“So, what’ll it be?” queries the heavyset bartender in front of you, unfriendly orbs eyeing you over once again. The man glares at you as he cleans a filthy mug with an even filthier towel. You are sitting on a barstool in a dimly lit tavern. All around you voices shout, mugs swirl, patrons sway. You had been staring into the flickering lantern a moment ago, but glance up at the man now, before quickly turning away.
Eyes downcast, you quietly reply, “I’m fine, thank you.” The bartender glowers. Under his unpleasant gaze you cave, “Ale, please.” you say.
“Right.” He nods. “Ale for one!” he shouts, and the redheaded barmaid scurries up to place a frothing mug before you. Two newcomers sit down at the bar several stools away from you, and the bartender moves over to talk to them, much to your relief. You sip quietly, unable to think with the din surrounding you.
“Yes, that’s the one.” The bartender says in a hushed tone, his head motioning towards you. Staring deep into your mug, you strain to listen to the conversation held close by. “Came out of the mist ‘bout a week ago, took a nasty blow to the head. Recovered rapidly, though... a bit too rapidly if you ask me.” The bartender gives a significant nod to his audience. “Claims to have no memory of anything at all. No idea how it got here. Says it was from some place called Earth. Earth! Creative name that one, I see earth all around, but I never heard of a place simply called Earth in all of Terrae. It’s one of them for sure, must be a new tactic of theirs. I’m tellin’ you, they’ve developed brains. They’re getting smarter. While just the other day...”
“Bah. It’s not an it, it’s obviously a person.” Says the lanky male patron in front of him. “Gypsy tales, that’s all those rumors are. Don’t believe a word of it myself.”
“Oh?” says the bartender drawing himself up to full height. “You think I’m some kind of fool who goes to them thieving fortune tellers and venomous dancers? I’d sooner trust the King of Thieves. I’m telling you, the attacks have become strategic now. If they ain’t gettin’ smarter, someone else is leading them.”
The other nods slowly, mulling the idea over. “Yes, that could be. Wouldn’t put it past those elven half-breeds to do something like this, and you never know what those nymphs and fauns are up to, hiding in plain sight like they do. Twitchy little devils, in my opinion.”
“Well, anyway, Old Farmer Hoggit has taken the thing in, paying it to do odd jobs around the property...”
The two continue on, but the third in the trio, a wizened hag, distracts you by weaving her way over. She leaves the conversation unnoticed by her companions, to have a seat at the stool next to you. She has a hideous face, long crooked nose, warts sprouting hair, and what teeth she has left are yellowed and chipped. Straggly gray strands falls down to her back, and her frail hands keep rubbing together, not unlike a fly. Then you notice her eyes. Intense, piercing blue, and full of unknown power. Quickly you return your gaze back to your mug.
“So,” she says, and her bony stubs grab your chin, jerking your head to face her. “So,” she repeats. “Don’t remember anything at all, do you dearie?” You shake your head. “My, my.” she says, and again you feel intense power about her. It prickles your skin, raises the hair on your neck, yet you have no ability to turn away.
“Well, today is your lucky day, you scrumptious little morsel you. I’m going to teach you all about this little world you’ve stumbled into.”
You stare in shock. “You mean” -Gulp- “you believe me?”
“Yes, yes my precious little turnip, I do. That I do. I don’t know about this Earth of yours, but I believe you don’t know who you are or why you are here. So I’ve decided to help you out. Now, first rule of surviving, puff of my huffle, is to realize that things aren’t always what they appear.”
You nod to show you understand.
“Delightful!” her scratchy voices screeches. Chuckling to herself, she continues. “Well, next I think I better give you a little background on our world, is that all right, you wonderfully moldy piece of gorgonzola you?” Without waiting for a reply she continues. “This used to be a happy little world. I know it’s hard to imagine it now, but once we were free to roam, children would frolic through the countryside, neighbors were neighborly, and all that other rubbish. The humans and vermin even got along together, can you imagine, claw of my raven?”
“Vermin?” You question.
“You don’t have races on this Earth of yours?” She asks skeptically.
“You mean like black, white, asian?” You quizzically reply.
She stares at you blankly. “I mean human, elf, nymph and faun, troll, dwarf... You don’t even know /that/?” You shake your head, and she lets out a long sigh. “Very well, we’ll start at the beginning. Now listen closely, dear hoggy wart. This world, the land of Terrae, was once divided into five kingdoms. The trolls controlled the surface of the north, huge, fierce creatures, not too bright, but very strong. They never socialized with the other races if they could avoid it. Somehow they managed to live in that barren kingdom of theirs they called Trogdor.”
“The burninator?”
The old crone pulls herself back a bit. “What the devil are you speaking about, my sly little therin? Never mind. Now, in the more fertile lands of the northeast, the Dwarven farmers lived. But the Dwarven kingdom was underground, you little dor griffin you! It was said to be a miraculous site, spanning for miles, entire cities hollowed beneath the earth, walls lined with precious gems. Beautiful, oh yes, it was beautiful beyond words. Or so they dwarves thought, as they withdrew from the world to gaze at their own marvels. Yes, prideful little things the dwarves were.”
“Were?” You ask, looking slightly worried.
“I’m getting to that!” She screeches at the top of her lungs, but the other customers, apparently used to these sort of outbursts, don’t even glance in your direction. “Now pay attention, my little bottle of PomWonderful.” She says softly, “And I’ll tell you about the elves. Oh, horrid things elves. Think they’re so noble, so honest, so perfect, it’s sickening. Now, they’re kingdom ain’t half bad to look at, I’ll give them that. Letier, it’s called, in the far east. Went to the palace in my youth, and it’s true they excel at craftsmanship, but don’t trust them! Oh no, not any more, when they are clearly suspects. No one knows who is behind the menace, but it ain’t a human, that’s for sure! Any other race could house the culprit! They age one year to five of ours, have better hearing, eyesight, and dexterity! Not to mention their wood lore, and of course, the words of power...”
She shudders. “Now, the spells of mages are one thing, mages are rare, you can usually pick them out of the crowd. But the elven magic, oh no, any elf can use it. I’ve seen them create entire shelters from solid rock with just a breath. Yes, watch for those ones. Largest population after ours, possibly the biggest threat we got from the vermin.”
“Then there are the nymphs and fauns. They inhabit the wilds of the west, in the kingdom of Boscilla. They have inherent magic too, related to their element. Each one has a specific element, and, get this, they can hide in it!” She nods enthusiastically. “I’ve seen a nymph disappear right into a tree! Cursed dryad. Never know when they could be watching you, or what they’ll do to you. Saw a naifaun flood a woodcutters house once. Terrible, tricky little devils. The fauns are bums, do no work at all, just dance and sing all day unless provoked. The nymphs are the only one with some sort of government, and even then its not much. Some even worship the old gods! Foolish animals, nothing more.
“Now of course, there is our superior race, the human race. Some of the mages, and city folk go on about working together, and equality for all races. Codswallop and malarkey! Every bit of it! Ignore them, my little frizbee bat! We are superior. Our Mystic Order, with our council of mages, can do just about anything!” She cackled triumphantly. “And of course, the illustrious King of Thieves makes his home in the tunnels here. Well, thieves are everywhere, but they all pay homage to their king. Watch out for them talent thieves, the ones with magic.... dangerous little buggers.”
You nod, and assure her you’ll avoid any thief with magic.
“Good, now for Enchantresses. The last Enchantress was born right in our own kingdom of Selphine. And that’s something to be proud of, you little shaman del queso you! Usually only one born in a century, but their seems to be a rush recently... of course, the other races are probably lying about theirs. These beautiful women can control nature with their voice and emotion with their song. Oh yes, they are powerful, but truthful and honest. A beacon of light in this world! Hopefully they’ll be able to stamp out those” She purses her lips distastefully, “gypsies.”
“If there is anyone I can warn you about pet, it’s the Gypsy tribes. Nomads, pet, nomads! No real homeland. Family caravans, filled with fortune tellers, dancers, and potion makers. Never drink anything from a gypsy! They do trading between races. Filthy job if you ask me. But the worst part of it, mis pantalones de plata? They’re mainly crossbreeds. Mixing of races, with the gifts of many worlds but accepted into none. Filthy creatures. The only full-breeds are ‘adopted’, which means they were kidnapped from someone who owed the caravan too much money. Bypass the lot of them, you hear, my little Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus?”
You pause for a moment, attempting to decipher what she just called you. Deciding the search is fruitless, you elect to simply nod instead.
“Good. Now here comes the juicy part, so get your fuzzy kumquat ears a listening magpie! A few claim this was predicted by that deceased badger prophet, ha!” She leans in, and tells you in a confidential tone, “He was a nutter, that one.” Drawing back, her head rapidly bobs up and down in emphatic nods. “You see, rumors began going around that the trolls and dwarves were gone, completely wiped out! Oh, it seemed like good news then, and there was dancing in my rural village when it was confirmed! But what did it? We wondered. Then it happened to us. It started with the ground becoming harsh and infertile, nothing grew, no animals for hunting, we were starving and didn’t know why. That always happens before it comes.”
She shudders, gazing into her mug, suddenly sober. “The mists, those creeping clouds of catastrophe! I saw the first attack on a human village, it was my village, pet! I was there! I had great skill in mystic lore, probably saved my life. It happened one week before I turned 13, the age when future mages go to study with the order...
“Silently, without warning, a thick mist covered the ground, billowing over the palisade walls and through the houses. It blotted out the sun and sky. It muffled the screams. Because screams there were pet! There had to be, for what was done to those bodies. Monsters, misshapen things came with the mist, under its control! They murdered and mutilated the entire village, but I ran. Yes I ran, I alone escaped!” She breathes fiercely.
“It takes the lore of all four schools to stop the mist, but wind is the main one. I had some skill in all lore, but luckily I would be trying for the gray robes. Once far enough away from the source, I was able to use my magic to save myself! The sole survivor, do you understand my potter of hair?
“There are quests sent out to find an antidote, find some scrap of evidence of who did it, but of course nothing has turned up.
“Now the settlements all across Terrae have walls around them, enchanted by the masters of the Mystic Order. Don’t know why they bothered to help the other races, but they did. It isn’t safe to go beyond the walls, do you understand? The mists are all about. Oh yes, it clears most of the time, but it’s a trick! It draws us out and then pounces, devouring us and leaving nothing but carcasses behind. We know dearie! We were lured out in the beginning, we let ourselves believe. It could be gone for weeks, and you’ll want to explore again, to run free! But it will return without warning, it always does. In the northern settlements it never leaves, the only way in our out is by the wealthy’s air ships or the power of teleportation, a skill only the most advanced mages have. Sadly, I don’t. Never went to school after the attack. They wouldn’t let me, can you imagine that my little virus of the window? Said I wasn’t right in the head.”
She turns to face you, her blue orbs almost glowing with intensity. “Maybe I’m not, ma lune, maybe I’m not. Then again, maybe you’re not either.”
