Chapter One
"Even when taking your lumps"

Gaston clawed at the air as he fell through the rainy night. Above him, the Beast watched him fall, with what Gaston took to be a victorious look. His beloved Belle did not see it. She loved the monster, but she did not love him. He was the finest catch any lady could dare to have, and yet, that upstart inventor's daughter refused him! Not that it would matter in the next few moments. Gaston knew he would not survive the fall, even if he did somehow miss the tower spikes.

He closed his eyes and waited, shutting out the unwanted image of the Beast. He thought about Belle's gorgeous face with its compassionate, brilliant blue eyes, and full rosy lips, framed by dark waves of soft hair. He thought about her voice, and her incessant need to read, when any ordinary girl would be worried about her looks. Maybe that was what was so extraordinary about her. She didn't care. At least not about little things like that. She cared, but about things Gaston found…laughable at best.

Like her inventor father. If it had been Gaston the old man would already have been locked away in a home, not kept about to bother the decent folk. Anyone but Belle would have. But not her. Maybe that was what made him notice her, her peculiarity rather than her beauty. Gaston knew prettier girls, he knew kinder-hearted ones. He did not know any that were prettier and kinder-hearted. That made her the best and as he'd said to LeBeau, he deserved the best.

Gaston realized he was still falling, or at the very least had not hit the ground yet. He opened his eyes and looked. He saw only fog, circling all around him. It seemed to be cushioning him, cradling him. He flailed instinctively, but he seemed to be secure. However, just as he began to relax, the fog thinned, and Gaston's security vanished just as quickly. He got a glimpse of a dark forest, and glowing red embers before he was quite abruptly brought to a halt by the ground.

He was luckily not knocked unconscious by his fall, only dazed. Gaston got to his hands and knees slowly and looked around. He could hear shouting, but he wasn't sure if it was coming from the castle or from the village. Or either, he thought suddenly. He noted he was in a clearing, surrounded by tall trees and a couple of small houses. Gaston counted three, and as he watched, red embers appeared and moved through the trees. No, not embers, eyes, he realized. He scrambled to his feet, grasping for a sword, or a knife, or even better a gun.

He found nothing and began to search for an exit. If he could not fight, then he might be able to reach the people he could hear. Between a house to his right, and the forest was a wide stretch of open land, and what he hoped was an expedient course to help. The eyes closed behind him, and he ran, wobbly at first, then more steadily. He expected to come around to see a castle, either still being fought over, or having his men running away from it. He did not see that. He saw a Tavern much like the one in his own town.

In front was a group of fighters, and from what Gaston could tell, they were both male and female. His steps slowed in shock-they let their women fight for them? Just behind him, he heard a hiss and when he looked there were red-eyed things less than a stone's throw from him. He gave a shout and ran toward the fighters. Suddenly it did not matter if they were female or not. The fighters turned, brandishing weapons, and glowing fists, and even some with glowing weapons. Gaston held his hands up in surrender, swallowing his pride in favor of living a few moments longer.
The group parted, allowing him through, and he darted into the space they made, but not completely unscathed. The ember-eyed creatures launched something at him, and pain exploded on his right arm. Gaston dropped, and was helped to safety by a tall man with overgrown sideburns, and metal protruding from his face. "Are you alright?" he asked. Gaston had no chance to answer as a woman in colorful silks and shining coins approached him. He recognized her as a gypsy and reflexively curled his lip.

"I'm fine. I need no help from a beggar gypsy." The man who'd helped him over swatted him upside his head. The gypsy snorted as Gaston rubbed his head.

"Don't bother, Polare. He is not offending me. He is just scared boy." She spoke with a heavy accent and turned away with a jingle of coins. She rejoined the group and Gaston watched as her fists glowed with light and she flung it on an ember-eyed creature. He noted that Polare had not left his side, and glanced up.

"You're lucky you didn't say that to Praska. She'd have blasted you to next week. Talia is more patient. Though next time you call her something like you did, you may not be around long enough to regret it. Who are you?" he asked. Gaston noted that he spoke like a lord. Finally, civilized folk, he thought.

"My name is Gaston. You speak like a lord; are you?"

Polare nodded. "I am, and so are many of those here. They will not brook any rude behavior from a crazed stranger, and that is the only warning I will give you." He glanced up, nodding to someone coming toward him. Gaston turned to look. A tall, cat-like man approached. Gaston edged away, horror on his face.

"Get away from me, foul beast!" he said, holding his hands in front of him in protection. The creature looked un-amused.

"The mists?" he asked.

"I would have to assume so. Sir Daylynn, this man calls himself Gaston. I will mentor him, before he gets himself killed, I hope." Gaston looked between the two. The cat-man, or Sir Daylynn, chuffed and nodded.

"Very well. Can you fight?" he asked, addressing Gaston. Gaston looked to Polare, who frowned at him and nodded. He took that to mean 'behave and answer the question'. He looked back to Daylynn, and nodded.

"I can."

"Good." Daylynn pulled out a sword and handed it to Gaston. "I trust you know the pointy end goes into your opponent." Gaston took the weapon and nodded. The cat-man turned and returned to the fight against the red-eyes.

"What is he? Some kind of man-cat monster?" he asked. Polare offered his arm, and helped him to his feet before he answered.

"He is a Sarr, and I would suggest you remember that. They are not cats. Some are not as lenient as Daylynn just was." He looked serious, and Gaston nodded. "Now, stick close to me. We need to force the Corrupt to leave." Gaston tightened his grip on the sword and followed Polare.

An hour or so later, Gaston was seated next to Polare in the Tavern. He was silent, shocked as he had never been in his life. The Corrupt, he had found out, were the red-eyed creatures. They were formidable foes in a way that the Beast had not been. Polare placed a hand on his shoulder. "Come with me. We have a spare bunk in our cabin you can use." Wordlessly, Gaston nodded and followed, hand clutching the sword the cat-no, the Sarr, he corrected himself- had given to him. Gaston followed Lord Polare; he had been right that the man was a lord, at least. The man lead him to a cabin, and directed him to an upper bunk. He had no blankets or pillows, but Polare provided them, saying they could get him his own in the morning. Gaston only nodded. "Any questions, Gaston?"

"One," he answered after a moment. Polare waited patiently. "Where is this place? Is this not France?"

Polare's brow furrowed. "No, this isn't France. Never even heard of that. No, you, Gaston, are in the Valley of Ghosts. Welcome."