Haven's Addiction
Chapter 11: Ready Player 1

The mission we were sent out on was a simple one. A wizard by the name of Placidious Gold, Drognaus’s brother, acquired a spellbook that was an old family heirloom. The book, it seems, details how to transform an individual into a dragon; permanently. It wasn’t an illusion that made you appear to be a dragon, or alteration spells that temporarily gave you the traits of a dragon. It truly turned you into a dragon with all the strength and power that dragons wield. There were no other known ways for this process to happen other than what was detailed in the book. In the wrong hands it could be disastrous.

With the power to create your own dragon army, it’s no wonder that this book was highly sought after. Placidious was apparently the black sheep of the family, and just the kind of person to abuse this power. Our mission, should we choose to accept it, was to retrieve the book and bring it back.

Placidious hid away in the town of Placid, of all places. The fact that he named the town after himself was a testament to his status as an arrogant jackhole. Placid was located smack dab in the middle of nowhere. The nearest town was Basin City, so far in the outskirts of civilized society that it was a hotbed for criminals and reprobates who were avoiding the law for various reason. Since the courts in Haven would know for certain if you were innocent or not, the best hope anyone guilty of a crime could get at freedom would be to hide out in a place like this.

Fortunately we were able to teleport directly to Basin City through a mage guild house in New Haven City. All of the mage guild houses throughout the world had similar transporters so wizards and the like could communicate and assist each other in a moments notice.

I would be accompanied by Gerald, a cantankerous old wizard who obviously didn’t like me, and his crew. It was more like a team put together in a heist flick than a covert group of mercenaries. There was Edic the mousy nerd with in depth arcane knowledge to get past magical wards, Boregard the half bloodhound lycanthrope for tracking, Vincent the vampire thief who was adept at finding traps and acquiring intel from locals, and Gerald was a veteran combat wizard leading the team. I was obviously brought in the be the muscle, which I actually had a lot of now. Since I didn’t have any magical aptitude, my role would be to stand around and look pretty until the time came for me to shoot at stuff.

We geared up right away and headed out to New Haven City. It surprised me how quickly we were being dispatched. One minute I’m reading about zombies in the library, and an hour later we were herded out the gates after being hastily summoned to a quick briefing and just enough time to gear up.

The carriage we took got us to New Haven City in record time, only a fraction of what it took me to get to the castle. Along the way Gerald continued the briefing.

“The intel on Placidious having the book is fresh, and we wanted to act quickly before he has the opportunity to use it. A small force all we need to sneak in, snatch the book, and sneak back out; as opposed to an invasion force which would give him plenty of time to flee with the book. We need to get in as subtly as possible without attracting Placidious’s attention. He is Lord Drognaus’s equal in power, and not something we would be able to face and survive. If he uses the book to turn himself into a dragon before we get there, we have no chance of survival. Once we have the book we will need to flee immediately to get away in one piece.” sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ ꜰindNʘvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

The town of Placid was built along a mountain that served as Placidious’s castle. A thick woods surrounded it all from every direction. Not much was known about the town or its residents because all communication and supply lines with the town had been cut off completely a while back. Any attempts to get through were met with failure. The parties sent out to Placid never returned. It sounded like we had our work cut out for us. Oddly enough, I looked forward to it.

Going out on a covert operation right then was perfect timing for me. I had Q create something that would make my noisy guns silent. He used a small silencing spell on a stone that would make anything the stone was attached to be completely silent. It was usually sewn to boots, clothing, or metal armor so the wearer could move about quietly. I had him attach the same enchantment to small magnetic rocks. He was bewildered when I requested it, but obliged anyway.

When I placed the small silencing magnets on the metal bands of my guns that connected them to my bracelets he beamed with excitement. They worked amazingly, but a little too well. I was so used to the firearms making noise that the first time I shot the new silent weapons I found myself unconsciously making a ‘bang’ noise with my mouth every time I fired them. It was certainly better than the pistol silencer I found in with some of the random items in the bag. I just about threw it away until I realized what it was. It successfully reduced the noise of the report from extremely loud to moderately loud. Hollywood is so full of crap. At least I was ready to go on a wizard killing spree without making enough noise to alert an entire city, which seemed a plus considering our appointed mission.

The guild house we went to was right within the gates of the city. The secretary at the front desk simply waved us in, expecting us. We were immediately directed towards one of the back rooms. It was a small empty storage room, about five feet square, covered in runes and markings from floor to ceiling. I couldn’t see an inch of space left anywhere in the room that wasn’t covered in markings. I couldn’t help but stare at them in awe. If I saw them a month earlier would have thought of them as someones obsessive art project, but now knew them to be the meticulously crafted bindings of a powerful spell. While I marveled at the intricacy of the markings, the door shut behind us, and the runes in the room started to glow with a pale green light. The light faded after only a few seconds.

I got terrified and started to panic about whether or not there would be side effects. I didn’t want to end up being a Brundlefly on my first mission out. Before you could say ‘beam me up Scotty’, Gerald opened up the door and we stepped out. We were already in the other guild house, but it sure didn’t look any different. I thought for sure that it was a joke. I expected some sort of jolt, flash, or feeling of movement, but there was nothing. It was terribly disappointing at how anticlimactic the teleportation was.

We stepped out of the room into a building completely identical on the inside from the one we left, with the exception of a different person attending to the desk, and a different pattern of symbols on the wall behind them. The exterior of the guild house in New Haven City was an urban setting surrounded by buildings on all sides and a cobblestone road that ran in front of it. We stepped outside of the Basin City guild house into a completely different situation. Outside was a barren dirt road with horses tied to a post. Not another building could be seen from the doorway where I stood. Before I could step through the door, Gerald pulled me aside.

“This place is very different from what you have seen thus far in Haven. It is a gruff, wild, and dangerous place that exists on the fringes of civilization. All sentient beings exist in Basin City for one reason; escape.” His tone was dour and serious, more so than before.

“The only reason for anyone to be in Basin City is to avoid retribution, whether from the law or other powerful beings they have crossed. These are dangerous and violent lowlifes who are some of the most fearsome in the realms. This is why Placidious has chosen seclusion in this part of the realm.”

“We will only be in Basin City long enough to gather supplies and safe routes of passage.” His tone changed from serious to scolding, as if speaking to a small child. “We will handle that. In the meantime, stay low. Don’t confront anyone or let them confront you. Just looking someone in the eye is enough to initiate confrontation here. Even if you could handle your opponents, and there will always be more than one, we can’t afford anything that would delay our goal.” Suddenly I felt like a little kid being reprimanded for trying to do ‘adult stuff’ with the rest of the big people. It was down right insulting.

“Go to the tavern down the street, have a bite to eat, don’t talk to anyone, and we’ll get you when we’re ready. No disruptions,” he finished sternly, poking my chest with his finger.

I nodded in agreement not knowing what to expect, which became common practice in this place, but on the inside I was furious. He held the finger there, and I looked down, staring at it, not sure what I would do. I didn’t handle idle threats well, and someone getting into my personal space, especially when I didn’t do anything to them personally to warrant it, made me want to lash out at them. I’m not an asshole, most of the time, but I don’t take people’s crap, and that personality trait one of the main reason for my success back on Earth. I don’t know what Gerald’s problem was, but he obviously didn’t like me. Maybe it was the technology I carried. Perhaps because I was green and inexperienced in actual combat, or that I seemed confident that I could handle myself despite the lack of formal training. Personally, I think it was because of my mouth. I had a tendency of quipping one liners during training scenarios, and my reputation for it preceded me.

I decided to take the high road and walk away from the situation. I didn’t serve in the military, so I never learned to take orders from a superior officer without question. In fact, I am generally full of questions, no matter who I am dealing with. The fact remained that this was essentially a military operation, and Gerald was my superior officer. He may have been a complete dick about it, but I needed to accept that I would need to follow his instructions. Besides, the old fart seemed to know what he was doing, and I could stand to learn a thing or two from him.

I simply nodded and smiled with my best ‘yes sir’, and he backed off, finally withdrawing his finger. I got the impression that if I responded in any other way, he would have thrown me back in the telaporation closet and sent me back to New Haven City, or some other location on the other side of the planet far enough away that I couldn’t muck up his operation. With my acceptance of his authority, the tension subsided, and we were finally ready to exit the guild house.

When I stepped into Basin City, it was like walking into an old west town in a Star Trek episode. The inhabitants of the city were all in rustic clothes of leather from various creatures, usually brown, but I had a feeling the colored leather’s weren’t dyed. As with New Haven City there was a myriad of different species, but these weren’t city folk. There were far more diverse species to be seen in walking a few blocks down the street than I saw in my entire time in Haven. The books in the library indicated that there were hundreds of different sentient species to be found Haven. In traveling through the city and the castle, I only encountered a couple dozen of them. Here I noticed that much of a diversity in the first twenty minutes.

I’m sure I would have encountered others just like them in the big city if I went to the darker, poorer, and less respectable corners of the metropolis. These weren’t just outlaws or criminals, but the downtrodden who migrated here after giving up on life. People whose only crime was being unable to pay their debts. Although I wasn’t naive enough to think that they couldn’t be just as threatening as a hardcore criminal thug. A person with nothing to lose can be the most dangerous individual in the world. Just look at me.

I continued walking up the dirt street feeling like I was on an old west back lot of a Hollywood studio where a sci-fi show was having a wrap party. As I neared the denizens of this small town I could see the end of town in the horizon. It became immediately apparent that these weren’t movie extras. Most distinguishing of all was the overpowering stench. As I neared the tavern Gerald directed me to, the urge for a stiff drink became overwhelming. Not because I was thirsty, but to burn the inside of my nostrils in hopes of masking the odor.

When I neared the tavern, my impression of the Wild West intensified. A pair of brawlers came crashing out through the saloons swinging double doors and took their fight to the street. The sign for the ‘Cracked Mug’, with a painting of cup with a crack in it below the lettering, swung lazily in the breeze as I entered.

Inside the Cracked Mug wasn’t any different than the rest of Basin City. Scantily clad bar wenches of various races attended to the filled tables, several of which were set up for gaming. Surprisingly the stench wasn’t nearly as bad as outside. The aroma of food cooking filled the air like a wondrous incense of scents that I had never smelled before. I was immediately drawn over to the bar, not just by the scintillating aromas streaming forth from the grill, but because it was also the only available seat left.

“What’ll it be?” the bartender/fry cook grunted over his shoulder without even turning his head to look at me. From the girth of his shoulders his race must have been a brick house.

“What have you got?” I tried to sound tough in my best Clint Eastwood, but it came out as an epic failure, and I ended up coughing.

He grunted in acknowledgment, “Food. Drink.” I got a strong feeling that he wasn’t being sarcastic.

“Both,” I grunted in response.

He grunted, nodding his head slightly. He took a bowl down from a shelf lined with similar bowls, dumped the contents on the grill, and set the container down next to an empty bowl, picked up the empty one, and scooped the contents from elsewhere on the grill into it. No sooner did he have the food in the bowl than one of the bar wenches snatched it from his hand and delivered it to a nearby table. While he tended to the grill with one hand, the other reached around behind him at an improbable angle that would have dislocated a human shoulder, grabbed a mug, filled it from the tap, and slid it down the bar towards me.

The steam emanating from the grill as my food cooked was an absolutely divine blend of herbs, spices, meats, vegetables, and oils that were all completely foreign to me blended into my nostrils. Even if the food tasted absolutely nasty, the aroma alone would make it worthwhile. I sat at the bar wondering why someone with such artistry using spices could be stuck in a hole like this, but looking around at the patronage, and the odor emanating from the person next to me in waves, seeping in between the spices, I wondered if it was more of a skill acquired out of necessity to make the unpleasant odors of customers tolerable.

The fight that went outside could no longer be heard over the fights inside. There weren’t any more fist fights or weapons being drawn, but there were many yelling matches, usually at the gaming tables. Most of the fights seemed to involve accusing someone of cheating, or using magic, psionics, or mind reading to improve their odds.

My impression of the wild west faltered a bit when, instead of pistols, the weapons of choice were very medieval; swords, knives, axes, bows, and magic wands. None of which anyone seemed ashamed to show they had. The fact that all of my weapons were hidden from sight made me feel naked and vulnerable, even though I could have wiped out the entire building with them.

When the bowl of delightfully smelling steamy food sat before me, I was in ecstasy on the first bite. It tasted unlike anything I encountered thus far in Haven. The food at Drognaus’s castle was more like what you would expect from a cafeteria. It was edible, just nothing spectacular. The meals at Fenton’s were gourmet frilly food that was more pretty to look at than taste. This, however, was my kind of food. It was greasy, salty, sweet, bitter, and did I mention greasy? It was the closest to eating food from home that I encountered in the past several weeks. My body wanted to shove it down as quickly as possible, but I hesitated instead; taking the time to slowly savor each juicy bite.

“You’re in my seat kid,” came an impossibly deep gruff voice behind me, interrupting my zen-like enjoyment of the food. The voice was accompanied by a blow landing on my shoulder.

“Sorry pal. No one was here. It was the only seat in the house.” I wasn’t trying to be snarky. I tried following Gerald’s advice. I went back to enjoying my food and tried ignoring the guy.

I failed.

I could have let him have the seat. I was about done eating anyway, but stubbornness kicked in. I could use the excuse that the food had me in such a pleasant mood reminding me of home, that I didn’t want to be disturbed; but that would be a lie.

I’ve never been a tough guy by any means, but I am also one to not back down if it can be helped. I’m not much of a violent person, more of a diplomat. At least I never used to be violent. That changed significantly over the last couple weeks. I could have simply stepped aside, should have stepped aside, but I just wasn’t in the mood to take any of this guys crap. I’d already backed down in the confrontation with Gerald, and reached my quota of tolerance for the day.

There was another nudge on my shoulder, this time none too gentle, with fiercer commands to give up the seat. I hate bullies, and I’ve found that the best way to handle them was to make it absolutely clear that you weren’t intimidated by them. I wasn’t about to give in to him, but I didn’t plan to provoke him either.

“I’ll be out of your way in just a moment.”

Apparently that was the incorrect response. Before I had time to put the next forkful in my mouth, a pair of huge meaty paws grabbed me from behind by the shoulders and flung me across the room with ease. I landed on a table, knocking it over with dishes and mugs of ale crashing to the ground. I stumbled to my feet, dizzy from the sudden change of direction and impact.

My first reaction when I got to my feet was the realization that the patrons at the table I collided with weren’t upset. Instead they were getting to their own feet moving out of the way. The thunderous thud of footsteps echoed behind me one after another. I peeked around the overturned table towards my adversary, grateful that I went to the bathroom before I left.

The monstrosity shambling towards me could be best described as a walking cow. His head was obviously that of a bull, and he even had a large hooped ring dangling from his nose. He walked upright like a man, but stood so thick and muscular that it was more like seeing a bull standing upright than a man with a head of a bull. Schwarzenegger would be a wimpy girly-man compared to this guy. I have never been to a bull fight, but imagining this mass of muscle charging, leaving me a splattered mess against the wall, terrified me.

He threw me across the room with the ease of tossing a puppy. From the sheer meanness and rage that exuded from him as he stomped towards me, there was no doubt in my mind that he wouldn’t think twice about kicking a puppy. In fact, he looked like the type that kicked puppies for fun.

And he had his sights set on me.

So much for keeping a low profile.

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