Chapter 1:
It was just a regular night like any other—nothing special aside from the infinite expanse of stars that stretched across the charming, cloudless night sky. Such a spectacle would be a rare, possibly nonexistent sight to behold in urban areas, anywhere where light pollution was particularly dense.
Mitchell Marlowe, however, cared nothing for the magnificent view, huffing silently as he fixed up his tent, No Leaf Clover playing from his phone. He looked back and surveyed his handiwork—a small fire pit illuminated his meager campsite. He supposed it was time to hit the hay—he wanted to get an early start in the morning to nail the perfect buck.
Without dragging his feet, Mitchell collected his gear—a TenPoint Turbo M1 hunting crossbow, a tactical hunting knife, a Single-Action Army .357 Colt Revolver and additional ammo, a canteen and water purification tablets, a hunting smell removal, a lighter, and pepper spray. He deposited the pile within his tent. He figured it would be best to have his hunting gear in arms reach should any late night visitors show up. This far out in the Rocky Mountains, he wasn't worried about other people—just those pesky bears.
With little fanfare, he put out the fire and turned off his phone, then crawled into his tent, ready to face a new day. Little did he know, a new day wasn't the only thing awaiting him…
Mitchell awoke with the sun in his face. He hated it when its burning rays of electromagnetic radiation found his eyes. It's like the star had it out for him personally—wait a fucking second.
He was supposed to be in his tent. How was the sun beaming down on him right now? He shot up in a sitting position, eyes roaming his surroundings, finding an unfamiliar sight.
This… just wasn't right.
The American sat on the floor of what appeared to be a dilapidated wood cabin, the sun beaming down on him from an open window. In spite of his foreign surroundings, Mitchell was far more concerned with the fact that he was currently sitting in the center of an honest-to-god summoning circle, and a woman was lying motionless, face down on the floor just a few feet away from him.
"Whaaat the fuuuck?" Mitchell gawked. Incredulity filled him, and for a moment, he wondered if he was still dreaming. He discarded that notion when he felt the dry wood beneath him, as well as the crisp air against his skin, and the heat of the sun's beams on his face. No dream could be so vivid, but at the same time, this situation was just too... surreal. "Did this bitch just kidnap and pull a Black Sacrament on me?"
The American jolted to his senses and scrambled for his gun, cocking the hammer and training it on the motionless woman. A few moments passed, and when the cabin and its occupants remained still, he cautiously approached the woman and nudged her with his foot, intent on getting some answers. Nothing happened.
Irritated, Mitchell kicked her head. "Hey! Wakey wakey, lady! I got questions for ya!"
When he received no answer, he finally got fed up with everything and flipped the woman over onto her back, weapon trained on her all the while. To his surprise, despite the long, unnaturally purple hair that appeared as though it hadn't been brushed in weeks, the woman was beautiful. Her clothing left very little to the imagination—her large tits practically spilled out of her dress, which impractically covered so little of her admittedly rockin' body that it was a wonder her garbs didn't just fall off.
"Kidnapped by an exhibitionist," Mitchell muttered, exasperated. He took a closer look at the woman and noticed that she wasn't breathing. He reached down and checked her pulse. Nothing. Similarly, Mitchell felt nothing for her apparent demise, mostly because she was a stranger, an overt exhibitionist, and because she kidnapped him.
Her body was still warm so her death shouldn't have been too long ago. Regardless, it looked like he wasn't getting those answers.
"Damn it," The American frowned as he looked around the cabin. It composed of a small kitchen, a rocking chair and small table in front of a fireplace with a cauldron, and a wooden frame bed, straw and a bunch of animal furs thrown over it. He noticed a shovel in the corner of the cabin beside an old wooden cabinet.
He wanted to take a look around for any clues about where the hell he was but… "I can't believe I'm doin' this." Mitchell went over and picked up the shovel, exiting the cabin immediately after.
Taking his first steps into the great outdoors, he surveyed the area with keen scrutiny. The cabin appeared to be in the middle of a wide clearing surrounded by woodlands. Off to his left, there was a waist deep creek that curved into the surrounding forest. Off to his right was a sizable garden composed of herbs and flowers.
These features in mind, he checked his phone for a signal. He received nothing, but he was expecting that, considering the state of the cabin's disrepair.
The American looked back through the open door of the cabin, eyeing the deceased woman who lay face up on the ground. He considered her for a moment, then, with a hefty sigh, he got to work, digging a shallow grave. Evidently, the woman who had apparently kidnapped him was dead—by what means, he wasn't sure. He decided that she deserved some common decency at least. Call him whatever, but the thought of such a beautiful woman rotting out in the elements didn't sit right with him.
After about an hour of non-stop digging, Mitchell managed to dig an acceptable grave. He tossed away the shovel and went into the cabin to retrieve the body. He returned carrying her now cold carcass and set it gently in the grave, crossing her arms over her chest and setting a towel over her head. He spent the next hour by filling the grave and by setting up a makeshift grave marker.
To whomever this is
Fuck you for kidnapping me
Sincerely, the guy you snatched and buried your ass
With his daily deed complete, he re-entered the cabin to scour for information that could be of use to him. What he found both concerned and confused him.
It was an old, beaten-up regional map, with highlighted landmarks and a legend that described the terrain. It would have been the most useful thing he could find if not for one minute detail—he couldn't understand shit. The written language of whatever region he resided in was totally unrecognizable to him—no language he had ever seen looked remotely similar. He couldn't even tell where he was, but, if he were to assume that the scribbled illustration of a cozy cabin adorned with a witch hat marked the home of the deceased exhibitionist, then perhaps, maybe he could narrow down even a single clue to where he was.
The American frowned at the highlighted landmarks. By his estimate, the nearest bastion of civilization appeared to be at least twenty miles away—and even then, this estimate was a total guess with no evidence to confirm nor deny it.
He figured he had no options, and really, he didn't. Staying in this isolated part of the forest did him no good, and standing around would only burn daylight. Mitchell inwardly shrugged. Time for a twenty mile hike through unknown territory.
"This just keeps gettin' better and better," he muttered. Though complaining would be anyone's natural reaction, Mitchell felt that he shouldn't—he was lucky nothing truly malicious had happened to him, at least, as far as he was aware.
Wasting no more time, he gathered everything he would possibly need for a twenty mile trek from the cabin. Perhaps out of paranoia, he decided not to touch any foods or liquids and simply took the map. He could've grabbed a couple of furs, but, after considering the potential lice or fleas, he thought better of it.
Prepared as he could be, the American gathered his personal belongings and exited the cabin, walking into the wilderness. He didn't look back.
The hike was everything Mitchell expected—dull. Despite the monotony, he didn't let his guard down—the potential of getting jumped or attacked by a wild animal or even a person was non-zero, especially in… wherever he was. After an indeterminate amount of time, he managed to find an unmarked deer trail that led him over hills and through rocky terrain. Every so often he would consult his map, gathering his bearings and continuing on.
Four hours of an ever-unchanging trail passed, but then, to Mitchell's surprise, he came across something strange. He had just waded across a chest-deep creek when he caught the scent of something sweet. Sickeningly sweet. Not like a decaying corpse, but more like the fragrant smell of honey, multiplied by a hundred.
Curious but cautious, Mitchell followed the smell for an astonishing quarter of a mile before the pleasant sound of singing reached his ears. It was in English. Dear lord, that was a relief, but it was only one relief of many issues. He followed the singing, then came upon an elevated sedimentary cliff. Warily, he peered over it to catch sight of whomever was singing, and potentially creating that obnoxious smell. He brought his crossbow to bear and scanned the surrounding area, looking through his scope.
What he saw defied any sort of rationality that Mitchell could comprehend. In the distance of a grassy clearing was the biggest flower he had ever seen in his life—it had to be at least the size of a large kiddie pool. And that wasn't even the strangest part. Mitchell had to blink and double check that there were in fact two pale green girls playing and singing where the flower's ovary should be.
"What." It was more of a statement than a question. Mitchell did a triple-take, and once he confirmed that his eyes weren't playing tricks on him, he made an attempt to understand what he was seeing. He couldn't. Was he still asleep? Were these two girls some sort of mutants? Like in The Hills Have Eyes? He just had no idea.
What he did know, or at least thought he knew, was that this was a trap of some kind. Venus flytraps were a thing, and somehow, this scenario seemed exactly the same, only with what appeared to be land-based Sirens of some sort, singing and playing in such an innocent manner that it could lure prey—humans—with a false sense of security.
Mitchell, more than willing to not test the limits of nature, decided to circumvent the clearing altogether, very paranoid and very freaked out. He had been wandering the wilderness while weird plant-girl-mutants were about? What the fuck kind of country was he in!? Was he even in the U S of A anymore? No sir, it was time to go dark until he arrived at the nearest settlement, lest he find himself without his head. Literally. Nevertheless, that encounter refused to leave his thoughts, and as he continued through the wilderness, a certain awakeness to his eyes, he exercised much more caution.
Two more hours of now much-wanted monotony passed, then Mitchell crested a hill and caught sight of salvation—there was a town about half a mile away, complete with a large wooden palisade that had watchtowers, elevated guard posts, and gates that surrounded the entire town, stopping at a lake's edge. A road cut straight through the town and continued on into the surrounding forest. A stone bridge crossed over a small river that flowed adjacent to the town, feeding into the lake. Smoke rose from chimneys, and people—normal people with normal, non-mutant skin tones went about their business.
"Finally," Mitchell sighed. He started walking, eager to rest his aching feet. He moved toward the road with the intent of appearing less suspicious as opposed to just emerging from the wilderness.
As Mitchell walked onto the road, he realized it wasn't much wider than the dirt road leading to his grandfather's ranch. Ruts dominated the road, as if many wagon wheels ran across it. No tire tracks whatsoever. He wondered if he had stumbled upon a community that had closed itself off from the outside world. Either that, or he was dealing with some hardcore LARPers with far too much time on their hands.
Inwardly shrugging to himself, Mitchell adjusted his crossbow sling and made his way down the road to the stone bridge. As he was making his way across, he saw the large wooden gate open to let out a horse-drawn carriage. He and the carriage driver exchanged odd looks as they passed.
Approaching the front gate, Mitchell noticed that the guards posted on top of the gate were staring at him warily. When he made it within fifty feet of the gate, one of the guards called out to him. "That's close enough, stranger! What is your business here?"
The American halted his stride. He saw that these guards had bows and quivers filled with arrows. He had no wish to see them in action. It was best to just be honest. He couldn't help a bit of sass, however.
"Uh, room and board?" Mitchell replied drily. "I come in peace."
Both guards eyed the clothes he wore with perplexity. One spoke up. "We'll be the judge of that, stranger. You're heavily armed for a single traveler. Are you a mercenary?"
Mitchell frowned, confusion marring his visage. "No. I'm a hunter. Can't you tell from the camouflage?" He gestured towards his clothes.
The guards looked at each other, then back to the American. "A crossbow for hunting?" one asked flatly. His tone suggested that the concept was ridiculous to him.
"What are you hunting, stranger? Bears?" the other asked, brows raised.
"Does it matter? I'll hunt how I want, thank you," Mitchell retorted. He was growing impatient—his feet ached and he was tired of carrying all of his stuff. "Look guys, I get that you're just doin' your jobs, but is there a way for us to speed this process up? I just had to trek twenty miles to get here. On foot, I might add."
The guards looked at each other again, a silent conversation of expressions passing between them, then one of them sighed in overt exasperation. "Stay right there, stranger. I'll be back with the Guard Captain." He turned to his compatriot. "Watch him."
Mitchell huffed as the guard left, walking over to the side of the road and setting his belongings down. He sat down in the grass and waited. A grueling thirty minutes passed before the large wooden gate opened, and a man walked through, gesturing to the American.
As Mitchell approached, he studied the man and was reminded of Jeremy Irons's character from Kingdom of Heaven. The man also looked Mitchell up and down, evaluating him with a keen eye.
"My men tell me you're looking for room and board here," the Jeremy Irons look-alike said, straight to the point. "Convince me why we should let you in."
"I get being wary of strangers, but do you people treat all newcomers like this?" Mitchell wore an irritated, unimpressed frown.
"Only those who seem suspicious," the man replied, unwavering. "If you're going to waste my time complaining instead of explaining, I'll take my leave. There are many things I have to do." He started to turn away.
"Damnit, fine," Mitchell growled, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "You want an explanation, busy bee? Here you go." He then regaled the man with his story, starting from when he settled down to sleep in his campsite. The man listened with an unchanging expression. The only evidence that he wasn't a statue was the slight narrowing of the eyes upon hearing of the deceased woman in the cabin, as well as the mutant plant girls.
After Mitchell finished his tale, the man scrutinized him once more, searching for signs of deceit. After a pregnant silence, he spoke. "Come with me. This is something for the alderman to hear." He turned and walked back to the gate. Mitchell collected his gear and followed after him.
"Y'all expecting trouble or somethin'?" Mitchell asked as he caught up with the man. He had noticed the man's reactions to Mitchell's encounters—he wondered if they had anything to do with the guards' unwavering vigilance.
"We've been hearing talk about the Fourth Born's forces moving on Lescatie more and more lately," the man replied gruffly. Mitchell only inwardly frowned at the information. "If what you said is true, then mamano are moving closer to our town. Your sighting of that Liliraune is the fourth monster sighting this month. And that woman you buried…" He turned to face Mitchell. "Where did these sightings take place?"
"Uhhhh…" Mitchell drawled. It took him a moment to process everything he'd heard. Mamano? Liliraune? Monsters? "I remember seein' the plant girls in a wide, grassy clearing from a high sedimentary rock overlook, and the woman was in a dilapidated wood cabin around twenty miles from here. I got her map of the region if ya wanna see it."
"Show me," the captain requested—it sounded more like an order, really. Mitchell was tempted to tell the man he wasn't one of his soldiers but thought better of it. He retrieved the map, then handed it to the captain.
The man looked it over with a contemplative frown. "Hmm. She had this entire region mapped out. She had to have known we were here."
"Who was she?" Mitchell asked, curious.
The captain rolled up the map. "I don't know," he said curtly. He turned to look the American dead in the eyes. "However, you should consider yourself lucky she was already dead when you awoke."
Hearing the man say that with such certainty sent a chill down Mitchell's spine. "Well that's just a great thing to hear."
They made their way down the main road through town, Mitchell drawing the eyes of the townspeople. He ignored them, staring at the back of the captain's head. He was suddenly aware that he hadn't asked for this guy's name. "I know this is a little late, but what's your name? Mine's Mitchell Marlowe."
The man didn't pause. "My name is Iosef Strenger. I'm the man in charge of the defense of this township."
A thought occurred to the American as they walked. "This might sound strange, but do you take dollar bills?" He retrieved his wallet and displayed a few ones and fives.
Iosef scrutinized the foreign currency. He gave Mitchell a look. "No. We only accept copper, silver, and gold coins, just like everywhere else. Are you saying you don't have any money?"
Mitchell inhaled through his nose and sighed. "Yes. Yes I am."
"Well then, no wonder you're a hunter," Iosef quipped, exasperated. "Any shopkeeper and merchant worth their salt would turn you away if you handed them paper currency."
"Hey, it's not my fault I got kidnapped without any loose fuckin' change," Mitchell said flatly, shrugging his shoulders. "You got any suggestions of what I could do?"
Iosef sighed. "We can see what the alderman has to say about it. But if you're asking me, then you're likely going to be working off any debt you accrue while staying here."
"Yeah, I figured as much," Mitchell winced. He didn't want to be tied down here working off a debt, but he would rather do that than be kicked out into the wilderness. They continued in silence.
The captain and the American arrived at the town square with little holdup, Mitchell's eyes roaming the area. The town square was a large, open space with an array of busy shopping stalls and storefronts that ran along its outer border. In the center of the square was a large circle of well maintained lawn that was accentuated by a stone fountain placed in the center. Another, smaller public area dedicated to hand operated water pumps was placed to the side of it. Pedestrians went about their business with little care for one another, creating an ocean of people to navigate through.
"That building there is where we're going," Iosef said, pointing at a unique three-story building that had a bell tower. "Come on, let's get your situation sorted out."
Before Mitchell could reply, he was stopped by a sweet, feminine voice that immediately drew his attention. "Is everything alright, Captain Strenger? I noticed that you left in a huff earlier."
Both men turned to the voice. Mitchell's eyes widened. The one who'd spoken was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.
A golden headpiece was held secure by long, flowing thigh-length red hair that caressed a stunningly pretty, youthful face of which featured a pair of shining, rose-red eyes. A white, corset-undershirt conformed to her skin, emphasizing her perfect bust, and at her slim waist was a black leather belt that secured a red, white-hemmed short skirt, ending at her thighs which, in tandem with a pair of black thigh high boots, teased a small but tantalizing amount of clean, unblemished thigh. A maroon, gold-brimmed corset hugged her fine frame and pulled everything together. Black gloves with black vambraces and gold embellishments went past her elbows, protecting her arms and hands. A blue-hilted bastard sword hung from a leather sheath that was strapped to her belt.
The woman adopted a slight, yet natural sashay that was inherently hypnotizing as she approached the men. Mitchell found his gaze drawn lower than it should respectfully be, but, unbeknownst to him, he was not alone, for, not only was Iosef—a likely highly-trained and hardened veteran—openly staring, but so were the many male pedestrians around the streets, much to the ire of their lovers.
Mitchell heard Iosef clear his throat and snapped back to reality. He glanced at the captain, as if to ask, 'What?'. Iosef rolled his eyes and answered the girl. "It's fine, Arriet. Just dealing with a...unique guest at the moment."
Mitchell gave his best non-awkward wave. "Evenin', miss." He drawled in his innate Southern accent.
"Ah, good evening to you as well," the girl, Arriet replied. Her voice was smooth like butter. She looked at Mitchell's garb and crossbow with naked curiosity. "I take it from your garb that you are a hunter? Do you perhaps have any news for us? We don't get many visitors here other than traveling merchants."
Mitchell opened his mouth to reply, only to be cut off by Iosef. "That's what I'm taking him to the alderman for. He has some news that he needs to hear."
Arriet hummed. "I see. Do you mind if I accompany you? I finished my patrol a few minutes ago."
"Of course not. You know I have no authority over you." Strangely, and to Mitchell's minute curiosity, Arriet winced at Iosef's reply. Without another word, the captain began walking away. Mitchell had almost forgotten what they were doing, and he hurriedly followed after the man, Arriet in tow.
The group entered the building, the simple double-doors opening into a hallway lined with rooms. At the end of the hallway was a large staircase, and Iosef led them up the stairs to the second floor. They stopped at the second room on the right, a small table outside of it. Iosef turned to the American. "I'm going to ask you to leave your weapons on the table. Nothing against you, just protocol." Mitchell shrugged and complied without a word. He still had his gun hidden beneath his shirt in the event that this somehow went horribly wrong.
Nodding, Iosef knocked twice on the door. "Markus, I have some news you need to hear."
"Come in."
The group entered, and Arriet took a place near the door. Mitchell was given only seconds to study the room as he and Iosef stepped up to the one and only desk in the room. A man sat behind it, probably the alderman, or Markus, Mitchell heard.
The office was large, embellished with an embroidered red rug, the large head of a buck mounted on the far wall, and various paintings that lined the walls. The desk sat at the far-side of the room, and two seats sat in front of it. Light flooded a large window from behind a well-built man who had graying black hair, a mustache, and a beard, illuminating him. The whole room appeared as though it was pulled right out of a Civil War era southern plantation.
The well-built man looked up from his work with stern green eyes. "What is it, Captain?"
Iosef got straight to the point. "This young man brings news of two mamano sightings." He turned to the American. "Go ahead."
Mitchell read the situation, noting that the air had gotten… serious. He repeated his story in a clear, concise manner, giving every detail he could remember. He noticed the man's eyes narrow the same way Iosef's had at the mention of the plant girls, but they narrowed further upon hearing of the deceased woman. After Mitchell finished his tale, the man, Markus, spoke. "You said you woke up in a summoning circle? And you're sure she was dead?"
"Yessir. She had no pulse, I checked," Mitchell confirmed. "I can only hope she didn't put some freaky voodoo spell on me." He heard a laugh from behind him that was quickly covered with a cough followed by an unnecessary clearing of the throat. Mitchell smirked proudly inside.
"Well, considering magic was undoubtedly involved with your situation, it seems you were dealing with a Dark Mage from your description," Markus informed him. His eyes grew dark. "A powerful Dark Mage at that. You are very lucky she died bringing you to her. Though that begs the question, where in the world did she bring you from for the spell to kill her?"
That was a topic Mitchell had been inwardly dreading to confront. He had been content to put it off in favor of focusing on getting back to civilization, and he had gone along with a lot of outlandish things he had seen and heard, but this next question would make or break his fragile new worldview. Best to just get it over with.
Mitchell sighed. "Let me answer with another question, sir. Have you heard of the United States of America?"
Markus frowned in confusion. "No, I can't say that I have. And I know many places. Are you saying that this United States is where you are from?"
The American felt a cavernous pit grow in his gut. "Yessir. I was huntin' in the state of Colorado near Pikes Peak when I settled down the night I got kidnapped." He noticed both Markus's and Iosef's gazes softening slightly. He didn't turn to see Arriet's reaction.
Markus shook his head. "I've heard of none of those locations. Hmm, perhaps this United States lies across the Great Sea? I would have heard of it otherwise. But that does help explain why summoning you killed her. Summoning over vast distances requires colossal amounts of magic that only the gods can boast."
Iosef spoke up thoughtfully. "Strange garb, strange accent, strange weapons, wrong currency, and the fact that you look like a lost lamb. This is a bit too elaborate to be a ploy."
"So it seems." Markus leaned back in his chair, evaluating Mitchell's unique circumstances.
"I believe he's telling the truth." All three men turned to see Arriet giving Mitchell a look that the American couldn't quite decipher. "Besides, we live in a world filled with outlandish things. How is his situation any different? Truth is often stranger than fiction, no?"
"You and your way with words," Iosef grumbled good-naturedly, shaking his head.
Markus hummed in agreement. He regarded the American thoughtfully. "I believe I heard you had the wrong currency? You are copperless?"
"Yessir. I only have the money from back home." Mitchell answered, pulling out his wallet before realizing something obvious. His wallet had his IDs and debit cards. Proof of his claims. He felt like an idiot.
"By the way, these cards here are my identification for back home," Mitchell informed as he put his IDs along with his hunting permit on the desk. "As well as my huntin' permit."
Both Markus and Iosef leaned forward to examine them as Arriet approached, curious. He thought about pulling out his phone, but an idea came to him. He decided he would only show that to Arriet as a little... reward for backing him up earlier, even when she didn't have to.
"Hmm. This is a written language I've never seen before. This is the language from your home?" Markus asked, intrigued. Iosef looked deep in thought as he stared at the cards. Arriet picked one up and turned it over, examining it.
"Yessir. The English language. It's weird because we're speakin' the English language right now." Mitchell revealed. All three turned to look at him, surprised.
"English? We're speaking Common right now. Common has been the standard lingua franca since the times before the current Demon Lord." Iosef stated.
Mitchell shrugged. "That's the thing. Same thing can be said about English back home. It's been the accepted world language for hundreds of years."
Arriet hummed, a smug look on her visage as she set down the card. "I see. Well? What did I tell you two?"
Markus rolled his eyes. "Regardless, we should do something about your situation," he said to Mitchell, clearing his throat. "I'm considering having you work for our garrison. You seem to know how to handle yourself in the wilderness so we might have you scout the surrounding region for us. There have been far too many mamano sightings this past month and it's making folk here nervous. The standard pay is twenty coppers per work day. You may continue to hunt on your own time. I only ask that you bring back your kill so our butcher can use what you don't. What do you think? Is this acceptable?"
Mitchell paused, considering his situation. He needed to learn more about this place and earn usable currency but... "I'll be honest, sir. I wanna find a way back home, so I don't wanna be tied down to one place for too long. However, I don't think I have many options. I'll do it."
Markus nodded. "Very well. I'll send word out to the people here so that you will be accepted without problems."
"Thank you, sir. Also, do you have a library here? I wanna learn more about this place." Mitchell asked, eager to learn more despite himself.
"We do. I think you'll find it quite acceptable," the alderman replied. He turned to Arriet. "Can I ask you to show him around? I need to speak with the Captain on other matters."
"I'd be happy to," Arriet accepted, enthusiasm in her voice. That could've been Mitchell's imagination, though.
Without another word, Markus kicked them out of his office. Arriet closed the door behind them as Mitchell retrieved his belongings. "Thanks for backin' me up earlier. You didn't have to," he said gratefully.
Arriet gave a small smile. "Of course. It's difficult to doubt someone who speaks with such belief and certainty." Her eyes widened a bit. "Ah, where are my manners? I am Arriet Archaletta."
Mitchell nodded to her. "Pleasure to meet ya, Arriet. I'm Mitchell Marlowe. You don't mind if I call ya Arriet, right?"
"Oh, not at all. I'm not one for formalities," the girl replied. Her smile became a slight smirk that spoke of mischief. "In fact, I encourage you to speak candidly. I find it quite refreshing."
"Aight then," Mitchell smirked. She'll soon come to learn what a mistake that was. "You got it. Just don't regret it later, okay?"
Arriet's smile widened further as she hummed appreciatively. "Well then, let's get you situated, shall we?" She stepped towards the stairs before pausing and turning to her head. "Oh, and welcome to Toulouse."
"Thanks," Mitchell replied. They descended the stairs. "I have a feelin' my time here is gonna be quite interesting."
As they exited the building and walked into the town square, Arriet regarded him with curiosity. "If you don't mind me asking, could you tell me more about your homeland? You've gotten me quite curious."
"Sure, I don't mind," the American replied with a shrug. As Arriet led him to the guard barracks, he shared with her many things about his home, her thirst for knowledge unquenchable.
"I see. So your homeland is a republic? Not a monarchy?"
"Nah, we function under a democratic system, a Senate basically, headed by the President, an elected official who leads the country. So, technically, yes, we're a republic." Mitchell answered. The irony of her question made him smirk a bit. "It's funny you said that, though. A couple 'a hundred years ago, we used to be the thirteen colonies of Great Britain, the world superpower at the time. King George III gave my ancestors taxation policies they really didn't like, addin' on to that the lack of colonial representation, war for independence eventually broke out. With a bit of help from another country who hated Britain, a bunch of militiamen ranging from farmers, carpenters, and miners stood up and fought off the biggest world superpower at that time. And won."
Mitchell turned to look at Arriet, who looked quite invested in his story, listening with rapt attention. He continued. "Bear in mind, that this is all a very rough summary of what happened back then. Sorry if I went on a bit of a tangent there."
"No, no, it's fine," Arriet reassured, waving her hands in front of her, a pleased smile on her face "This is all fascinating to hear. But I have to ask, are you a scholar? You sound rather educated."
The American barked a laugh. "A scholar? Me?" He shook his head, amused. "Nah. The only scholarly knowledge I have is common sense. The best kind of knowledge, rare as it is these days."
The girl laughed. It was a sweet, dopamine-inducing sound that lifted the spirits of all who heard it. She smiled a knowing smile, as if agreeing with him. "True enough. You'll go far with such knowledge."
Mitchell gave himself a mental pat on the back as they continued on their way, chatting amicably all the while.
The duo continued through the town, Arriet guiding him. Mitchell learned that the town had an inn, a tavern, a butchery, a tailor shop, a carpentry shop, a library, and even a barbershop. He noticed that Arriet forgot to mention the church that sat smack dab in the center of town, but he didn't comment on it.
As they neared the barracks, a large group of children rapidly approached Arriet, gathering around her, much to Mitchell's surprise.
"Miss Arriet! I caught a really big fish today!"
"I've been practicing the lyre! I want to be just like you when I grow up!"
"Will you play for us today, Big Sis? Please?"
The girl weathered the storm like a pro, addressing each kid with a response like a mother, or an older sibling. "—and to answer your question, no, I can't today, sadly. I'm still on duty. Maybe some other time, okay?"
"Aww…"
One of the kids noticed Mitchell standing off to the side. "Who is he?"
Arriet looked at the American, then back to the kids, who were now staring at Mitchell with curious, cautious eyes. "This is Mitchell Marlowe, he is going to be a part of the town guard starting tomorrow."
"Hello. I look forward to be workin' here. Y'all go easy on me now, aight?" Mitchell drawled, waving casually.
"Why does he talk funny?"
"His clothes look weird."
"He looks like a scoundrel. Watch him, Lady Arriet!"
"You have a nice crossbow, sir."
'At least one was raised right,' Mitchell thought to himself. He could tell he'd get along with that one just fine.
Arriet, bless her heart, was quick to shut down their rudeness. "Now, now, that isn't something you should say to someone when they are introducing themselves," she scolded in a stern, motherly manner. The kids wilted at that, but apologized nonetheless. They left soon after, desiring not to disappoint their Big Sis any further.
"A couple of the kids mentioned that you play," Mitchell said as the kids left. "You're a musician?"
The girl smiled fondly. "Ah, yes, I play the harp whenever I have some time for myself. The children love when I perform in the town square, as you've noticed."
"Well, now I have to hear ya perform," Mitchell replied, raising a brow. "The way those kids were talkin', it sounds like you got some serious talent."
"That's kind of you to say. Perhaps you will be there next time? I'd like to hear what you think of it."
"Aight. I haven't listened to a harpist before, y'know," Mitchell smirked good-naturedly. "I'll be sure to give ya my best review."
"By all means, please do!" She giggled as they walked.
They continued in companionable silence towards the guard barracks until Mitchell had an idea. He had his own bastard sword back home, so what better way to perfect his technique than from someone who knew what they were doing?
"I noticed you use a hand-and-a-half sword. I have one of those back home." Mitchell mentioned. "Yours is definitely better though."
"Yes. This blade, Estelle, has been my constant companion these last few years, much like my harp." There was a sort of solemnness in her expression that couldn't be heard in her words. She rested her hand on the pommel of her blade. "I am quite proficient with it."
"I see." Mitchell paused, considering how best to ask. He decided to just bite the bullet. "Well, here's the thing, I know some techniques with a sword but I'll admit it isn't anything spectacular. I was gonna ask you if ya minded teachin' me proper techniques…?" He trailed off.
Arriet stopped and gave him a raised brow, looking him up and down. "Hmm, I don't mind, but...are you sure? I will state now that I will be devoting my own time and energy into helping you improve. Can I expect that you will do the same?" Her eyes took on an expression of sobriety.
"Of course I will. I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't," Mitchell assured her. He wouldn't insult her by giving anything less.
The girl must've seen his resolve, for she hummed in approval. "Very well. We can begin once you've settled into your new post. Early mornings and late evenings in the barrack's training area. Don't be late, okay?"
"I'll be there," Mitchell promised, nodding.
Not long after, they arrived at the barracks, and an unnamed guard stepped forward to show Mitchell his quarters. Arriet regarded the American with an apologetic look.
"With this, I'm afraid I have to retire for the night," she said. "It was nice speaking with you, Mitchell. It was quite pleasant."
Mitchell nodded to her. "Same to you, Arriet. I wouldn't mind doin' this again sometime. You go do whatcha need to, though. You've spent enough time on me."
The girl gave a small but genuine smile. "Perhaps I'll take you up on that offer sometime. But I must go now. Until next time."
"Yeah. Later on." Mitchell gave her a two-finger wave as she turned and left for the inn. The American and the guard watched her leave.
The guard turned to him. "How did you do it?"
The American regarded the guard with confusion. "Huh?"
"How did you get her to smile like that?" The guard asked curiously.
Mitchell stared at the guard, unsure. "Uhhhh, talk to her…?
The guard shook his head. "Nevermind. Come on, I'll show you your quarters."
As they entered the barracks, Mitchell realized how large the establishment was. The guardsman took him to the armory, where Mitchell was shown a set of armor and standard weapons and the methods with which to put on and take off his armor. Once the guard was reasonably certain that Mitchell could armor himself properly, they left the armory and entered the guard quarters, where the American surveyed his new temporary home.
The guards quarters was a large, reasonably wide room with four rows, each with twenty wood-frame beds. Mitchell was surprised to see that the beds had roughspun mattresses and simple blankets. What's more, there were trunks for personal belongings placed at the foot of each bed. The guard gestured to the room. "Take your pick. It'll be your new abode from now on. If anything of yours is stolen, just report it to one of us."
'Y'all better not steal my shit,' Mitchell growled inwardly. He turned to the guard. "Why is it so empty?"
"Most of the guards have their own homes. Only a few actually live here." The guard replied.
"Oh."
"I'll leave you to your business. But fair warning. Be ready for the morning drill. It's just before the break of dawn. You do not want to be like the last man who kept Captain Strenger waiting." The guard turned away.
Mitchell stopped him. "Hol' up. What's your name? Mitchell Marlowe, at your service." He held his hand out to shake, not really expecting one.
The guard looked at his hand, and to Mitchell's surprise, he reached out and took it. "Mikhail Ambrose. Well met."
"Same. I look forward to workin' with ya. I'll keep what you said in mind." The American replied.
"Be sure that you do." Mikhail nodded. "I must be off now. I need to help my wife with dinner."
"Well, don't let me keep ya. I'll see you tomorrow mornin'. Probably." Mitchell shrugged. Mikhail left without another word.
With little hesitation, Mitchell picked a random bed, sighing as he set what belongings he had in the trunk. Afterwards, he tiredly fell onto his bed.
What a day.
What had started off as a normal hunting trip, turned into a botched summoning from the Blair Witch, a twenty mile hike, seeing honest-to-god plant people, finding out he's most likely been isekai'd, and now he's been roped into the town militia. And he got the feeling this was only the tip of a very, very large iceberg.
The American could only think, 'What's next?', as he drifted off to sleep.
A/N: Well, this is it. The start of my very first solo work. I'm going through this as close to aimless as you can get. Making shit up as I write.I have to say, I'm quite nervous about getting into this. So y'all just bear with me, ya hear?And yes, I'm doing a SI fic. Fuckin' blast me all you want. But if you don't care about it, good on you.Big shout out to my Beta/Editor Sir Yeetus Deletus. I can't thank you enough dude. You're a legend.Nevertheless, I hope y'all enjoy. Later on.