A friend's home

We saw two more burned farms on the way to Marc's house. I couldn't tell how the fires started. It looked as if all parts of the house burned at once, as if everything simply burst into flames. We didn't stop to inspect them. Saul wanted to get moving.

Finally, we reached Marc's house. He lived on the southern end of Hommlet, just off one of the main roads. The house appeared nondescript. It was as plain as any other house at first glance, but as we walked up the porch I noticed that the house was much better made than the others. The boards were perfectly flush with one another. The chimney bricks were all one, single color. I saw no garden in front of the house, but the grass around the house stood only a few inches high. I knelt and ran my fingers through it. It had not been cut, but each blade was as tall as every other blade. The grass had simply stopped growing.

I stood and followed Saul on to the porch. It creaked gently as our footsteps echoed on the floor boards. I saw symbols carved along the door. I looked closer. The symbols weren't "carved," rather they simply rested on the door. They weren't painted there, nor were they etched or penciled, or any other method I could think of. They were simply there.

Saul put a hand on my shoulder. "Careful. Those weren't there last time I was here. They might be dangerous."

I stepped back, and as I did Saul reached for the door to knock.

"Wait, I thought you said they'd be dangerous."

"To strangers, yes," Saul said. "For a friend, no."

"You sure about that."

Saul knocked on the door. He waited for a few seconds. Nothing happened.

"I am now."

I heard mumbling on the other side of the door. Saul took a few steps back. "Get ready to run."

"What? What's going on?"

"You hear that?"

"You mean the mumbling? What--?" I heard a low, rumble starting to drown out the mumbling. Soon it became more intense. The rumble rose in pitch quickly and then suddenly. I heard footsteps approaching the door.

Saul said nothing as the door opened and revealed a man. I found myself relieved that he did not have pointed ears. He stood just under six feet. His brown hair was cut short and neat, and his face was smooth. He seemed to be in his late twenties. He stared at me briefly, his eyes wide with wonder. After a moment, he looked at Saul and smiled broadly.

"What kept you?" he said.

"She hid very well," Saul said. "You think Anna taught her that?"

"Probably." Both of them laughed and embraced. "It's been a long time my friend."

"Too long," Saul said. "Marc, I would like you to meet John Carter. John, this is Marco Sitaca."

"Please call me Marc, Mr. Carter," March said, and extended his hand. I accepted it.

"Please call me John," I said.

He invited us inside. His home was simple and plain. No frills, no paintings or pictures--though it occurred to me that paintings and pictures are probably much rarer in this world. All in all, it looked like a bachelor's home.

We sat at a wooden table big enough for four. Marc offered me lemonade. I accepted, though it looked as if it were made from muddy water. I sipped it gingerly, and found it surprisingly tasty.

"I see you found Audry," Marc said.

Saul nodded. "She arrived then?"

"She has a room at the inn." Marc grimaced ever so slightly, looking at me. "John, I don't mean to be rude, but...."

"Look, I understand," I said. "Some strange guy walks in out of nowhere and you don't if you can trust him."

"Well, you haven't exactly been forthcoming about where you are from," Saul said.

"Fair enough," I said. As I finished my lemonade, I wondered if it was time to throw caution to the wind. Then again, I wasn't entirely sure if I could trust them.

Ah, screw it.

"I'm from a city called Denver. It's located in a country called the United States of America on a world called Earth."

I'm sure you understand that on Earth if I up and stated, "My name is John Carter and I am from the village of Hommlet just south of Verbobonc on the planet Oerth," I would be locked up wearing a nice white jacket with very long sleeves (which conveniently can be tied off behind my back). On this world--a world where magic is a real, everyday thing--people are a little more accepting.

I hoped.

"Well, that's not something you hear everyday," Marc said.

"That's putting it mildly," Saul said. "I think we'd both appreciate it if you could provide more details."

So I did. I avoided trying to explain my job. How do you explain that you develop web applications to someone who doesn't even understand what the internet is? Instead, I concentrated on how I hated my job, disliked my life in general, and then went camping. Next thing I knew, I saw a dragon fly over my head.

"It makes sense, actually," Saul said. "When I met him there were no tracks in the area. He managed to set camp in the woods without leaving any tracks in spite of rain the night before."

"Hold on a moment," Marc said. "A dragon? Saul, you didn't say anything about that."

"Well, we just got started," Saul said. "That dragon wouldn't have anything to do with what happened in town, did it?"

"No," Marc said. "It's something much worse than that, I'm afraid. Hommlet has been subject to attacks by bandits."

"Bandits did all of that?" I said.

"Not at first," Marc said. "At first they stole from the trading post and from some farms, but they never took anything very valuable. Many people found livestock missing, but still had gold or even platinum in their homes. Break ins occurred all over town, but rarely was anything valuable taken. And none were taken captive."

"The Badgers used to be bandits," Saul said. "You'd think they'd be able to nab one."

"That's just it," Marc said. He finished his own lemonade. "I don't think they were bandits. They infiltrated town, took a few valuables but not as many as they could have gotten away with. They were spotted in every part of town. One was found scaling the walls of Burne's and Rufus' tower. He jumped to his death before they could capture him."

"Jumped to his death?" Saul rubbed his chin. "Bandits are a little too selfish to take their own life to help their brethren."

"You think they were doing reconnaissance?" I asked.

"That's the likely scenario," Marc said.

"The man took his life so as to not divulge any information about his fellows," Saul said. "That takes dedication. What did they find on his body?"

"Nothing spectacular," Marc said. "Light armor of hardened leather, a couple of daggers.... One interesting thing, though. His gear was in excellent condition. Not what one would expect from bandits who are short on gold."

"So if they were doing recon," I said, "then it very well could be a prelude to an invasion."

"So that's why they're finishing up the keep," Saul said. "But an invasion from where?"

"Yes, that's the other bit of news." Marc let out a long sigh. "About ten months ago, all contact with Celene was lost." Marc looked at me. "That's a kingdom south of here, ruled entirely by elves."

I nodded thoughtfully. I knew where Celene was--south of Hommlet, and south of the Flinty Hills--and I knew its history to a limited extent. I told them about myself and where I was from, but I didn't know if I should tell them that in my world we know of their world, but only as a game. To people on Earth, the Flanaess exists in fiction, and it is really only known by pimply kids who spend hours tossing oddly shaped dice in someone's basement...just like I used to do.

"Shortly thereafter," Marc continued, "the Flinty dwarves reported excursions into their hills by armed forces. The elves usually keep to themselves. They don't want to deal with 'lesser' races like humans and dwarves."

"Not all of us are like that, I assure you," Saul said to me with a wink.

"Indeed," Marc said. "It seems the people of Celene have sticks in orifices where there shouldn't be."

Saul laughed. "Still, they must have a set of large ones if they really think they can invade the Flinty Hills. The hill dwarves know that area better than anyone, and they are good fighters to boot."

"That's the problem," Marc said. "Elves did not attack them. Humans did."

"Humans?" Saul interlaced his fingers and rested them on the table. "Oh my."

"Exactly," Marc said. "Celene elves would never have anything to do with humans. They wouldn't allow them in country for any reason."

"Then the humans were there without permission," I said. "That means--"

"They invaded," Saul finished. ""I guess that explains the 'bandits,' and Burne's and Rufus' desire to finish the keep in such a hurry. I take it this army burned those farms?"

"Not precisely," Marc said. "So far, this army has not been able to breach the Flinty Hills. Verbobonc has sent aid to the dwarves in the form of troops and supplies. Even adventurers have journeyed there, seeking their fortune. Frankly, I find it unlikely they will get here anytime soon."

"It's the bandits," I said. "They burned the farms."

"They stuck to minor raids here and there up until about four months ago," Marc said. "That's when started attacking the town in numbers. The Badgers managed to keep them at bay, but the bandits' numbers have been steadily growing. Very recently they attacked with magic." Marc gestured outside. "Well placed fireballs destroyed some homes, as you saw."

"How many...?"

"Too many." Marc shook his head. "It wasn't as bad as it could have been, but it was bad enough."

Saul frowned. "And Jaroo?"

Marc hesitated before answering. "He fell. He saved a number of people. Without him, many more would have died."

They were quiet for a time. I remembered the name from when I played the game. I remember that the character I had was a druid himself and had met Jaroo. Upon entering town, I remember thinking that I might meet him in person. Now that wasn't going to happen. I never met him, and I never truly knew him, but I found myself missing him.

"They buried him not far from here," Marc said.

"I want to see," Saul said.

Marc nodded. We stood without another word and went to see their fallen friend.