I Went To Another World, But Got Sent Back With My Party? (Reverse Isekai)

[Tetradrachm]

Prologue

July 3rd, 2014
Stamford, Connecticut

Doctor Jayden Brown, Chair of the Biology Department at the Stamford campus of the University of Connecticut, was not in a professional mood.


Your hair is scientifically impossible. I’m just saying,” he grumbled.


The girl blinked at him and then held up a strand of her bright blue hair. “Is it magic? That’s the only other option, right?” She had a bit of an odd accent.


“What? No, it must have a scientific reason, but it just...doesn’t make any sense. It isn’t logical, is what I’m saying.”


Dr. Brown pinched the bridge of his nose. It was too early to be trying to figure through biological mysteries, let alone explain them to other people. It always gave him headaches when he had lecture classes in the morning during the school year. This girl with the impossible hair and her companions—including one with a similarly bizarre flame red hair—had come into the department two hours ago, right when it opened, asking to talk to him. He’d humored them looking at what he’d thought was a piece of her wig under the microscope—and now he was very confused.


“Alright, so hair normally gets its coloration from melanin, a pigment that also determines the color of our skin. Your hair, though, has a completely different pigment inside of the cells. It looks like a flavonoid, like a pigment in a flower, which makes no sense at all. And it looks genuine to me? If it is real and this isn’t some kind of clever prank—which by the way would be grounds for disciplinary action, understand—it would mean that your DNA must be dramatically different to any other person known. And that’s impossible.”


The girl—Cecily, he thought her name was—frowned. “I don’t know very much about science...can I bring my friend in here now? He’s the one that actually attends school here.”


“Oh, of course.” The girl didn’t know about DNA?


Cecily gestured to her friend to come in and then sat precisely in the nearest chair. The boy with thankfully normal brown hair came in and spoke quickly, “Did you take a look at her hair?”


“I—yes,” Dr. Brown answered, “and it’s impossible. The bright blue pigment—something like a flavonoid, I think—seems to be inside of the cells, like it was produced there. It’s...an elaborate fake.”


“It’s not a fake, Doctor Brown, sir, I promise. Can you take a look at her DNA and analyze it? I promise you, sir, it’ll be different, too.”


“Don’t call me sir,” the doctor snapped. Then he paused. “Sorry, sorry, I’m tired and this is all a bit much. If her hair is...real, do you have any idea how? Why? And I’m already regretting asking this, but your other friend with the red hair...?”


“No, it’s not dyed either, it’s real,” the boy answered. “And, uh, as for how...I promise you won’t believe me.”


“I don’t believe that her hair is real now,” he retorted. “It’s not that hard to inject pigment into cells. Why should this department go through the effort and cost of sequencing her DNA?”


The boy grimaced. “You can’t just inject pigment into every hair on your head! Look, could you—I dunno—examine some of her other cells or something? The point is that her DNA is definitely different and it could be a really, really big deal for you, for the department!”


Dr. Brown sighed and pinched his forehead again. “Look, I’m sorry, but this department is mostly empty right now because we’re on the summer semester. Maybe when the school year starts you could come and use the lab, if you’re a Bio student—are you in the department?”


“No, I’m an International Relations Major. But—agh—could I, I dunno, pay you to get it analyzed? Like soon?”


“You sure are eager to do this, huh? It’s that big of a deal?” The kid—he didn’t even know his name—nodded firmly. “Alright...look, I’ve got a few summer students coming in about an hour. I’ll let one of them take a look at some of her other cells and analyze it a bit.”


“Thank you!” The kid looked tremendously relieved.


—————


“Doctor Brown? Doctor Brown!”


“Ah, yes?” He looked up from his online paperwork setting up the fall curricula. “Carlos, how’s it coming? Got the lab all set up?”


The second-year Bio Major was always full of energy, practically hopping from foot to foot normally, but today it seemed more like a nervous energy.


“Ah, yeah, got it all set up. But that girl who came in, with the blue hair? Yeah, so I took a melanocyte from her skin and it looks like the pigment production is, uh, actually able to produce multiple different pigments? Not just normal melanin, but also flavonoids, maybe even some other chemicals...I dunno, man, it’s weird.”


“Let me see this,” Dr. Brown grumbled as he pulled up out of his chair. He let Carlos go ahead of him into the lab—it was technically meant to be the student’s space to use over the summer—where Cecily and her friends were waiting. Now that he was really paying attention, all of the kids besides the one that went to school at UConn looked...different, somehow.


“Hello, everyone,” Dr. Brown said, “Carlos tells me he’s found something interesting in Cecily’s melanocytes.”


As he peered into the microscope and examined the cell, one of the other kids asked in a whisper, “If only you still had your elf ears, Llewelyn.”


“Do you not think I wish the same?” the other boy answered at full voice. A little loudly, actually.


“There are ways to fake those, I think, though,” the UConn student said. “Not so much with your guys’ hair.”


“Alright,” Dr. Brown interrupted, “I’m going to need to take a closer look at this for a few hours alone. There’s obviously, uh, something strange going on here, though.” He turned to face the group. “So if it’s true—Cecily here has natural blue hair and if you—what’s your name?”


“Katherine,” the redhead answered.


“Alright, Katherine has natural dark red hair, then I’d very much like an explanation as to how.” The headache was coming in, damn it...


There was a pause. Then the student spoke up, “Well, I said you wouldn’t believe us. That’s why I wanted you to check her hair first—to prove we’re not just, just full of bullshit, you know?”


“Wait, what’s your name? Sorry, I didn’t catch it.”


“Damian.”


“Right...anyway, go on.”


Damian took a deep breath. “Okay, so you’ve heard about stories where people find, like, a doorway to another world? Like Alice in Wonderland, or Narnia, things like that? Okay, so I know you won’t believe me, but about two months ago I—I was out hiking in this park up by Danbury and I found this fairy ring and I—well, I went to another world.”


Dr. Brown blinked at him and then abruptly moved to stand up. “Well, this was a great prank, or joke about shrooms, but I think I’ve been playing along long enough—“


“No! Wait, please! You don’t even have to believe me! That’s not the point!” Damian cried. “At least let me finish?” With a huff the doctor sat down again.


“Look,” Damian continued, “everyone else here, they’re from that other world. It’s...another dimension, I guess? And I know it sounds ridiculous—I know! But everybody here, they’ve got weird hair and I’m sure weird DNA because they’re part of a completely isolated group of humans! For, what, thousands of years?” He addresses this question to the others.


“According to our earliest myths, humans came from the Older World—here—about twenty thousand years ago,” Cecily answered.


“And you expect me to believe that five thousand years of isolation allowed people to develop flower pigments in their skin?” Dr. Brown said skeptically. “Humans in the Americas were isolated for something like twenty thousand years and they didn’t change nearly as much.”


“Oh, no,” Cecily answered. “It wasn’t natural—the Water nymphs blessed the people of Dinion, my home kingdom, with the power of the seas, and Fire nymphs blessed Erzur, which is where Katherine’s mother is from.”


“Actual literal magic? Seriously?” Doctor Brown shook his head, on the verge of laughter. “Is that why you said your hair had to be magic before?”


Cecily smiled faintly.


“That’s not the point, though!” Damian continued. “You can believe any or none of what we’re saying if you want. It’s just that my friends here are genetically different from normal humans. You’ve seen some evidence of that. The reason why we came here is to prove that and get the attention of scientists like you and hopefully eventually the government.”


“You want to get the government involved in this? Why?”


“None of these guys have any ID! They’re not citizens of any country on Earth, and they can’t get back to the other world. Believe me. we’ve been trying! But until we can work that out—we’ll even show you guys where the portal was, I’m sure physicists might be interested—they’re stuck here, and they need government recognition.”


Dr. Brown sighed deeply. “Christ, this is a mess. I don’t believe any of the rest of what you’re saying, but, well, whatever’s going on with those flavonoids is strange enough to warrant a DNA test. Carlos, you have something to say?” The kid looked nervous again.


“If...if you guys were actually from another world...that would count as a virgin contact scenario, right? Wouldn’t you all be incredibly vulnerable to our diseases?”


The blood drained from Damian’s face.


—————


AN: If the stylistically appropriate title didn’t give it away, the basic premise here is that Damian got isekai’d—not by dying though—but then got sent back to Earth along with his party by the Demon Lord. The world he went to is meant to be as stereotypically “Isekai” as possible, even though the story itself really isn’t—Damian isn’t Japanese, for instance, and he’s not a high schooler. That’s mostly because I don’t know nearly enough about Japan to write a story set there but I do know a lot about Connecticut and New York!

This story will be mostly meant to explore the shenanigans of a bunch of medieval fantasy characters stuck on Earth, although we’ll also be following shenanigans back on their home world. Magic does not work on Earth in this story except for making portals—it’s just my personal preference.

 

[Tetradrachm]

Chapter One: Waiting Room

July 3rd, 2014
Stamford, Connecticut

“She’ll be fine, Mister Nemeth,” the nurse said.


Damian felt a huge weight lift off of his shoulders. “Oh, thank you so much, Doctor, thank you!” The doctors had already told him Aria would probably be fine thanks to some antibiotics, but final confirmation hadn’t come until now. The nurse smiled and waved goodbye as she pushed back through the doors to the hospital wards.


Out of what his mom would have called “an abundance of caution” he’d called 911 and gotten an ambulance to pick Aria up from the apartment. He’d then called Aria and told her it was coming—that was probably the wrong order to do it but he’d panicked first and thought later. Thankfully she’d picked up and sounded like she wasn’t dying. She was definitely a bit grumpy about the whole thing, though.


Carlos’ reminder had come in the nick of time. Aria had only had her cough since the night before, so it hadn’t had a chance to become too serious before he’d realized just how dangerous it might be.


Everyone and everything on Earth could be incredibly dangerous to people from the New World, something he had forgotten until now, not to mention the danger any illnesses they had could pose to Earth. When he’d been in the New World he’d been protected from sickness by the sacred power of his sword, Glimmerstone—he’d gotten complacent because of it.


“I’m just too used to relying on healing spells and potions and stuff to think about how dangerous sickness can be on Earth,” Damian complained to Katherine, who was sitting next to him in the hospital’s waiting room. Beyond them Cecily was flipping through one of the magazines left in the room, Llewelyn looked like he was trying to sleep, and Carlos, who had given them all a ride, was urgently texting someone.


“Sickness is dangerous in the Four Kingdoms as well, Damian. We saw that! Don’t you remember the outbreak of plague in Fordtown?” Katherine chided him. “We barely arrived in time to save them, and that was only possible because of Aria’s quick work.”


“True...” Fordtown had been awful. As the Rebellion had advanced into the Kingdom of Dinion, approaching the Demon Lord’s Citadel, his forces had begun using even more under-handed and evil tactics than they had before. An Orcish captain had intentionally spread a Koboldic plague among the small town’s villagers before abandoning it in the hopes of it spreading to the Rebellion. Thankfully Aria’s potions training had helped her create an antidote when they had reached the village.


“Kind of ironic that she’s the one sick now, huh?” he continued. “I was so scared...”


“As were we all,” Katherine answered. Then she gave him a half smile. “After all, I cannot strike down an illness with my gauntlets.”


“You are really good at striking things down, Kat,” he laughed. “I still can’t get over that time you knocked out that Greater Troll with one punch!”


“When was that, when we were on the Royal Road?” she giggled. “It was only because I scored a Critical Hit on it, it would’ve taken two blows otherwise.”


“Yeah, but, like, two blows is just as ridiculous! Don’t those things have three-inch skin?”


“I don’t study the inner workings of monsters, I just kill them!”


They both laughed then and Damian was actually grateful for it. “Y’know, I feel like we haven’t been able to laugh in a really long time. We’ve been under all this stress ever since...I don’t even know...”


Now she looked thoughtful. “I suppose it was when the Rebellion finally moved into Dinion. We took formal command of the whole organization then...gods,” she grimaced, “you’re sure they all got out of the Citadel when we were...sent here?”


Damian’s stomach twisted. “I’m not sure of anything,” he said quietly. “Aria and the Red Crone set up some sort of emergency teleport to get them all back out to the Barren Swamp if I died, but the thing is, I didn’t die! Aria says it’s the same difference because my ‘soul left the plane’ or something...”


“But we can’t be sure,” she finished. “Gods, we were so close! The Demon Lord was there, we were defeating him, I’m sure of it, and then...”


“They’re fine,” Damian said with a quaver in his voice. “They’re all fine, I’m sure, I...” he took a shaky breath, “I just...can’t even think about them right now, you know? Because, because we can’t do anything to help them! You know?” Katherine nodded somberly. “Dammit, I can’t even keep Aria from getting the flu or whatever...”


“That is not your fault,” Katherine began.


“But it is my fault! I should have thought about how diseases here are so different, I should have...been better for you guys...”


“You always complain about this, Damian!” Llewelyn cut in. “You have done as well by us as you have been able. Please do not ‘mope,’ as you call it, about how terrible of a hero you are. Your self-pity helps no one!”


“Gee, thanks, Llewelyn,” Damian said dryly, “no one can couch a motivational speech in insults quite as well as you.” He paused. “You’re, you’re right, though. Thanks.”


“I usually am,” Llewelyn said with the hint of a smirk.


“Shut up, you frail thing,” Katherine mocked him.


“I won’t take orders from a brute like you!” he answered indignantly.


“Ah, excuse me?”


A young doctor wearing a face mask had walked up to them, clearly uncomfortable. Her name tag read “DR. KAPOOR.”


“Ah, my apologies...” Katherine began.


“It’s alright,” the doctor waved her off, “but I need all of you to come with me. Immediately.”


There was an odd sense of urgency and fear to her voice. Damian’s heart leapt into his throat; had Aria suddenly gotten worse?


They all nervously hurried out of the waiting room towards a back room, everyone but Damian gawking at the medical equipment they passed. After a few twists and turns, the doctor stopped in front of a door marked “ISOLATION.”


“Again, I’m sorry,” Dr. Kapoor spoke, “but we’ve been told that for your own safety the Stamford Hospital would like to request that you place yourselves into isolation.”


“What? What is isolation?” Katherine asked in confusion. “Have we committed a crime?”


“Oh, no, no, wait,” it all clicked for Damian, “this is medical isolation, right? For diseases and stuff?” The bemused doctor nodded. “Right...yes, I understand. Guys, I think we need to do this. Basically they’ll keep us in here until they can confirm we won’t be, uh, spreading any diseases to anyone else.”


“But we are all in perfect health!” Llewelyn protested. “That was why we spent so many Eagles on Full Restoration Potions!”


“They can’t prove that right away,” Damian snapped, “and besides, what if our clothes are contaminated or something like that?”


“That’s what the Disease Prevention Wards were for,” Llewelyn countered.


Yelling ‘They don’t believe in magic here!’ wouldn’t help anything, so instead Damian tried a different tactic. “Well, what about the other way around? Since you guys are from, uh, so far away, you’re all vulnerable to local common diseases.”


“Is that why your friend is so sick from a cold?” Dr. Kapoor asked.


“It’s just a cold,” Damian clarified with relief. “But she’s gotten worse?”


“When she first arrived, her cough was very intense and her sinuses were very congested,” she answered. “She’s in a separate room within the ward for now...I’ve never seen someone react so badly to the common cold before. If you are all like her, please stay away from her until she recovers. Ah, anyway...”


She held out a clipboard with a pen attached. “Please, each of you sign this form agreeing to enter isolation.”


“How long will we be thus confined?” asked Cecily as she took the clipboard.


“Uh...” the Doctor blinked. “Honestly, I couldn’t tell you. It depends on how long it takes to decontaminate everything, ensure you all aren’t sick and aren’t carrying diseases, and give you shots and other preventative measures. Where are you all from, by the way?You all speak English perfectly!”


“You wouldn’t believe us,” Damian answered.


“Another dimension, apparently.” The whole group turned to find Dr. Brown approaching holding a similar clipboard. “And I’ll admit I’m curious how it is you all speak English so well if that really is true.”


Dr. Kapoor stared them all in visible confusion as Llewelyn groaned. “Aria is our magical expert,” he said, “but even I could tell you that a Gift of Tongues potion can easily grant knowledge of a language! We all used one for English as an indecipherable code to use amongst our enemies.”


Both doctors paused in stupefaction. “...Are you talking about a video game?” Dr. Kapoor said after a moment. “I’ve played RPGs with healing potions and so on...”


“Well, that’s what I’m here to find out, in a sense,” Dr. Brown said. He turned to the party. “I was the one that requested you all be put into isolation for your own safety. Since I talked to you all for a few hours, I’m actually going to put myself in here too.”


“I am very confused,” Dr. Kapoor opined.


“I am too,” Dr. Brown answered, “but suffice to say they might not be making everything up.”


“We are not making anything up—!”


“Shaddup, Llewelyn!” Damian hushed him. “Thank you for doing this, doctor. I’m worried about everybody’s health too...”


“Well, if I keel over from magical flu I’d rather do it without infecting anyone else,” Dr. Brown joked. “Anyway, assuming we’re all healthy I’ll take this chance to try and study your physiologies more—look at your cells and so on.” He cleared his throat. “I was very dismissive of you all earlier, and I apologize for that. I was being close-minded.”


“We weren’t really saying something very believable,” Damian answered honestly. “And besides, you took the time to look into it...if you hadn’t, Aria might have gotten a lot worse!”


“Excuse me, sorry,” Dr. Kapoor cut in, “but if you’ve finished signing the paperwork I’d appreciate it if you all entered the ward?”


“Of course, sorry...”


—————

AN: Here we go! A lot of this part of the story is basically set up, but it’s fun to start to establish the different characters in the party and how they interact with each other. They’re all going into medical isolation until they’re proven to not have any foreign diseases (spoiler: they don’t) and get inoculated to Earthly diseases as best as possible.

Also, Dr. Brown comes around! He’s not a bad guy, he just wasn’t expecting the curveball of Damian’s party’s insanity. He’ll be a recurring character as their main researcher, in a sense.

In the next few chapters, we’ll meet the last member of the party, watch higher ups learn about the whole situation, and maybe see how these guys react to a mall! Feel free to ask any questions about the characters or the world they’re from—the latter is still a work in progress, and I’d appreciate input on making it as stereotypical as possible. Also if I make any glaring errors—for instance, hospital protocol isn’t my forte.

 

[Tetradrachm]

And now for a brief visit to the “other side”...


—————

Interlude One: Demon Lord

Tenth Day of Samnu, Year of the Griffon
(Equivalent to August 10th, 2014)
Arcturus’ Citadel, Dinion, Four Kingdoms

Vice Lieutenant Qandr et-Bakhlo was as close to fearful as an orc could get. Orcs, of course, could not actually feel fear; they had bred themselves out of it millennia ago. However, Qandr knew that he felt...disturbed.


Arcturus the First, Demonic Lord and Emperor of the Four Kingdoms of Gwyn, Lyse, Erzur, and Dinion, of the Great Sea, of the Barren Wastes, and of Realms Beyond, had not emerged from his Imperial Chambers since just after defeating the hero from another world, Damian, and his allies weeks ago. Qandr had seen the final confrontation from a distance, having finished slaying a number of the rebellious forest clansmen just inside the front gates of the Dread Citadel Arcturum during the battle. The twilight sky was lit up by massive explosions and lights, hinting at the incredible magical power of the Demon Lord and, Qandr supposed, of those who dared stand in his way. The magical fight had abruptly ended after an especially intense explosion and the Demon Lord had proclaimed in a magically cast voice over the Citadel that Damian had been killed and that mercy would be offered to those who surrendered. There had been a great flash of red light across the Citadel and the Rebellion’s forces had vanished, undoubtedly the work of one of the Crones. Qandr had been distracted joining a hunting party towards the Rebellion’s forward base in hopes of catching their forces there; he hadn’t heard about the Lord’s sudden withdrawal until hours later.


At first, it didn’t really matter: almost all dissent in the Empire had been crushed with the defeat and subsequent disappearance of the Rebellion. Apparently the people had believed that Damian was the Chosen One, the subject of an ancient prophecy concerning the Demon Lord’s defeat, and seeing themselves proven wrong had broken their spirit. It had been disappointing for Qandr—he’d quite enjoyed bashing rebel heads in and had been hoping for more.


However, it had been nearly two months now since the Demon Lord had withdrawn to his chambers and the imperial court was beginning to get restless. Foreign dignitaries wishing to speak with the Demon Lord were frustrated, not to mention the military hierarchy, who were hoping as Qandr was to begin another war. Last night it had been decided that someone needed to try and enter into his chambers to “ensure his wellbeing.”


Of course, they had decided that a week ago too, and the week before that. The first time it had been Adn lo-Khal, a close advisor to the Demon Lord himself and a powerful warrior who had done battle with Damian and his allies many times. He had marched up to the entryway to the Demon Lord’s chambers, knocked once, and had been torn to shreds by a defensive enchantment. The second time they had chosen an Imperial Guardsman wearing full armor to check, who had gotten inside the door only to begin screaming in agony moments later. No one had dared to look to see what had happened.


But they needed to know what was going on, so Qandr had been forcefully volunteered by his superior officer. Obviously the officer was a coward to refuse to check himself, but since Qandr could not have said so without being killed on the spot he had very reluctantly consented.


He glared at the ornate door. Carvings into the black wood showed various creatures suffering brutal tortures and dying horrendous deaths. It didn’t help his mindset.


Finally, with a deep breath and a final prayer to Manāt he reached out and knocked once. Immediately the door swung open by magic—a good sign, as it had not done so for the last two who had tried to enter. Glancing behind him Qandr saw the corridor was deserted. Of course, no one wanted to get caught in the crossfire of another defensive spell. Taking another breath he stepped forward into the murky darkness beyond.


As soon as he passed the threshold the door swung shut behind him, just as it had for that Guardsman. Would he die now? No, with a rush green flames came to life in lamps and torches along the walls, revealing a massive entrance hall. The Demon Lord’s rare and valuable collection of iron maidens lined the walls—a cultured touch that Qandr appreciated.


“Enter,” boomed the Demon Lord in a terrible, deep voice.


So he probably wasn’t going to die just yet. Walking across the hall, the maidens turning to follow him as he passed, he reached the stone archway into Arcturus’ personal laboratory. Qandr had never been into this eldritch place before, a smoky, dark chamber illuminated only by incredibly dark and dangerous magics and experiments at work even now. He carefully glanced around him as he walked towards the corner where he could see Arcturus sitting, hunched over something at a long table.


“Did someone come to check on me a week ago?” the Demon Lord asked without preamble, motionless from where he sat. “I heard some screaming but wasn’t sure...”


“Yes, my Lord. An Imperial Guardsman.” Qandr knew to always answer a superior’s questions, even if they didn’t want them answered; they were less likely to kill you for being too eager than for being too reticent.


“Ah. That’s a shame.” Now Arcturus shifted, rising to his full, absurd height—taller than the greatest orc, and only a human!—and turned to look at Qandr. His glowing red eyes cut through the haze. “I suppose the noble idiots outside are getting worried?”


“Yes.” Qandr shared the Demon Lord’s opinion of the nobility. “Foreign diplomats as well. And if I may be honest?” Arcturus tilted his head. “Many of us in the military long to go on campaign again.”


“Understandable. It is natural to an orc to thirst for battle. Very well, once I have concluded my work I shall send an expedition across the Wastes to Karfun. I have heard whispers from beyond that the whereabouts of the rebels may be found there.”


Karfun? The desert nomads were wily and cunning, but there were not many of them. It would be a quick campaign, and hopefully one that would lead them towards the rebel scum. Better than nothing, Qandr supposed.


He nodded once and turned to leave. “Wait!” Arcturus stopped him. “You’re not curious why I have sat here, alone, for all these weeks?”


Qandr wasn’t, really, but he instinctively knew that was not an answer the Demon Lord would appreciate. “I...yes. It is unusual for you to work on something for so long.”


Arcturus sighed, a strange, echoed sound thanks to the magic he used on his voice, and lifted an object up from the table. It looked like a small, clouded mirror—no, a mirror reflecting clouds. Arcturus twisted it back and forth idly as it glistened in the light. This was all far too personal. Qandr expected to be incinerated at any minute.


“This is the Mirror of Perception,” the Demon Lord explained wearily. “It can see anything or anyone, anywhere, in any time or place. Theoretically.”


Qandr waited, not daring to move.


The Demon Lord sighed again and briefly raised his armored hand to the helmet that covered his face, a surprisingly intimate moment of weakness. It was all very disturbing.


“At the end of the battle with the Rebellion and that little brat Damian,” Arcturus growled as his fist slammed into the table with sudden rage, causing everything on it to shake, “I said that he had been killed. That was a lie.”


Qandr’s eye ridges rose behind his mask. He was intensely glad the Demon Lord couldn’t see it happen.


“There is a prophecy concerning the fall of a Demon Lord. You’ve heard of it, I’m sure? That one the common folk obsessed over. I don’t...believe in it, exactly, but I will not take a risk for no reason. The prophecy stated that whoever raised their hand to slay the other would be killed, so when we finally met on the field of battle here I only used non-lethal spells. I hoped to trap him and then imprison him in one of the oubliettes in the dungeon. If I tortured him into insanity, he would hardly be a threat to me anymore. Then, deprived of any choice or hope the Princess Cecily would agree to marry me of her own free will.”


If Qandr had been surprised before, this nearly toppled him over. The Demon Lord, interested in marrying a puny human? Wait—a sudden random bit of gossip he’d heard one night in his regiment came to mind. A private had been insisting to anyone who would listen that Arcturus had once been a human himself, a Dinionite nobleman. Considering that the Princess Cecily was a Dinionite, perhaps there was some truth to the private’s words.


But why would the Demon Lord care about whether the Princess wished to marry him or not? “Might makes right” was quite literally the slogan of the Empire—her royal magics could hardly compare to his overwhelming power. He could do with her as he wished—none of this made any sense!


“But of course,” the Demon Lord continued, “just as he had with everything else Damian ruined this plan as well. I knew that he was close to the Princess, but I had no idea that she would join the battle. By all the gods...” He slammed his fist down on the table again.


“The brat overcame my various entrapment wards and, I believe, was intending on causing the collapse of the entire Citadel to stop me. Quickly I used a warping spell—it should have sent him back to his world, which would serve my purposes fine.


“But then she was there! The princess was there, somehow, and a few others—they were picked up by the spell and sent to his world with him.


“And so I have been searching for them.” By now Arcturus sounded feverish, obsessed with his failure. Qandr was always amazed at the emotional hysteria that could consume humans, but he would have never expected the Demon Lord to be one of those so affected! Arcturus spun the mirror around again. “I do not know the exact dimension from which Damian came. Using reverse magic and intricate study I was able to narrow it down, but there are still thousands of dimensions to search. There is an itch, a sense in the back of my mind that I can find him. That is what I have been doing...to no success.”


“However!” the Demon Lord took a step forward, causing Qandr to instinctively step back, “I am tired of failing. Your visit here has motivated me out of my solitude, soldier, and I thank you.”


And then he shot Qandr through the chest with a beam of dark magic. The pain was inconceivable and the orc collapsed to the floor, shaking. “Unfortunately, I’ve told you too much. I will at least do you the honor of telling you my next plans: I will personally visit the Hill Crones of Gwyn that summoned Damian here and torture the information out of them. Is it not an honor to know the plans of your ruler?”


Qandr, choking and bleeding out on the floor, had no response.

—————

AN: Our first look at the New World! And it is dark. After all, the Demon Lord won, right? At least the Rebellion got out mostly intact—I’m thinking the next update will probably cover their perspective. This update was actually originally published in the Isekai thread, but corrections have been made for changes I’ve made to the story.

Let me know, again, if you have any questions or spot any errors.

 

[Tetradrachm]

Interlude Two: Cauldron

Third Day of Tisritum, Year of the Griffon
(Equivalent to July 7th, 2014)
Somewhere deep within the forests of Gwyn, Four Kingdoms

“You should have listened to us, Birdy!”


The old woman in the red cloak covered in feathers peered up from the cauldron over which she stood, carefully stirring a bubbling concoction. “Birdy?” she squawked. “What kind of a name is that? Besides, you wanted me to go in the first place, Clawsy!”


“It’s the same name we’ve always called you!” Clawsy, an equally aged woman in a green, scaly cloak, guffawed. “Those months out on the road with that boy really cooked your brains, didn’t they?”


“You’ve never had any brains to begin with!” Birdy lifted her wooden spoon, still dripping with purple, fizzling liquid. “I ought to give you a taste of my Transmogrification Elixir here. You’d be a smarter frog than Crone!”


“Silence, you old fools!”


A third woman, even more wizened than these two with a fluffy white cloak, hobbled into their chamber, leaning heavily on her ivory cane.


“Well, well,” Claws rasped, “if it isn’t Fluffy the Cat. You’re one to talk, you’re at least a century older than either of us!”


“And that is why you are merely old, while I am ancient,” Fluffy said with a smirk. “Comes with being over five centuries old, don’t you know. And I’ll stick around for a while, too—my brood mother lived to be eight hundred and seventy-four!”


“You never shut up about your brood mother, do you? I may forget a lot, but I remember that much,” Birdy said as she lifted her spoon out of the cauldron and gave it a lick. With a flash she shrunk into a toad. After a forceful ribbit! and flash of red light she transformed back. “Ah, makes me feel young again, transforming like that...”


“Bah, who wants to be young again?” Claws croaked with disdain. “Gallivanting across the countryside, casting spells at anything that gives you a stink eye and hoping to screw some strapping young lad...say, is that why you went with that hero, Birdy? You wanted a good lay?” Claws burst into cackling laughter.


“A little twig like him? Pah, never! Now, his little elf friend...oh, he was something to see! Mmm...”


“I’m surprised, Birdy, I thought you didn’t go for Elves!” Fluffy exclaimed as she hobbled across the carved-out chamber towards a stool. “They’re always a great screw; I remember once I had transformed into a—“


“—pretty little green forest nymph, yes, you’ve told us this tale a thousand times, Fluffy!” Clawsy groaned. “Don’t you ever get tired of repeating yourself?”


“Don’t you ever get tired of nagging, Clawsy?” Birdy hit back with a grimace. “Is that all you ever do?”


“Quiet, both of you!” Fluffy shouted. “I will have you know that I will tell that story as often as I please. The benefits of being the oldest—“


“Second oldest,” Birdy corrected.


“The oldest one here.” Fluffy made a show of looking around the room. “Where is Wrinkles, anyway? She was the one that told us to meet here, and she’s the latest of us.”


“Fashionably late, you mean,” the last Crone declared in a froggy contralto.


Wrinkles, wearing a black velvet cloak that mostly lay in folds around her, stood in the entrance to the chamber. Her clouded eyes, buried in her wrinkled and knotted face, seemed to take in the room with a single glance.


“Have you all enjoyed catching up?” Wrinkles continued with scorn. “We have business to discuss, and I would appreciate it not being derailed by petty arguments. Do I make myself clear?” For a moment a breeze picked up in the dank chamber and Wrinkles seemed to glow with a dark light.


None of the other Crones said a word, although Clawsy might have rolled her eyes.


“Excellent,” Wrinkles smiled. “Now, on to business. First of all, Birdy...you really should have listened to us.”


Claws burst into laughter as Birdy put one hand on her hip. “It was only you that didn’t want me to go, Wrinkles!” Birdy protested. “I didn’t just join the Rebellion for Damian, anyway—that Aria had the makings of a proper Archmage. Honestly, she is a far greater loss than the boy.”


“Agreed,” Fluffy rasped, “truly talented young mages only come along every few decades. I saw the enchantment work on the Homunculus she created, it was quite excellent. She might have even made a fine Crone herself one day...”


“Well, she’s dead,” Wrinkles waved her hand, “no use crying over spilled milk. The whole fuss over Damian was a waste of time. You were all swept up in his charisma, pitiful as it was. I expect better from you.”


“Better—better from us?” Claws sputtered. “What did we do so wrong? Supporting a possible Chosen One is what we are supposed to do to keep the world balanced! Or have you forgotten our true goals?”


“I told you he was not the Chosen One, that the stars were out of alignment.” Wrinkles frowned. “I saw no point and supporting a false hero, and now I have been vindicated.”


There was a pause. Finally Birdy spoke quietly, “Must everything concern fate? The peoples of the Four Kingdoms suffer beneath the heel of the Demon Lord and his accursed Empire. I left our coven to join the Rebellion because I felt I could help. Bah, I did help, time and time again...if it weren’t for that teleportation spell the Rebellion would be completely destroyed now!”


Wrinkles tilted her head. “I commend you for having kept your empathy. Treasure it...I wish I could have kept mine!” She huffed a single hoarse laugh and the rest of the Crones recoiled. “But it was...correct of you to save the Rebellion, not just because of sentiment. No...” She leaned forward, deadly serious. “I have had a vision today. The Spirits have finally spoken clearly to me...we must summon more heroes immediately. One of them shall be the Chosen One.”


Birdy squawked in shock, Clawsy growled, and Fluffy made a noise that might have once been a hiss. “This soon? More than one? Are you serious?” Clawsy shouted. “Do you know how difficult it was to summon Damian so quickly after that group a few years ago? The magical energies to breach the dimensional borders this often—“


“Are you suggesting that you will not give your all to our effort?” Wrinkles asked dangerously.


“I do not think the Spirits Above would appreciate us wiping out our coven in a foolish magical over-exertion!” Clawsy protested. “Look at us—we are all of us still magically spent from the last summoning! If we were to summon a true perfect hero with our deaths, what good would it serve the Spirits if there were no one to guide him?”


“I suppose it is a good thing that I have already acquired alternate sources of magical energy then, yes?”


“Other...” Clawsy’s eyes widened. “Truly? This was worth the risk?” Birdy slumped down into a stool, swallowing heavily, while Fluffy clasped her hands in prayer and began mumbling.


“Yes. This was the clearest vision I have had in decades. I covered my tracks as well as I always do. An entire crowd of eyewitnesses was hexed to see a wyvern swoop down and incinerate the sacrifices I picked up. There’s a hunting party searching for it now, I saw them.”


“Spirits Above...” breathed out Birdy.


Fluffy smiled sadly. “This is your first time, isn’t it?” Birdy nodded, staring at the ground. “Right...it never gets easier, believe me. I’ve just gotten numb to what we have to do sometimes...we all have.” Fluffy glared at Wrinkles, who remained still and impassive. “This seems an especially frivolous use of such measures, though.”


“If it makes you feel any better, I only acquired two sacrifices,” Wrinkles answered archly. “We do not need complete refreshment, merely enough for the spell.”


“You have them in the ritual chamber now? We should just...get this over with,” Fluffy muttered.


Wrinkles nodded once and slowly turned to leave. Birdy shivered and carefully removed the ladle from her potion, Fluffy clasped her hands in prayer again, Claws clenched her hands and furrowed her brow, and the four Crones made their way out of the small chamber.


The main cavern of the chamber stretched beyond them into darkness, only a few enchanted torches on the walls providing light. A speck of light in the far distance showed where the fading sunlight shone through the entrance. The coven slowly made their way directly across the width of the cave to another small chamber which shone with a pale red light.


As they reached the entrance to the chamber Birdy stiffened and leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. “Spirits...Spirits...I can’t—!”


“Get a hold of yourself!” Wrinkles snapped. She turned to Birdy and yanked down the other Crone’s chin so they looked eye to eye. “We will save the lives of millions through this single sacrifice, do you understand? Your cowardice here could allow the Demon Lord to rule forever, for the balance of reality to be forever broken! The Spirits you call upon even now require this of us!”


Birdy’s heavy breathing and red face slowly wore off as she nodded, eyes bulging out of her face. She coughed once and then pushed herself up to her normal height with effort. Wrinkles spared her one glance before turning back to the chamber, her cloak billowing behind her.


Inside the ritual chamber the red light flickered from tall candles set at regular intervals around the room, thirty of them in total, whose bases were connected by long trails of wax across the chamber. These trails formed a series of intricate shapes and designs into which runes and symbols were carved in long messages. At the very center of the room lay two young children, a boy and girl, bound and unconscious.


“Is it finished?” Fluffy asked warily.


“Just requires the offerings now,” Wrinkles answered. The rest of the Crones hesitated, glancing at the children. “Well, come on now, time’s wasting!” the Black Crone prompted them.


Reluctantly the Crones each walked to a point of a giant wax square on the floor, the largest shape in the room. They each pulled out tiny ritual knives.


“O Spirits Above!” Wrinkles called in a suddenly powerful voice. “Heed our offerings!”


Each Crone as one cut their pinky finger and let a single droplet of blood fall onto the wax. As the blood hit the wax it sizzled and boiled away, as the wax runes shifted to pitch black. Immediately the children awoke and screamed through their gags.


The Crones began chanting over the muffled wails.


—————


AN: You know, I really thought this was going to be a solely lighthearted story about fantasy characters getting to know the modern world and have funny adventures. I don’t know where all this horrifying magic stuff came into the picture—ah well.


Meet the Crones! They’re old, wise, and not afraid to sacrifice children to do what they need to do! Which in this case is apparently summon another hero, presumably from Earth. Oh boy...


I promise we will take a look at the current state of the Rebellion soon, as well as actually continuing the main story! I’ve just finished finals, which drained all my time, so now I’ve got some breathing room over break to work on this.

 

[Tetradrachm]

Chapter Two: Sofa

July 8th, 2014
Stamford, Connecticut

“I still haven’t forgiven you for abandoning me like that, don’t think I’ve forgotten!”


Damian rolled his eyes at Aria as they lay back on the couch the doctors had brought into the isolation ward. The TV was on, flashing some crappy commercial, but he’d turned the sound off after she complained about how irritating ads were. Aria was finally healthy again after five days of resting and complaining about how bad she felt to anyone within earshot. He was glad she was back to teasing instead now—back to normal, even if she was trying to get on his nerves.


“The university is, like, ten minutes away from the apartment, I hardly abandoned you!” he retorted. “And I only called the ambulance because I wanted to make sure you got here as quickly as possible!”


“These strange men, practically bursting into the house...it was terrifying,” Aria exclaimed. “I can’t see how I can ever recover.” She stuck her tongue out at him. “Oh, relax, Damian, I was joking!”


“I know, I know...” He stretched and put his hands behind his head. “You sounded like the Countess for a second there.”


“I didn’t call you an idle-minded buffoon, though,” she pointed out.


Damian snorted. Countess Rhiannon had stopped calling him that after they’d fought at the Titan’s Tunnel together, but it had practically been her name for him when she’d first joined the Rebellion.


“I still can’t believe how rude she was,” she continued, “considering she was trying to endear herself to you!”


“She got better at the end!” he said defensively. Aria just raised an eyebrow. “Okay, barely, but still...” She didn’t change her expression. “She was trying, at least? She was just, so sheltered her whole life, she didn’t know anything other than how to act like a stuck-up noblewoman. I mean, I am glad she’s not here with us now, but...”


“She only joined the Rebellion to try and get you to marry her! You still don’t believe that? Ugh, you’re hopeless,” Aria groaned as she turned away and flopped back onto the couch. Her curly dark brown hair fell back on her face. “I do love how chairs are so comfortable here,” she said without moving. “No straw, no rough fabric...even the wooden chairs are more comfortable! How do they even do that? I’m still not convinced there isn’t some kind of magic in this world.”


“What,” he asked dubiously, “how they carve the wood in a more comfortable way? I think they study how bodies are shaped and then design the chairs to fit, something like that? I dunno.”


Aria puffed her hair out of her face. “How extravagant,” she pronounced as she sat back up, “technological chairs. Everything is technological here, it’s baffling.”


“Technological? You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means,” he joked.


Aria frowned. “Relating to or using technology? That is the definition I have,” she tapped her forehead, “from the Tongues potion. No chair maker at home did anything like this!”


“No, no, I was trying to make a joke...never mind. We need to have another movie night,” Damian grumbled.


“As long as you don’t pick another one that makes Cecily cry,” Aria teased. “I quite enjoyed it, though.”


“She was caught up in the emotion of it, you know?”


“You said it was a tale for small children!”


“Yeah, well, people cry at the end all the time.”


“Did you, the first time you saw it?”


She was way too clever, sometimes. “Maybe.”


“You would.” She clicked her tongue, pushed to her feet, and wandered over to the fridge in the corner. “Hmm...what does our tyrannical doctor want us to do today, do you know?”


“Tyrannical? He hasn’t tyrannized you at all, you’ve been on sick leave! I had to run five miles on that treadmill yesterday, and I think Katherine had to run ten!” He was still pissed about having to do so much medical testing. He’d told Dr. Brown he was a regular Earth human more than once. They’d be better off testing the skills he’d picked up from spells and stuff, right?


“Exercise is good for you. You always used to say that to me when I complained about those jogs we took around the camp.” Aria paused as she pulled open the fridge. Her face lit up as grabbed an orange. “Ooh! Damian, are the oranges as good here as they were in Erzur?”


“Better, honestly.”


“Great!” She returned to the couch as she continued, “Anyway, even when we were still back in Dirt Town, back before we joined the Rebellion, you used to try and get me to go on jogs, do you remember that?”


“Hah, yeah...God, that feels like ages ago now.” Back before they’d even joined the Rebellion, when Damian had just been summoned from Earth. Back when the Crones had rejected him as not being a true hero yet. He still didn’t really know if he’d ever really—


“I know that look,” Aria said, putting down the half-peeled orange as she watched him with concern. “You get it every time we talk about back then. It’s because of how the Crones treated you, isn’t it?”


“No, it’s just—“


“Yes, it is! You never really got over how they treated you, I could tell.”


Damian let out a long sigh. “And you’re bringing this up now, why?”


Aria dropped her hands into her lap as she frowned. “What else are we going to do, watch TV? You told me it’s a waste of time and it seems that way to me too. Honestly, I’ve been...worried about that for a while now. Since when the Red Crone joined the Rebellion at least. You were always so uncomfortable when she was around, and—“


“Yeah, I get it!” he snapped. “The Crones got to me, okay? It’s just, like, I know Wrinkles or whatever her name was never really liked me, and the rest didn’t really care, even Birdy only agreed to help us for you—“


“—Not that I would have ever joined their creepy coven—“


“—and now they’re just proven right, aren’t they? I...I failed against the Demon Lord, the Rebellion failed, they might be dead for all I know!”


He was cut off by Aria wrapping her arms around him; apparently she’d scooted across the couch while he’d been talking without him even noticing. His first, frantic reaction was to tighten up—battle instincts, he hoped.


“Let me hug you,” she grumbled, holding him more tightly. He forced himself to relax and, reluctantly, returned the hug. “Look,” she said in his ear, “I know you are a hero. We all do. Over and over again you’ve proved it to us, you’ve done so many amazing things. No Demon Lord can change that. He didn’t even win, Damian, he just pulled a cheap trick!”


“I—I know, but—“


“No buts.” And for a moment Damian just relaxed.


—————

AN: Isn’t it wonderful how quickly the tone shifts in this thing? Fantastic horror to intimate character piece, all in the span of a few thousand words!

Anyway, this is Aria, mage of the group and Damian’s closest and oldest friend in it. She really was quite skilled as a magician, and even though she is here for Damian’s angst at the moment she hasn’t come to terms with her own existential crisis of not being able to do magic anymore. Fun times!

 

[Tetradrachm]

Chapter Three: Camera

July 9th, 2014
Stamford, Connecticut

If Katherine felt uncomfortable being filmed as she jogged on the treadmill, she didn’t show it. Carlos was genuinely impressed with how well the group had gotten used to the strange technology he and Doctor Brown kept waving around.


They’d finally gotten one of the other summer interns to bring the Biology Department’s old video camera into the hospital, and so Carlos had helped him set it up this morning. The idea was to film the group in action, assembling a body of evidence for when Dr. Brown and the Department published their findings. The reports would be controversial, to say the least. After all, they weren’t quite athletic record setters but they were damn impressive, and what was really scary was how their athletic skills ranged so widely. Who else had endurance to run marathons twice a week and could also deadlift two hundred pounds?


He glanced over at the treadmill’s screen again as he waited for Dr. Brown to get back from checking on Damian’s weightlifting.


“Sixteen miles? And you’ve been running for, ah, seventy-four minutes?” he asked. What was that, almost 4:30 per mile?


“Ah, yes, I suppose?” Katherine asked without struggling for air as she kept up her pace. “I’m only just getting started, really, sorry about that...”


“Sorry for what? You’re doing great! Fantastic! I—shit, man, you’re at a competitive running level, you know?”


“N-no,” she said as she almost stumbled, “competitive?”


“Uh, it’s like, running in a race like a marathon? Some people do it for money and stuff...”


“Making money by running?” She laughed. “At home we made money often that involved a good deal of running, but it was usually running away from someone that wanted the money for themselves.”


“What, like pirates? Or bandits, or something?” Learning about these guys’ world was always fascinating. It was straight out of a cheesy ‘80s fantasy novel, with lots of little details added in. If it weren’t for how consistent and in-depth their stories were—not to mention their freaky abilities—he’d have never believed them.


“Sometimes bandits, yes...like the Goldtooth Raiders, we met them more than once. They prowled around dungeons and the like, robbing adventurers who emerged exhausted after finding treasures. We stopped them from robbing travelers along the old Kings’ Road in the Dashut Desert once and they chased us for two weeks along the road! Thankfully we lost them in the Swirling Sands.”


These names sounded like video game levels. “Did the sands actually swirl?”


“Yes, the dust devils and desert nymphs that lived in that region constantly formed huge spirals of sand and dust to ride on, you had to have excellent desert goggles to even get close! But it was really beautiful...” She barely even seemed short of breath as she kept talking and jogging. It was freaky.


“You’re...you’re really not too much out of breath to talk to me while you’re running? I’m sorry if I’m making you feel like you have to talk—“


“No! No, my constitution is strong enough. Or my lungs, I suppose.”


“You guys all have, like, iron lungs! O-or, wait, no, those are the things polio patients use, aren’t they? Never mind...”


“What?”


“Nothing, nothing...” Why did he always screw up like this in front of women?


The door opened and Dr. Brown lumbered in, taking a seat at the laptop connected to the camera and mercifully distracting from Carlos’ awkwardness. “Hello again,” he said as he popped the laptop open. “Carlos, have you been monitoring the video? Making sure it all works? I have no luck with computers...”


“Of course, definitely!” He hadn’t been monitoring it, actually, but he knew how the camera worked and it still had the “FILMING” light on. It was fine. Dr. Brown was just an old fogey about this kind of stuff.


“The camera is only filming the top of her head,” Dr. Brown said with a growl.


Ah, fuck.


—————

AN: Sorry for the super short length! Maybe I’ll add to this chapter and lengthen it.

Our first look at one of the special abilities these guys have. They all “leveled up” their athletics in the New World, which means they’re all excellent athletes on Earth.

 

[Tetradrachm]

Interlude Three: Tent

Tenth Day of Tisritum
(Equivalent to July 14th, 2014)
Northern Eppent Woods, Dinion, Four Kingdoms

It felt like the sun never reached the ground this far into the Eppent Woods.


Princess Emelyn had once ridden daily through the edge of these woods behind Dorester Castle, where she had grown up. She had always wondered what lay in its depths, the untamed wilds that remained out of reach of the whims of men. It had all seemed very romantic.


This dank, dark murk did not live up to her imaginings. The days here passed in a dim twilight, and some of those hard of seeing living in the camp had to carry candles or torches around to see clearly. It was always cold and damp, and she had even taken to wearing her Lysk fur coat again.


This was, as Damian might have said, the new normal for the Rebellion.


Emelyn drew her coat tighter around her in an involuntary shudder as she thought of Damian. His confidence could inspire an army, his smile could light up a moonless night—and now he was gone.


Spirits, she had already wept enough! She shook her head fiercely. She would not cry now.


“Cold, isn’t it?”


Emelyn glanced up from watching the path—the vines and weeds along the ground were treacherous, and she couldn’t see them well behind the firewood she had picked up.


“Hello, Martin,” she sighed. “And yes, it is quite cold. I wish I had brought my gloves...I really thought winter was over!”


“This far north?” Martin chuckled. He hefted his much larger bundle of branches into a more comfortable position in his arms as he fell in behind her on the path. “In Lonstad it should still be snowing for another two weeks, and it’s probably only a two or three days’ ride north of here.”


“I know,” she grumbled. “Perhaps it was more hope than rational thought.”


“Hope...” Martin shook his head.


Emelyn said nothing. There was no hope anymore, or scarcely little of it. Just this morning she’d watched a pair of swordsmen Damian and his friends had befriended in Erzur walk away from the camp, likely to become mercenaries again. Such desertions had been common over the past few weeks—and they were perfectly understandable.


The Red Crone had vanished after the Battle of the Citadel, apparently after having worked out some sort of emergency spell to teleport them all here. Prince Montford had been slain at the Citadel in combat with a Greater Orc along with many of the other nobility. Leadership of the Rebellion had abruptly fallen to Duchess Batilde of Redbridge, who was actually younger than Emelyn was. In the absence of capable leadership and the incredible rallying point Damian had provided confidence in the Rebellion had fallen drastically.


It didn’t help that Batilde and her old, conservative advisors—who Emelyn was sure had a great deal of sway over the girl—seemed to be dallying and delaying constantly, unsure of what to do next.


“Is there any news from the ducal tent?” she finally asked Martin, in the small chance that something had changed.


“I would have told you already if there was!” he said with a humorless laugh. “They remain as indecisive as ever. Last I heard, they were squabbling as to land rights over who owns this stretch of the forest!” He paused. “Are you yet willing to return to the political fray?”


She shook her head vigorously. “I am...trying. Please have patience with me, I beg pardon...”


“No, no, I understand completely. I was being selfish, I must admit. It would make my life easier to have someone else in that tent with an ounce of common sense!” They emerged into an open clearing and walked side by side, the fires of the camp visible in the distance now.


She giggled, in spite of everything. “Of course it would. I...I promise I will come by tonight, at least for a brief visit. I cannot hope to live up to my sister’s legacy, but...” She trailed off, swallowing hard.


Martin stopped and turned to face her. “Emelyn, everything you are doing now is living up to her legacy. Your staying here, not abandoning the cause as many others have, even your stooping to do menial tasks like collecting firewood! Your strength in the face of everything that we have come up against is incredible! I know you would make Cecily proud. Are making her proud.”


Emelyn blinked back the heat of tears behind her eyes. “I—Thank you, Martin...I am sure you are making Katherine proud as well.”


He winced slightly. “Thank you. I didn’t know that you were aware of our relationship...”


“It has been a while since anyone thought you had stayed with the Rebellion just for the pay, Martin!” she teased him. “I know now that you truly do care for the cause, but at first you stayed for her.”


“Yes,” he said hesitantly, “I did. And to be honest, I’m staying now for her, as well...for what she believed in.”


“That’s beautiful.” Emelyn smiled, and then stumbled as a branch nearly fell from her arms.


“Come on, now,” Martin laughed, “let’s get back to camp before your arms give out!”


—————


A few minutes later, Emelyn sat down on her cot with an exhale of relief. The Fire Gem she’d picked up in Erzur had only required a quick recharge of mana and now comfortable warmth filled the tent.


She had a few hours before the nighttime council began, which gave her time to build up her courage before the meeting. The pile of nature magic scrolls on her tiny end table were tempting. Studying arcane theory always distracted herself from her worries; she could immerse herself in the world of numbers and theories for hours.


She snatched “Interactions between Earth and Nature Magics” from the table and was debating whether to take off her boots when the front flap of the tent got yanked open.


“Hey, how’s it hanging?” growled Hobnail by way of friendly greeting.


“Ah, hello, Hobnail!” Emelyn said. Her goblin roommate was endlessly chatty, which probably meant she couldn’t get in some reading now, but talking was nearly as good of a way to pass time. “What kind of strange greeting is that?”


“Picked it up from Damian, I think?” the goblin answered as she started to take off her intricate armor and paused to scratch her nose. “It’s kinda morbid, I guess. That’s why I like it!”


That kind of hanging? Emelyn gasped in shock and was about to scold her for saying something so awful when she thought better of it. Hobnail thrived in impropriety. Cecily had even told her once, when Hobnail had made an incredibly obscene joke concerning the innards of a man she had slain, that she thought it was the goblin’s way of coping with her stresses. How could Emelyn blame her for that?


“You’re back early. The hunt went well?” Emelyn asked to try and change the subject.


“The hunt was excellent!” Hobnail said with a very wide grin. Having finished removing her armor, she rummaged through her oversized orc leather bag and pulled out a massive leg of raw, bloody meat, some of the scales still stuck to it. “We found a whole flock of cockatrices! I already ate one out there, I’m stuffed.” She held the leg out towards Emelyn, who recoiled. “You want some?”


“I—I’m alright, thank you!” Maybe talking about the hunt wasn’t the best change of subject...


“Fine by me.” Hobnail dropped the cockatrice leg back into the sack, then hopped up onto her own bunk. “So anyways, I was still thinkin’ about that idea I told you about earlier.”


“Idea? Oh, the raid for supplies?”


“Yup! See, I lifted this map from the armory—don’t worry, I’ll put it back.” She pulled a large scroll of parchment from her bag and unfurled it on the desk in the middle of the room. “C’mere, look at it!”


With an internal grimace Emelyn pushed off of her cot and crossed to the desk. It was a very detailed map of the Four Kingdoms, possibly one of the ones they had brought from Dorester when they joined the Rebellion. Emelyn just hoped no one would notice that the probably important map had gone missing.


Hobnail jabbed a finger at a narrow patch of green that ran up the center of the map. “So, this is the Epping Forest, and we’re up here in the north bit, close to the Lysk border. Now, I dunno about you, but I remember when we came up north the first time.” She dragged her finger over to the other side of the border, pointing to villages whose names Emelyn vaguely remembered, including Lonstad. “These towns here, they were pretty well stocked with food and supplies ‘cause of all the fishing they do. Lots of pickled stuff, I remember that. I think, not sure, that these towns are maybe a two days’ ride from here. So, we’ve got the horses, we’ve got the weapons, we just have to send over a party and get what we want!”


“Well,” Emelyn considered, “I can see the logic in it. The council’s only been thinking about visiting Dinionite villages for resources. I think they’re hoping that the strength of our noble claims and such will sway the villagers to sympathy. But yes, these Lysk villages are larger and wealthier. And they did support us when we travelled through them before, we should probably ask them for support.”


“Ask them? Nah, I remember these towns, with their booger councils—“


“Burgher councils,” Emelyn corrected her.


“—right, they all cared too much about trading and stuff. There’s no way we could convince them to send us stuff now. No,” and now Hobnail smiled too wide, “I meant a raiding party. We just take what we need!”


“No!” Emelyn protested. “The people in those towns supported us! They gave us shelter and food when we needed it, and bartered with us favorably. And now you want to return the favor by raiding them?”


“They’re not going to give us anything!” Hobnail argued. “We’re the losers now, no one respects the losers! No one’s gonna sacrifice themselves just to get us back up on our feet, we have to go out there and take it for ourselves! Besides, even if the boogers were willing to help us they’d argue over it for weeks. We don’t have that kind of time!”


“This goes against everything the Rebellion stands for,” Emelyn said with a steady voice. Hobnail rolled her eyes. “We cannot become a force of evil, of destruction! What reason would the people have to support us if we became as vile as the Empire?”


“One raid for supplies makes us just as bad as those genocidal maniacs?” Hobnail snarled. “It’s not like we haven’t stolen before, haven’t killed before! Maybe you got to keep your hands clean while your sister went out and did the dirty work, but I sure as shit didn’t!”


“How dare you!” Emelyn spat. “That is a complete lie! She—she never coddled me! You know that!”


Hobnail turned away, working her jaw. “You’re right,” she muttered after a moment. “I know better, I’m sorry.”


Emelyn swallowed. Hobnail never apologized—she’d told them once that apologizing was admitting you were wrong, and that she was never wrong. Emelyn didn’t know if that was a goblin thing or just a Hobnail thing, but either way, for her to break that now...


“I am sorry as well,” Emelyn said, putting a hand on Hobnail’s shoulder. She didn’t shake it off, which was a good sign. “You’re right that we need to do something drastic for supplies, and...you’re also right that we’ve done unsavory things before. I suppose if we weren’t to hurt anyone and just stole some supplies from a warehouse it wouldn’t be different from other things we’ve done...”


Hobnail turned back towards Emelyn with a cough. “Thanks for putting up with me, you know?”


Emelyn smiled and shook her head. “Of course! I overreacted too, you know? It’s really true...stealing from a warehouse is far from the worst thing we’ve done...”


“Even if most of things were done against Imperial troops,” Hobnail spat. “Monsters, every last one of them.”


Once upon a time Emelyn might have found it incredibly strange for a goblin to say something like that, but she knew much better now. Just then the tent flap opened again and the final—and least welcome—resident of their tent carefully stepped inside.


“Good day,” Countess Rhiannon greeted them stiffly. She was wearing her custom-made riding armor again, which she constantly boasted was superior to even the royal armory armor Emelyn herself wore. Both girls nodded at her, then Hobnail gasped and fumbled at the map. Emelyn winced; Rhiannon would likely not tolerate Hobnail having borrowed the map...


“One of the armory’s maps?” Rhi asked. She was quick on the uptake—with certain things.


Hobnail sagged in defeat. “I’m just borrowing it...” she trailed off.


“Planning on deserting?” Rhi said with a hand on her hip. Spirits, she could be so unpleasant!


“Of course not!” Emelyn cut in. “I would hope that you are aware that supplies are running thin. Hobnail had the presence of mind to try and consider some expeditions for desperately needed goods!”


Rhi snorted. “Well, I suppose I can see why. Batilde and her little old men are as useless as ever.” Emelyn agreed with the Countess about that, at least. Rhi heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Well, I suppose I shan’t say anything about the map...I can’t accompany you if I stop you now, can I?”


“Stir-crazy as the rest of us?” Hobnail asked. “Yeah, alright...anyway, we’re planning on mounting a raid north across the border to a few of those Lysk villages we visited last time.”


“North? Spirits, no! I can’t even comprehend going somewhere colder than here!”


Hobnail and Emelyn both stared at her. “You can’t be serious!” Emelyn exclaimed. “You can’t handle four or five days of cold?”


“I am barely handling the cold here!” Rhi said indignantly. “We would be riding from sunup to sundown, I’d certainly develop hypothermia!”


“Your fear of a northern winter do not trump our need for food and supplies,” Emelyn said. “I am certain someone here would lend you thicker coats to wear. Your coats and garments are so thin, if you wore more layers it would be much easier for you!”


“My garments are fine!” Rhi growled.


“Ah...hello in there, are you alright?” Martin called from outside of the tent.


Emelyn turned away from Rhi’s venomous glare. “Yes, we are all fine!” she called with forced cheerfulness. “Is something the matter?”


“In a sense...the Red Crone has returned! And she has with her someone that she claims is the Chosen One!”


There was a moment of absolute silence, where everyone in the tent froze. Emelyn was confident she couldn’t have heard him correctly.


“What?” Rhi screamed. Emelyn’s heart sank.

—————

AN: Meet the Rebellion and a whole bunch of new important characters! We’ve got Emelyn, Cecily’s younger sister, Martin, a mercenary who got romantically involved with Katherine, the infamous Countess Rhiannon, and Hobnail, a skilled goblin huntress. All of these characters will be having their own plot line concurrent with the shenanigans on Earth, where a lot more about them and the backstory in general will be explored.

And of course, the Crones have found a new Chosen One! Can’t wait to see what he’s like...

 

[Tetradrachm]

Chapter Four: Sword

July 10th, 2014
Stamford, Connecticut

It was still weird to see them all in Earth clothes.


As the group finished packing up their few belongings from around the ward Damian thought it was especially odd to see them wearing some of his old clothes. Carlos had promised to run to a thrift store to get everyone clothes that fit better that weekend, but since they’d ended up being released from isolation before then Damian resolved to take everyone out shopping himself.


Llewelyn, already standing in the outside hallway with an impatient expression, wore one of Damian’s striped T-shirts and shorts. Even though the clothes fit him better than they did the girls, he looked the most out of place; his Elven, haughty facial features—and permanently matching expression—didn’t fit with summer casual clothes at all.


“Finally, to feel the open breeze again!” Llewelyn enthused. “To see the sky, the moon and stars...to feel free!” He was looking down and out the hallway—Damian wasn’t sure if Llewelyn was talking to him or not.


Damian chuckled and Llewelyn turned in surprise. “You’re excited.”


“You are not?” Llewelyn asked. “I have felt so uncomfortable and stifled here the entire time. I understand it was necessary, but I would dare say isolation like this is a slow torture!”


“I know what you mean,” Damian mused. “It’s...oppressive, I guess? Like being in a cage. Like that menagerie, in Nollheim—“


“Ugh, that place!” Llewelyn fumed. “Vile charlatans...and they knew how sacred the Crested Deer are! We thought they didn’t know!”


“They were scumbags,” Damian agreed casually. “Part of it was that they never expected an Elf to travel that far north and see that they had the deer in their show, I think...”


“And to think that the populace of the town was uncaring as well!”


Damian sighed. “Yeah, I know, but I think half of those people had never even met an Elf, why would they care?”


“Are we discussing Nollheim?” Cecily asked from across the room. She was wearing a pair of jeans and T-shirt slightly too big for her, another set of Damian’s clothes—which he tried not to think about too much. Actually, the whole party was wearing clothes he’d gotten them when they’d first gone to his house. He himself only had two sets of clothes left...


They definitely had to go shopping.


“Why would they care?” Llewelyn sputtered. “Do they not care for their fellow creature? What kind of callousness—“


“The Council of Elders, in Redbridge,” Cecily said. “Do you remember them? They were similar to those villagers, I think.”


Llewelyn frowned. “You’ve thought about this?”


Damian also tried to not notice how she walked a little farther to not stand next to him when she came over. “Not really, but...the Elders, they refused to provide support for our forces during the move into Dinion because the Empire wasn’t harming them personally and the risk was greater than the reward. Obviously there was no risk and reward when it came to the villagers in Nollheim, but...keeping those deer captive provided them with entertainment, and since none of them knew Elves it wasn’t a personal issue. They were both apathetic to the worries of others.”


“Is Llewelyn worrying about those deer again?” Aria laughed as she joined the group. “Last we heard they were all perfectly fine.”


“You may be fine with disrespecting the Spirits,” Llewelyn sniffed, “but I am not.”


Damian rubbed his hands over his face. He was tired, he just wanted to get out of the hospital, and he didn’t want to deal with a fight right now. Of course, if he said that it would only make things worse.


“Only the Elves believe that those deer are anything more than a good meal,” Aria retorted.


Llewelyn gasped in horror.


“Aria, why are you antagonizing him?” Cecily asked. “You know how he gets about the deer—“


“How I get?” Llewelyn interrupted with venom.


“—and Elven matters!” she continued.


Aria rolled her eyes. “Sometimes he just gets on my nerves.”


“And starting a fight would help?”


“Look, princess, you don’t need to try to diplomatically resolve our little dispute, or however you’re thinking of it.” Cecily visibly winced at that. “We can spat sometimes and nothing will come of it!”


“You are both my friends! I don’t think of everything in terms of politics!” Cecily protested.


“Sure you don’t,” Aria snapped. “Look, I’m sorry I’m being a...prick, but I’m just in a bad mood. Can we just get out of here already?” Damian knew she wasn’t doing well—she didn’t normally swear.


“Katherine’s just cooling down after a run on the treadmill,” Cecily said. “Once she’s finished we can go.”


There was a pause, and Damian exhaled in relief. Aria immediately shot him a glare and he tried his best to look apologetic. He did feel bad that everyone was stir crazy, but it wasn’t exactly his fault! Still though, now they were free to go and he planned to make the most of it.


Sure enough, after a minute or so Katherine emerged rubbing her neck with a new workout towel, a gift from Carlos. Damian thought the intern liked her, which could be awkward if she didn’t catch on. She wasn’t used to Earth social clues...


“Did I miss anything?” Katherine asked.


“We’re all eager and ready to go!” Cecily said with a smile.


She really was good at putting things diplomatically.


—————


Damian would have thought they’d have really figured out a lot more sitting in the isolation ward for a week. What were they all going to do next? What if they couldn’t get back to the New World, at least not any time soon?


But instead of any of that they’d mostly sat around and talked about their time on campaign. Part of it had been on purpose—they’d recorded it all for evidence and for posterity—but it was just as much a way to process everything. They hadn’t had any time off since the campaign into Dinion had begun about three months before. Maybe they just needed some time off.


Now that they were out of the isolation ward, he realized that they needed to figure out their next steps, hopefully as soon as possible. Dr. Brown had told them that he’d managed to pull some strings and that someone from U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services was already processing their case. With the evidence the university team had assembled they figured that a request for asylum would be accepted, but it would probably come with some government interference. Damian just hoped they weren’t going to be picked up by men in black vans and never seen again.


Assuming the legal side of things worked out, it was the smaller problems that would be a nuisance. Where was everyone going to live? His apartment had three rooms including the kitchen/living room area, which had been really crowded the one night they’d stayed there before the hospital.


He looked the apartment over again when he got home to pick up the car. It was still a mess from the first night they’d arrived, with everyone’s New World clothes, weapons, and various things they’d had on them when they’d been sent here. In the kitchen Damian spotted one of Cecily’s hair ties on the counter; on the couch in the living room were a tree branch and one of Llewelyn’s carving knives.


Where did he even get a tree branch?


Then he spotted his own weapon, hastily wrapped in a blanket on the living room table. He knew it would be pointless, but he walked over and unwrapped the damn thing anyway.


Glimmerstone still had the same luster and shiny it always did, the sky-iron and other metals used to forge it millennia ago having retained its integrity perfectly. Damian figured it had kept up so well for so long through whatever enchantments the Arcane Smith had embedded in it when she forged it; he had no idea if it might start rusting or degrading now. On impulse, or maybe instinct, he grabbed it by the hilt.


“Too heavy,” he muttered and immediately put it down. He had noticed it when they’d first come back to Earth—the massive sword, almost as tall as him, was suddenly heavier than it had been in the New World. It must have had a weight-reducing enchantment on it, just enough to be perfectly balanced for him. Hell, maybe it had even adjusted its weight to him—it had a mind of its own sometimes. But now, here, the balance was all off. He’d have to relearn to use it as well as before—it could take months.


Maybe he didn’t even want to keep up with it. What was the point? The fighting styles he’d learned weren’t right for fencing. How else would he even be able to use a sword here?


The massive ruby in the hilt, the stone for which the sword was named, sat inert. In the New World, whenever he had picked up the sword it had glowed faintly, evidence of the magical bond between him and the sword. He had known that the magic was helping him out, but he hadn’t realized how much of a difference it made.


No, he wouldn’t even try to keep up with sword fighting. It wasn’t part of this world, it just—wouldn’t work.


He couldn’t motivate himself to try.

—————

AN: Okay, I know I kind of skipped most of their time in the hospital, but it was gonna be boring and I wanted to get to the good part where we see the party reacting to Earth. That’ll be next chapter, when they visit one of Damian’s favorite seafood places. New England seafood is near and dear to my heart, even if I’m not much of a lobster fan

Also, that end bit got a bit dark. On the other hand, I’ll just say now that he’s making a few incorrect assumptions.

 

[Tetradrachm]

Chapter Five: Fish and Chips

July 10th, 2014
Stamford, Connecticut

Damian had expected the party to struggle with a lot of ordinary things about Earth. He had used to take it all for granted—even if Earth now felt surreal in a lot ways—and he could tell the mix of new conveniences and challenges would make a hard adjustment.


He just hadn’t expected it to start off this badly.


“Are you doing any better?” he asked Cecily as he patted her back in the parking lot. They’d just parked at the seafood place when she had nearly bolted out of the car and bent over at the curb, desperately trying not to vomit.


“Y-yes,” she managed, “better. My apologies.”


The rest of the party spilled out of the car, although out of the corner of his eye Damian could see Aria fumbling with the seat belt.


“Was she ill?” Katherine called in concern.


“Yeah, I—I forgot about carsickness. I’m so sorry...” How did he forget about something so simple? And he should have remembered that she hated carriage rides for similar reasons, dammit.


“It is fine, Damian, I promise,” Cecily said with one of her polished smiles. His heart always raced a little when she smiled at him like that. They also always made him a little uncomfortable, because he had known for a long time how false they were.


“Here, c’mon, sit down on this bench and make sure you’re better.” She sighed but let him guide her to the peeling wooden bench in front of the store. She leaned forward as she sat down, still tense and taking deep breaths.


“Is she having a panic attack?” Katherine had gotten over to them already, pulling out her water bottle and offering it to Cecily. She turned it down with a shake of her head.


“No, no, it’s not like that,” Cecily said a sharply, “the...churning of the car was like a carriage, it unsettled my stomach.”


“Well, Damian did say they used to be called horseless carriages,” Aria teased.


“I should’ve taken the clue from that and remembered you get, uh, carriage sick,” Damian started.


“Damian, I’m fine! I promise!” Cecily said with a forced laugh. “Please, I don’t want to ruin our first day out of the hospital like this. My stomach is settled now, anyway.”


Damian sighed and pulled away. He wasn’t going to get anywhere trying to make sure she was alright; she liked to keep up her perfect front. Months ago she might not have even let them see she was feeling sick.


“Why is there a ship’s wheel on the wall?” Katherine asked from behind him. “Actually, it’s all kinds of naval equipment...”


Damian had forgotten about this place’s tacky theming. The front of the Glenbrook Grotto was painted a bright but faded blue and covered with random naval memorabilia. It didn’t really stand out compared to any other seafood place around here; it was just the closest one to the school, so it was one he was familiar with. They really did clam strips well, at least.


“It’s just part of the decoration,” he explained. “It’s showing that they sell seafood in a big, flashy way.”


“And to help you see that the owners are sailors, with all of this equipment?” Aria asked. She flicked her fingernail against a glass buoy.


“People don’t really use this stuff anymore for fishing. It’s more like...how the customers might think of sailing, to appeal to their imaginations, you know?”


“Using how the customers think,” Cecily mused. “Quite like how the pomp and ceremony of a royal procession is meant to amaze the common folk...yes, I understand.”


Damian had never thought of modern advertising as “shock and awe” before. It made a sort of sense, at least from the perspective of royalty like Cecily.


“Why are we debating the merits of the terrible decorations and not just going in?” groused Llewelyn.


“These discussions are interesting to some people,” Aria sniped back.


Katherine crossed her arms and Damian sighed. Cecily just looked disappointed.


“Some food will probably do us good,” Damian decided, pushing the door open and leading the way inside.


The interior was dingy and outdated—Damian had always thought of it as stuck in the 80s. The long tables that filled most of the place were covered by thick, plastic tablecloths with a stereotypical red-and-white plaid pattern. The worn wooden counter had the scratches and smooth spots to prove its age, and the display behind it was composed of backlit, washed out pictures of various meals. A huge TV in the corner—one of the few newer things in the restaurant—was showing a Mets game without sound.


“It smells greasy in here,” Aria said as the group hesitated at the entrance.


“That’s kind of the point,” Damian joked. “It’s comfort food, you know? Like, uh, funnel cakes.”


Katherine gasped. “Oh, wonderful! I’ve been missing my funnel cakes...”


“Didn’t you try one in the hospital?” Cecily asked.


“Yes, but it was out of that machine and it was old,” she said dismissively. “This food must be fresh!”


“Hey, good afternoon, man! Got some new friends?”


It was the owner of the restaurant, a balding, middle-aged dude named Manny. He recognized Damian by now after having come at least once a week all last year. As Damian saw him now he was hit by a profound sense of disassociation. He hadn’t seen Manny in over a year, but from Manny’s perspective it was just last week.


The friends comment didn’t help, either. “Yeah, hey, Manny,” Damian stumbled over his words, glancing back at his friends who looked similarly surprised. “Yeah, we all met at a summer program I’m taking.”


That was the story they’d come up with while they were in the hospital. If someone asked, it was a Renaissance re-enactment program, which neatly explained everybody’s abilities as well.


“Huh...well, it’s always a good thing to make new friends! But keep the old, huh? One is silver and the other gold...” Manny trailed off in a song. “So anyway, what can I get you guys today?”


“I guess we’re still deciding?” Damian said.


“Do you have something like funnel cakes?” Katherine called out.


Manny laughed. “Sorry, little lady, we don’t serve any dessert here.” Katherine blushed. “Lemme get you all some menus...” he fished around behind the cabinet, pulled out a few laminated menus, and gave them to Damian, who passed them around the table the party had chosen.


“No meat,” Llewelyn said quickly. “Hmm...you said salads use no meat, correct?”


“It depends...” Damian glanced over the salads himself. They weren’t something he’d ever order from a place like this. “Hmm...you might like the spinach salad? It’s got cranberries and stuff.”


“That sounds...acceptable,” Llewelyn said with a grin. He did love his berries...


“I think I’d like to try the haddock,” Katherine announced. “It’s one of the fish I recognize on the menu—I used to have it as a child.”


“You mean the fish and chips? Yeah, that’s what I normally get. It’s good!” Damian said.


“If that’s your normal choice, I think I’ll get it as well,” Aria said.


“You trust my taste that much?” Damian teased.


“I trust your taste more than your cooking, at least,” she retorted.


“I’ll get the haddock as well, I suppose,” Cecily decided. “But, oh, it’s nine dollars apiece...isn’t that expensive?”


“A little, but I think we can splurge,” Damian said. “Besides, I don’t think we’re going to be hard off for money—all that New World money we have is worth a lot here.”


“Really?” Aria leaned forward with interest.


“The silver and gold coins at least. Wait, lemme order real quick.” He turned to Manny, who’d been distracted watching the game, and quickly rattled off the order. Manny hustled back into the kitchen. “But yeah, like I was saying the coins with silver and gold will be worth a lot for their metal content. They’re luxuries here, we don’t use them in our money anymore.”


“Where does the value come from in the currency, then? Like the paper bills, they say something about a federal reserve?” Cecily asked.


“I don’t know about all the economics behind it, but it’s something like the value being based on what the federal government says it is. Anyone that uses the dollar is trusting the government to uphold its value.”


“I can’t imagine something like that being possible in the New World,” Cecily said in a distracted way; she seemed to be thinking through the logistics of it. “There were always places on the frontiers where the common folk couldn’t trust the Kingdom to protect them from bandits, how could they trust the Kingdom with their money?”


“The modern American government is a lot more powerful than the Kingdom ever was—honestly, even more than the Empire now,” Damian mused. “The military is way stronger than any civilian forces, so even if people wanted to rebel they basically couldn’t. Then the government has a lot of money, there’s not much corruption, and technology helps a lot with communication and stuff.”


“Spirits...” Cecily was suddenly very intent. “This is why we must talk to the upper levels of the government here, they can give us the assistance we need to overthrow the Empire!” The rest of the party nodded with varying degrees of enthusiasm.


Damian swallowed. “We can try,” he said; it felt like something was stuck in his throat. “It’s one thing to convince people that you’re all actually from, uh,” he glanced over at the counter—Manny was still gone, “another world. It might be a bit trickier to get them to launch a military invasion or anything like that. But I’m sure we can get supplies and stuff, like cars and radios and other modern tech. It kinda depends on how much stuff we can take back. When the Crones first summoned me they mentioned how it drained their magic reserves completely.”


Aria frowned. “That’s right. Birdy and I—uh, the Red Crone—talked about dimensional magic once. She said that the spell that brought you to the New World was like a massive teleportation spell, and those exponentially cost more power the farther the teleportation goes...”


“Maybe the Demon Lord exhausted his magic sending us here,” Damian suggested.


“We can only hope!” Katherine said, shaking her head.


“Got your food!” Manny called, setting down the steaming plates of fish and chips and the less impressive salad on the counter.


Katherine was seated the closest to the counter, so she beat Damian to standing to grab the food. She sniffed the food and grinned widely. “Oh, this smells tremendously good!”


“You know,” Aria said thoughtfully even as she snatched her plate off of the plastic tray Katherine set down, “Arky might have hurt himself warping us all here actually. I’m sure he didn’t mean to send his ‘beautiful princess’ here...”


“Don’t call him that!” Cecily snapped. “And don’t call me that, either. Spirits, he is so disgusting...”


“Should I use his full, formal, made up title then?” Aria asked as she tried to pick up a piece of fish. “Augh, hot, hot!” She dropped it, blew on her fingers, and carefully picked up a French fry instead.


“Well, a section of his titles are based on the Dinionite royal titles, I recognized them,” Cecily corrected her. “But yes, all of the nonsense about the Empire is completely fabricated...”


“That’s not what I meant!” Aria groaned. “He’s a puffed up nobleman who’s completely lost his mind and thinks he’s a god! When he couldn’t even beat a Rebellion made up of farmers and bandits with his fancy Legions! He’s a joke. Like, imagine if he wound up here somehow. He’d get thrown in a jail and that would be the end of it.”


“Could we trick him into coming here, somehow?” Katherine asked hopefully.


“Only if we get in contact with home first,” Aria said as she finally bit into the fry. “Woah,” her eyes practically bulged out, “these are really good!”


With that, everybody dug in.


—————


AN: The shenanigans begin! Also a good deal of talking about their situation, finally, and planning; even if they are being optimistic.


I had to do a lot of bizarre research for this chapter, things like “do New England seafood places usually have dessert”...


Next time: The mall!

 

[Tetradrachm]

Chapter Six: Glass

July 13th, 2014
Stamford, Connecticut

“This building is as massive as the Boricum Fortress! It’s just a market?” Cecily asked in disbelief.


“It’s not much bigger than the offices around here,” Damian replied as he turned into the parking lot. The Stamford Central Mall towered over the street, a narrow, six-story mall squeezed into the limited footprint available downtown.


The commercial skyscrapers around here were tiny compared to the monsters in New York, but they’d still overwhelmed everyone when they’d first driven through the city center. Katherine had actually demanded what kind of fortifications they used in the “castles” that used so much glass. Damian suspected that they didn’t fully grasp that American cities weren’t fortified against anyone.


“Thousands of windows...” Aria said, staring out at one of the office buildings across the street.


“Whuzzat?” Damian asked.


“It’s just that,” she half-laughed, “back home windows are a luxury, and they are never so large. Here, it’s almost obscene, all of those huge windows. It’s like those gold-plated temples in Dashut, how they were showing off their wealth.”


“Nobody here thinks lots of windows mean you’re wealthy!” Damian said. “Well, I dunno, kind of, but it’s not the same idea...”


“Will you two keep going on and on about how different it is here forever? I’m honestly curious,” Llewelyn said.


“I will now, just for you,” Aria retorted. The car entered the parking lot, and she gasped. “This must be the dungeon of the castle!”


Damian shook his head. “No, no, it’s just where the cars are kept, see?”


Aria gave him an incredibly dry look. “That was a joke. You just...don’t get humor very often, do you? You and Mopey the Elf, in the back.”


In spite of himself Damian snorted, and he thought he heard Katherine giggle too.


“Thank you, Dopey, for your genius insult,” Llewelyn said.


“That was even lazier than mine,” Aria said, then huffed. “But you were right, Damian, movies are far too compelling. We’re still thinking about Snow White and we saw it a week ago!”


“It’s just entertainment, you know? Really, uh, professional entertainment. They spend months or years and loads of money on making movies.” Damian finally found a spot and pulled in. “But I thought you said you didn’t like TV?”


“I hate the advertisements,” she said. “They’re like street vendors pestering you in your own house.”


“You were one, once. You always brag about it,” Katherine pointed out.


“Yes, and that’s why it annoys me!”


Aria had been a vendor when she’d first met Damian in Dirt Town, selling charms and amulets she’d made with her untrained magic. He knew he had one of her old dream catchers in the bag he’d brought with him to Earth—it worked perfectly, at least in the New World.


He finally found a parking spot—he probably should have gone down another floor, but he was feeling lazy—and parked, everybody spilling out moments later. They were all uncomfortable being in the car for too long, even Damian now.


“You’re all right, Cecily?” he checked.


“Yes, much better than before. Keeping the window open helps very much!”


Damian wasn’t sure what to do about her car sickness when it got too cold to keep the window open in the winter; hopefully it would be better by then—or they wouldn’t be here any more.


“Okay, guys,” he said as they trundled towards the elevator, “it’s probably best that we all stay together at first. We can wander around the mall or look at the directory and then decide where we all want to go.”


—————


Taking the elevator was a bad idea.


“It’s just those few cables holding us up,” Llewelyn said with a slight tremor in his voice, pointing to the thin iron cables visible through the glass walls, “and there’s no magic here. Tell me, Damian, how is this safe?”


“They’re solid steel cables!” Damian protested. “And see how they loop through the top, it’s got a whole system holding it. Look, these elevators are tested for safety, and I’ve ridden on them a lot. It’s perfectly safe.”


“Are there stairs back down to the parking lot?” Llewelyn asked.


“Well, yes, but—“


“We’re taking them down when we leave.”


Judging by the fearful looks on the rest of the party’s faces—and the irritated glances the older lady on the elevator with them kept giving them—Damian decided that was for the best. At least they hadn’t parked in the upper lot, where the glass walls would’ve been even scarier...


With a ding the elevator opened and the group practically rushed out to sightsee. The place wasn’t anything special in Damian’s opinion. It had a normal look of a mall, tile floors and whitewashed walls and the usual mix of nationwide stores. To these guys, though, it was definitely a bit of a shock.”


“Wow!” Kat gasped. “This place is enormous! And so well kept, for a market, I mean...”


“No, you’re quite right,” Cecily agreed, “it’s as clean as the hospital.” Well, that was blatant exaggeration. “There must be mall staff working constantly to keep it this clean.”


“Janitors and stuff, yeah...”


“You know,” Aria interrupted, “I thought this was a market, not a brothel?”


“What?” Damian asked as he turned to her, “what do you—?”


Aria had wandered over to Virginia’s Secret, the lingerie store. The outfits and pictures of models in the window—well, it was tame by Earth standards, but—


“They sell intimates there?” Kat said. She walked over to the windows of winking supermodels and examined them. Cecily and Aria followed, looking distinctly uncomfortable but curious.


“Uh,” Damian tried not to blush, “kind of? The modern versions of corsets, I guess...” He was definitely blushing.


“I need a new corset,” she said baldly. “We all do, probably,” gesturing to Cecily and Aria, who were both blushing as well. At least he wasn’t alone in his embarrassment. Llewelyn seemed to have wandered off completely.


“N-no, they don’t sell corsets. It’s more like the pictures in the windows.”


Kat considered the pictures. “They would fit well beneath the sports clothes you showed me. I think I’d like to take a look.”


“It’s probably best that we all go together. We do, uh, all need new intimates...” Cecily sounded as if she’d rather be facing down an Imperial army.


“Bye, Damian!” Aria seemed to be enjoying his own embarrassment more than she was bothered by the situation, damn her.


And now he was alone. “I’ll go find Llewelyn, I guess,” he said to no one in particular.


—————


“Damian, there are no tunics to be found in this emporium anywhere!”


Llewelyn looked absolutely furious, which was a bit of a surprise considering that he’d never seemed interested in clothes shopping before. Damian had quickly found him wandering around the men’s clothing store next door. Still, though, he’d just been listlessly wandering around the department store, not really shopping, and had kind of expected Llewelyn to do the same.


“Tunics?” Damian repeated dumbly. “Why are you looking for tunics?”


“While I appreciate your hospitality in letting me wear your clothing these past few weeks,” he said as he tilted his head, “I must resume wearing the attire of my people.”


“You—you mean like the whole, traditional clothes, thing? The, the tunic, the cloak...the deer antlers?” Llewelyn hadn’t said a word about clothing the whole time he’d been on Earth as far as Damian knew. Where was this coming from?


Llewelyn nodded solemnly. “I also wish to embark on a hunting expedition within the next fortnight, so as to acquire antlers of a proper size.”


“No!” Damian half-yelled. When a store worker shot me a dirty look, he leaned in and lowered his voice. “People don’t exactly go around wearing deer antlers on Earth, Llewelyn! Or cloaks, or tunics, or whatever. It’ll attract all kinds of attention, and remember what I said about attracting attention?”


But now he was shaking his head. “I must wear my people’s clothing, to cease would be an insult to my family and heritage. I am a proud Elf, same as my ancestors, and I would honor it.”


You’re not exactly an Elf anymore, Damian wanted to shout, but that would just get him the same type of attention he had just been warning Llewelyn about. Instead, he just rubbed the bridge of my nose. “Okay, look, can we talk about this a bit? I’m sure we can find something halfway, like, God, I don’t know, a deer antler necklace?”


“Halfway? No, Damian, there will be no halfway.” Oh shit, he was launching into one of his speeches. No matter how sarcastic and moody Llewelyn was normally, when he got all stirred up like this he was dead serious. “When the armies of my ancestors repelled the hordes of Gelmar the Terrible at Eagles’ Pass, did they enter into battle halfway? When my father defied the Demon King to his dying breath upon the fields of Rhos, did he commit himself halfway? When we ourselves sought to defeat the Demon King and amassed our great host to smite him down, did we do anything halfway? No! No! None of us—“


“Excuse me, sir?” One of the clerks called over from behind a counter. “Please quiet down, you’re distracting the other customers.”


“I am so, so sorry,” Damian interrupted, grabbing a suddenly speechless Llewelyn by the arm and marching him towards the exit. “We’re actors in a play coming up, he’s just, you know, really into it...”


“The furor would not have been necessary had you had tunics!” Llewelyn cried.

—————

AN: This took a while, phew. I have excuses—class work piled up like crazy, including a forty minute recital, and I got distracted with easier writing projects. That being said, this isn’t dead, and probably won’t ever be until it reaches some kind of finishing point.

So, this is the first part of the party’s first visit to a mall. It’s going about as “well” as you would expect. Eventually they’ll get used to modern manners and standards, I’m sure...

Lastly, I’m changing a few of the thread marks. I feel like the chapters set in the New World are better viewed as interludes away from the main story and will be labeled that way from now on.