit was ready. It was the hardest meal Melvin ever had to work for. And it was still teaching him things.
It taught him rabbit was indeed tasty and delicious. It also taught him one rabbit did not stretch very far between three guys, or two guys and a warrior woman.
“Anyone else think all this wasn’t worth it?” Jason asked.
Both Melvin and Rich’s hands shot up.
“Yeah,” Jason said with a nod. “But it’ll be better next time. You two’ll be more efficient. Me? I was awesome.”
Jason pulled his index finger bone off at the knuckle and dropped it into the blood-tinted water bowl. He pointed West with the nub digit.
They headed out, hava-chaises sounding like little tornados as they lifted off. They made good time through the grasslands. Melvin cast wary gazes at any undergrowth, hoping no more rabbits decided to make a dash.
“I’ve never seen so much grass without houses,” Rich said. “This would suck to mow.”
“Yeah,” Melvin said. “Back home somebody would’ve turned all this into civilization... condos or a subdivision. Something.”
“I like it better as grass,” Jason said. “Just grass.”
They rode on in silence for a bit, looking at the endless sea of green. Jason spoke again.
“I gotta be honest, the more time I spend here the more I don’t want to leave.”
“Dude, you’re tripping,” Melvin said.
“Not really, I thought about it,” Jason replied. “Here, there’s all sorts of stuff to do. Adventuring, slaying monsters and other baddies. No school. Quests. Wide open, exotic locations. Back home, I’m just another kid from the burbs, being bland and working toward college, motivated by the prospect that I can maybe get an average job so I can continue being bland.”
“Yeah, but here you’re also gray skinned and your eyes won’t stop jumping around,” Rich said. “And you have a skeleton arm.”
“I still have my original arm,” Jason said, pointing behind him to the severed appendage strapped to his back. His hand flopped up and down, perpetually waving as he cruised in the hava-chaise.
“Besides,” he continued, “small price to pay. Now I’m a badass with a bow. And according to Cephrin’s stat sheet, I’m only thirty-two years old. Aians live to be like a hundred and fifty, so I’ve cut out all the awkward puberty years, skipped the prom, and woke up in the prime of my life with a pretty wicked muscle-to-fat ratio. It could be worse.”
“Like being older than Abe Lincoln?” asked Rich.
“Like being stuck in a woman’s body?” asked Melvin.
“We can’t all be enviable characters,” Jason said. “Well, I guess we can, since, technically, we made them ourselves. You guys need to learn how to enjoy the wish fulfillment.”
What?
Melvin couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Hello? I never wished to live my life as a warrior woman.”
Jason smirked, never taking his dancing eyes off the fields in front of them. “Part of you did, otherwise you wouldn’t have made the character. Zhufira’s an extension of you.”
“You can wipe that smile off of your fake, created character’s face,” Melvin said, his anger rising. “Just because you took psychology as an elective doesn’t mean you’re qualified to psycho-analyze me. I made Zhufira cause she’s hot. That’s it.”
“If we had been playing something called ‘The Rap Game’, would you have created a rapper with tight gear and an even tighter ride or a video vixen who’s shaking her ass as the guys pour bubbly over her?”
“What?!”
“I’m just saying. Video vixens are hot.”
“That’s not the same thing!”
“If being hot is the only prerequisite for your character creation process, then, yes... it is.”
Melvin didn’t even know what to say to that. What could he say? He knew it was different, but he didn’t know why.
“Whatever,” he finally managed. “You can stay here and fall in love with yourself all you want. Me? When we finally get to go home, you’ll see how fast I get away from here and Zhufira, extension of me or not.”
“You don’t see it yet,” Jason said.
“Psssh! There’s nothing to see.”
“No,” Jason said, pointing. “Up ahead.”
It took another two miles before Melvin could make out what Jason was talking about. Little smudges popped out of the horizon, breaking the monotony of grass and brush. The smudges grew until Melvin could make out individual homes and buildings.
“Wait,” Melvin said, “we’re not going there, are we?”
“Of course we’re going there,” Jason replied. “Dude, it’s a town.”
The town was growing ever bigger. All the houses were simple brick and wood, reminding Melvin of Runt’s house. And Runt’s house reminded him of running from weagrs and hungry strandwolves and the shuffling undead army and angry mages out of portals and rabbits that needed skinning.
“Do you know what town that is?” Melvin asked.
“Nope,” Jason said. “This place never made a map I ever saw.”
Unknown towns meant unknown dangers. “Can’t we go around?”
Jason stopped his hava-chaise, causing the other two to shoot ahead before circling and stopping. He had a look of disbelief on his face and he paused before speaking as if trying to find the right words to express.
“When’d you turn into such a girl? And I don’t mean badass bikini warrior girl, I mean a girl.”
Melvin scowled. “The sooner we cage that creature the sooner we go home. I just don’t want any unnecessary stops.”
Jason spread his arms. “Look around, man. We’re in fantasy land on a quest to save the world... this is the stuff of movies! Every stop is necessary. How often do they just go from point A to point B and then roll credits in the movies? Never, that’s when.”
“This,” Melvin began, pointing into his palm, “is real, not a fantasy. Or a game. Or a movie. Our lives are at risk. Unnecessary stops increase that risk. When are you gonna realize that and stop playing around like you’re trying to level up?”
“I thought I was talking to my boy Melvin, but obviously you’re my grandmother. I’m sorry Nana, are you and Gramps here afraid the townsfolk eat travelers?”
“Hey,” Rich said, “I never said I didn’t want to go into town. And if you keep speaking to your Nana like that old Gramps is gonna bend you over his knee.”
Jason smirked at Melvin. “Looks like you’re outvoted, sugarplum.”
“Are both of you crazy?” Melvin asked, the exasperation in his voice making him sound like a hysterical woman even in his own ears. “We’re in pursuit of a monster here. We can’t afford to waste time sight-seeing.”
“Meh,” Jason said. “We’ve made good time since leaving the Hierophane. Looks like we’ve got about two hours left of daylight.” He shielded his eyes to look at the low-hanging afternoon sun.
“When the sun goes down we’re going to have to stop anyway. I don’t know about you, but when we stop, I don’t want to be in a field surrounded by hungry nocturnal critters. I want to be in an inn, with a mug of beer in my right hand and a key to a room in my left.”
Rich’s eyes got wide. “Dude! Beer! The only perk to being this old. Let’s go already.”
Rich started up his hava-chaise. Jason followed suit and together they took off toward the town. Melvin swore as he put his hava-chaise in pursuit.
Jason and Rich talked about the different beers they remembered in the game as they approached the outskirts of town. With names like “Dead Bard Ale” and “Strangled Puppy Stout”, the ones that sounded the least appetizing managed to get them the most excited. Melvin was quiet, looking at the modest homes and simple, straight streets.
It looked like a quiet, sleepy town. Melvin felt it was a universal truth that nothing ever happened in towns like this. He began to relax a little but then he realized there was no one out and about. Where were all the townspeople?
He found the answer to his question when they got to the town’s center, easily identified by the wide avenue that cut through the town. There, at the inn Jason and Rich were making a beeline towards, was the sound of cheering voices, music, and laughter.
When the three of them entered, the music died. It looked like the whole town was there, and now many of the faces were staring at them. Everyone was gathered around one table, where two men sat drinking while a third stood, his foot on a chair and a large sword on his back. Apparently, the man standing was in the middle of telling a story and since his back was turned to the door, he kept telling it despite the abrupt lack of attention.
“You gentle folk should have seen it,” he said. He talked like he loved the sound of his own voice. “It was the size of two bears dancing, teeth as long as miners picks...”
One of the guys drinking nudged the standing man and nodded toward the door. The standing man shut up and turned. Now all eyes were on Rich, Jason and Melvin.
Jason took the lead, weaving through the crowd with Rich and Melvin following closely behind. “Excuse us”, “Pardon us”, “Nice day”, he spoke to the nonresponsive onlookers as he worked his way to the bar.
“Do you have a tap?” Jason asked the bartender. “Cause I’d like to know what beers you’ve got on it.”
The whole bar erupted in cheers.
“Guess they don’t see much in the way of new business,” Rich whispered to Jason.
A balding man with a big pot belly and even bigger smile made his way over to Rich and grabbed him firmly by the shoulders.
“By the Onesource, we thought the Hierophane wasn’t taking our request seriously. We don’t hear anything for months and now, out of sheer mist, they send us a gray robe.” He turned to face the crowd. “A gray robe, everyone!”
The bar erupted in another round of cheers. “Pints for the gray robe and his friends!” someone shouted.
Melvin found himself getting handshakes, smiles, cheers, and “thank you’s” from a dozen random faces all around him. Rich and Jason were getting similar star treatment, especially Rich, with women pressing the back of his hand up to their foreheads. Beers flew down the bar and were thrust in their hands.
Rich and Jason looked at Melvin then at each other. They both shrugged in unison like it was choreographed, raised their glasses and drank.
Another round of cheers broke out, this time with Rich and Jason joining in at the tail end after taking huge gulps of beer.
“Now wait a minute!”
The cry came from the center of the room, loud enough to make the crowd’s raucous cheers seem like mice squeaks. It silenced the whole room with its bass. The townsfolk cleared a path as a man came striding through the throng to stand in front of Rich. It was the same guy who had been telling the story earlier, the one with the sword on his back.
“He’s no gray robe,” he shouted to the crowd. He looked Rich up and down, a sneer curling his thin lips. “He’s a charlatan, a flam-man. He’s here to drink and dine on your backs, not do a job!”
“Um...” Rich started. “I was gonna pay for the drinks.”
The man kept talking to the crowd as if he hadn’t heard Rich. “Tell me, good people, why the Hierophane would slight you for months on end and then send a robe leagues beyond your needs? A Magelord in your charming but small village is like sending an army for a bread thief!”
Jason set his beer down and looked at the man like he was passing out unwanted flyers. “Dude, relax. He’s a gray robe.”
That didn’t help.
The man twisted his finger up to the sky as if Jason’s words proved his point. “As if I needed any more proof,” he said, “answer me this: what gray robe has need of an armed escort?”
Murmurs and nods rippled through the crowd. The man was winning them over. Before he had started talking, Melvin didn’t know the crowd was something to be won, or what they got for winning. This guy could have them for all he cared.
Done talking to the crowd, the man eyeballed Rich. “Stop playing with these good people’s emotions, hope spinner, before I get angry. Just enjoy their fare at their modest, honest prices. Tell your stories for tips perhaps.” He leaned over toward Melvin, his eyes still fixed on Rich like he was a cancer.
“I’m sure you and your friends would be welcome here without pretense,” he said. “You all look like you have your uses.”
Melvin felt pressure; not just pressure, more of a weird tickle, like a jab of heat on the edge of his skin. He looked down. The man’s dirt covered hand had found one of his breasts and he was giving it generous, greedy squeezes.
The sight of a guy’s hand, this dirty, meaty, chip-nailed hand—groping and questing and gripping him—set Melvin to a boiling rage. He didn’t think. There was nothing to think about as the anger took over.
Melvin smashed his beer glass into the man’s face. He took the offending hand and in two quick flashes broke the thumb and two fingers. As the man jerked his head back to howl, Melvin gripped his head with both hands and slammed the back of it into the bar.
It only took a second to drop him.
The two guys that had sat with him sprang into action. The closest one lunged at Melvin, his knife seeking that same breast.
Melvin brought a knee up to the hand, connecting with a crunch at the wrist. He didn’t stop with the knee, Melvin pulled the knife from the man’s weakened grip, spun it and stabbed it into the man’s thigh. As the man opened his mouth to howl in pain, Melvin stuck a foot in his chest and kicked the air out of his lungs while sending him flying across the room.
That took another two seconds.
Melvin whirled to face the third attacker. That guy never made it. Jason’s severed arm smacked him across the face and the man fell out, skidding to a stop in front of Melvin’s feet, snoring loudly.
Melvin was still a torrent of red hot anger. He whirled around, glaring at everyone.
“Anyone else think they can squeeze some fun out of me?!” he shouted.
The same bald, pot-bellied man from earlier held his hands up. “Now, now, miss,” he said, “no one here means any disrespect. Those men you bested aren’t of this town.”
Cooling off now, Melvin turned to Jason and Rich. Jason was smiling like he just remembered it was his birthday. Rich was staring at him like Melvin was a unicorn in the zoo.
The bald guy spoke again. “Trespin was only speaking the obvious. Gray robes don’t need escorts. But even if our friend here isn’t what he appears to be, I believe this warrior maiden has enough skill alone to handle our problem, let alone the three of you.”
The man rested his hands on his pot-belly. It was a practiced gesture that gave him a look of authority when he spoke.
“And it looks like you three are going to have to, handle our problem that is. You’ve just decommissioned our commissioned bounty hunters.”