I need to check my equipment before I start my journey.
1 pack of Lucky Star cigarettes
1 12-ounce flask
1 Pocket Watch
1 IWI Jericho 941 R unloaded
3 Magazines holding 17 rounds
1 Bowie knife is useful for hunting and, if needed, killing
1 dark blue suit
1 whiteish, yellow dress shirt
1 trench coat
1 brown hat
1 dark blue tie
1 phone that is only able to play music
1 notebook with 1 pen and a pencil
I placed each thing on the ground and wrote down all of it in my notebook. Having two weapons on me is nice. My pocket watch may be useless if this place uses different ways of telling time. Without the internet, it’s just an expensive brick. Only 51 rounds in total, so I’ll be relying on my knife for now. This forest may have been the best place to be dropped off. I was able to get a vantage point of my surroundings, and this land would be good for hunting. I’m thinking about the town nearby, and whether are not it would be a good option. I wonder if they speak a different language? Even English sounds different a few hundred years ago, so what would a native language be from a world that is nothing like ours? Being a stranger in a strange land was interesting. I won’t know what will be at my next turn with heaven or hell. It gets the blood pumping, but my main job is to get the hell out of here and make it back home alive. No matter what, I will return home.
The walk down the hill took a few hours. With hours of staggering through the hot sun, burning me. Dry air was filling my lungs, and the only thing that was delaying my hangover was more drinking. I felt like shit. I was in pain all over, and I wanted to put a round in my head. I took off my trench coat and suit jacket-but kept everything else on. I’ll be putting both back on when I get to the town I saw on top of the trail to cover up both my weapons. When I entered the outskirts, people started looking at me like they’d never seen a dead man walk. The villagers wore patchwork clothes, hand-sewn from scraps of mismatched fabrics, leading to an ugly appearance. The scent of death mixed with shit was strong in the air. I felt dirty just by standing there. I got a feeling of melancholy from seeing this. No matter where you go, there are the poor and needy. I started to listen to the conversations that surrounded me and how they were talking about the strange, tall man in odd clothes. I was looking suspicious, but I did get my answers about being able to understand people of this world. Not wanting to stay still for long, I start to walk. I wasn’t sure where I was going. All I knew was that I needed to learn more about this place. I needed a place to gather information, and of course, that was the local watering hole.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
It was a rather rowdy place filled with drunks and their weapons. If a bar fight ever started up, it would be like a warzone in here. It smelled of cheap booze. Of course, the weapons are a bunch of different swords, long wooden staffs with some type of gemstones, and bows, truly a fantasy setting. There was a man sitting in the corner alone with a katana next to him. I headed over to the counter, where the bartender and I started to talk.
“I’m new around here,” I said, “Can you tell me a bit about the land?”
“Welcome to the town of Schei?loch,” The bartender replied. “This town has been forgotten and forsaken by its county of Sisyphu.”
“What about your money?“
“We use coins. Copper, Iron, and Gold coins. Copper is the most common, and Gold is the rarest.”
“Thanks.”
A medieval setting with magic is not the most creative. Earth was long gone like a con man who’s been caught in his charade. The man who was sitting alone stood next to me. His breath smelled of booze. As I was about to walk away, he grabbed my shoulder.
“Why would a fancy-dressed man like you be in a place like this?”
“Because I am The Devil… and I came to do The Devil’s work.”
The man started laughing at this response.
“Then should I kill you, and send you back to the pits of hell?” He started to pull a katana out of his sword sheath, and laid it next to my neck. The room fell into an uneasy silence. All eyes were on us and seeing whether or not the bar was going to be repainted the bar in dark red.
“You may kill me, but ready yourself to follow shortly afterwards.”
As I pulled my gun out and pointed it inches from his face, he smiled. The cold iron was resting on my neck, and my gun was pointed at his chest. He laughed. I laughed.
“I’ve been waiting for a reason to leave this fucking place, and I just found one.”
We return our weapons to their sheaths, and a thickness that was in the air has now vanished. I reached my hand out, and the man did the same. I request the swordsman’s name. He said it was Miyamoto. He asked for my name. I said, V not my real one, but it’ll do. Miyamoto asked me whether or not I would drink with him. I replied that I have no money. Miyamoto said he’ll pay, but he told me to keep it cheap.
“I don’t have much on me,” Miyamoto said.
The two of us talk about our lives. Miyamoto was a bounty hunter. He didn't care much for it, but it paid the bills. The reason He stopped me was to make sure I was not a man on the run, but after the first question, he knew I was not. He only pulled his sword to see what type of man I was and whether or not he should join me on my journey. I questioned Miyamoto how he knew I was on a journey, and he said that the way I walk told him that. I asked why he would want to join a total stranger on a journey that may end with his death. He replied that he was bored and wanted to leave this town. I decided after a few drinks that he would be perfect and allowed him to come. We put down drink after drink, talking, fighting, and joking. In the morning, I found myself once again, with the sun beating down on me and the birds’ chirps. I woke up with a hangover, but this time I have a comrade to join in with the pain.
