Congrats, John Newman, You Just Got Arrested

It was staggering, the number of similarities between this jail cell and his home room in Ashcroft.

Both were cold, dark, depressing, and both seemed to excel in creating human misery (although this one seemed specifically designed to create Ljósálfr misery), both were overseen by an aging, decrepit old miser who probably thought the youth of the day were nothing but leeches on the global economy, or whatever other conspiracy he chose to buy into that week. It was impossible to believe, but the seats here were far more comfortable than the ones in Ashcroft, although that could be because John was always the last one to choose his seat, and he always ended up with the creaking one with the broken leg.

‘At least the company here is better,’ John thought, as he watched a rat gnaw on a piece of bread. “How about it, rat? You feel like bullying me about my lack of luck with the ladies? My inability to throw a dodgeball? My ignorance when dealing with most social situations?” The rat offered nothing other than a swift look that could mean either stop interrupting me while I’m eating my bread, or, and far more likely, dude, I’m a rat, I can’t understand you.

Despite how likely it was that the rat couldn’t understand him, this was in the same day that John learned magic was real, spoke to a giant, revived a once dead branch of magic, and met a girl who liked him and gave him a blowjob - so, anything was possible at this point. With that said, John chose to believe that the rat was answering him with his look.

“It’s not even your piece of bread, rat. In fact, I’d like it back at some point. Wait… strike that, I don’t want that back, it’s been in your mouth.”

YoU kNoW, tAlKiNg To AnImAlS iS tHe FiRsT sIgN oF iNsAnItY iN sOmE cUlTuReS.
-S

“You know, Surtr, I’m being arrested because I used your powers. Couldn’t you help me get out of jail, maybe fight the system a little bit? Melt my jail cell door?”

YoU kNoW, tHe OnLy ReAsOn YoU aRe AlIvE iS bEcAuSe ThE cOuNcIl DoEs NoT dEeM yOu ThAt MuCh Of A tHrEaT. iF I wErE tO sHoW uP aNd AcT lIkE iT wAs ThE bEgInNiNg Of RaGnArOk, YoU wOuLd Be KiLlEd, AnD i WoUlD pRoBaBlY hAvE tO fIgHt FrEyA aNd OlD tHuNdErPaNtS hImSeLf. AnD i’Ve SeEn ThOr: RaGnArOk. I kNoW hOw ThAt FiGhT wIlL eNd.
-S

“How about you, Gaia? Wanna help your champion - or whatever I am to you - out of a jail cell?” John waited around for the pop-up that he was sure would appear, and after a minute or two, it did.

No.

“...Well. Thanks for the help, Gaia. I’ll be sure to leave you a good sacrifice once I’m out of this jail cell, which, judging by how the guards treated me when they threw me in here, I’ll be the next sacrifice. Do Ljósálfr even sacrifice people? Is that too Aztec for them? Hell, do the Aztec gods even exist? Eh, questions for later.”

John pulled up his character sheet, flipping it over to the alternate side. He’d found out when he first got thrown in here that the restraints binding him were just like his clothes, in that he could equip them on and off with the flick of a finger. Granted, he didn’t want the guards to know this, because, if they knew that the things binding him to his seat were easily removable, they would probably take to more **** measures to restrict his movements.

Also on John’s side was the fact that his mom still thought he was staying at a friend’s house that evening, as John really didn’t want his one phone call to be to his mom, explaining that he was both in another world she couldn’t access and that, within the first few hours of being in said world, he got arrested. Not exactly a phone call one wants to make to their mother.

The one good side to all of this was that, as he was being arrested, Hálfdan assured him that both he and Frida would help John out of this, that under the laws of hospitality, they would not rest until John was freed. Talia also gave him a kiss that absolutely blew his mind, so you know, not everything was bad.

John had used the time so far to further look into the enchanting magic - specifically, the enchanting materials needed. After he made sure that no guards were coming, he had unequipped the handcuffs and taken out his Runic Glossary, and looking at Kenaz, saw that it was recorded in the Glossary what materials he needed. Thankfully, it also gave him a small description of each material.

Pyro Beast Dust
Rarity: common
The remains of animals born of the flame.

Ashes of Surtr
Rarity: rare
The remnants of using Surtr’s magic to kill.

Runic Ink
Rarity: uncommon
Ink designed to allow the magic of runes to flow more easily. Sold by many vendors.

On the plus side, two of these seemed to be rather easy to get. Kill something with his only damaging rune? Easy. Go to a store and buy some special ink? Also probably easy. Considering no one had used Norse runic magic in two millennia, maybe some old guy had some collecting dust in his attic. The beasts born of the flame, though? That one might be a bit tricky.

'Well, my Aki rune managed to bring me to Alfheim, and that was through a critical success. Maybe when I use it normally it will transport me to an elemental dungeon of sorts?’

Suddenly, John lit up. ‘Wait, my Aki rune! The description said that if I use it while inside of an illusion barrier, it will have me exit said barrier. That’s my way out!’

John unequipped the bindings on his legs, quickly standing up and stretching his arms. His mind then focused on the rune Aki, as he quickly began to draw it in front of him. Just as he wrote the final strokes, it glowed bright yellow for a brief moment, before fizzling out to dust.

“W-What?” A pop-up appeared in John’s vision.

Anti-Magic Room
No spells can be cast while inside.

John sunk back onto his seat, disheartened. It appeared that while his basic status as The Gamer and the benefits of that were not blocked by the room, any of his runes - and probably also his Glow spell - would be uncastable. And unless John could somehow use The Papercut, Bane of Notebooks and Large Paper Stacks, to slash his way out of the non-paper jail cell, it appeared he was completely powerless to free himself.

Just as John began to weigh the merits of using The Papercut, Bane of Notebooks and Large Paper Stacks, on the jail cell door, he could hear the door down the hall opening, and footsteps ringing out.

Quickly John re-equipped both bindings and sat back, trying to look like the model prisoner, or at least as model as an out-of-shape 18 year old could look. Soon, the guard entered his field of view, and behind him came Frida, Hálfdan, and Talia.

The guard spoke in a gruff tone. “Here he is. Despite my better judgement, he hasn’t been roughed up at all - although I warn you all, mages of Surtr cannot be trusted.”

“I can hear you, you know.”

“He’ll try to twist your words around, worm his way into your brain, and before you know it, you’re helping bring about the end of the world through Ragnarok.”

“Yeah, um, I’m not exactly about to start Ragnarok… I still have a lot of things to do in life: go to Japan, try raspberry gelato, get…” ‘...get laid - DO NOT SAY THAT OUT LOUD!’ “...more money.” Talia gave him a smirk at the obvious pause, probably knowing what he actually wanted to say (but would never say in front of her parents). She held up her hands, one forming a circle with her fingers, and the other thrusting a single finger in and out of said circle. John didn’t know what was worse: her parents finding out that he was getting a boner because of what she was doing or her finding out he got a boner when he had thought of Talia putting him in handcuffs.

“Be that as it may, I think we’ll be fine if you release the Surtr mage into our custody,” Frida said, looking calm and regal.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Miss. The council will be speaking to him soon, and he is to remain here until then.”

“And how soon is soon?” Hálfdan asked, crossing his arms and looking rather intimidating with his blacksmithing muscles.

“I was to escort him to the council chambers in a couple of minutes.”

“Then we’ll go with you,” Frida said, placing a hand on her husband’s chest, almost seeming to hold him back.

“I’m sorry, Miss, I don’t think that’s quite protoco-”

“I said, we’ll go with you. End of sentence.”

“R-right, I guess you’ll… I mean I… I mean - why don’t we go ahead and g-get the prisoner out?”

“Wonderful!” Frida clapped her hands together and gave him a smile. “You go ahead and do that.” She turned to John. “Have they been treating you well, dear?”

“J-just fine, Mrs. Braga- I mean, Frida.”

She gave John a small nod before turning to Hálfdan. “Dear, don’t you know that young council member... Markas, if I remember correctly? Markas Dínuson?”

“Yes, but I doubt the council will take his side on any matter.”

John began to tune them out as the guard walked in and slowly undid his bindings. He looked confused for a moment, as John’s skin was not rubbed raw from being in the bindings for a couple of hours, but he shook his head, probably chalking it up to some sort of Surtr-based magic. John stood up, and quickly found himself in the arms of Talia, who was giving him a bearhug to end all bearhugs. John hugged her back, thankful that, even though this family met him a few hours previous, they were by far some of the kindest people John had ever met.

‘Let’s hope I'll live long enough to repay that kindness one day.’

“Are these cuffs really necessary?” John shook his hands, the chains rattling to get the guard’s attention. Despite having taken him out of the shackles from the prison, they had walked no more than five feet before John was slapped into another pair of handcuffs. The guard completely ignored every single request that John had made to remove the handcuffs, either out of a dedication to stick to the standard protocol of transporting prisoners or afraid that John would vaporize his face. John figured it was probably the latter, hypothesizing every time the guard peered at him, he gave the same look that a gazelle would give to a hungry lion. Honestly, John was a bit confused by this at first, but then he remembered every single myth he had heard of that starred Surtr in some fashion - they usually ended in Surtr burning someone, melting a city, or just straight up causing Armageddon. So, the fear was justified, at the very least.

Besides, the total fear that the guards had for John meant that they never really interacted with him. They would occasionally push him to make him move forward or direct him to turn in a specific direction, but other than that, they refused to make eye contact or even come close to him. This allowed him to focus his attention on other things, such as absorbing the absolute beauty of Alfheim, which he was getting to see for the first time.

At first, the houses that they were passing by were much like Hálfdan’s. They were rather quaint, and in New England style. The only odd thing about them was that all of them had a tree somewhere attached to the house. For Hálfdan’s place, the tree was growing right in the center of the house, conjoined to a room that John had not gone into. Some of the houses that they were passing had the tree in a similar place, although some would have it on the very edge of the house, and some would even have it as the entryway into the house. However, as they went deeper into the center of the city, the trees got progressively larger and the portions that were house got progressively smaller. After a few blocks, the house portions disappeared entirely, becoming large, carved-out trees.

One other thing John started to notice was that due to the larger and larger trees, the roads got progressively darker, as the canopy of leaves began to block out the sun. Despite this, John had no problems seeing where he was going. At first, this confused him, as he saw no street lamps or any other sources of light. Then John glanced over at his captors, and a sudden realization hit him.

'Le-djo-sal-fur, John Newman. It means “Light Elf.”’

The name “Light Elf” was not just a metaphor. His captors, Talia, Frida and even Hálfdan, to a lesser extent, were all brightly glowing.

John didn’t realize he was staring until suddenly one of the guards spoke sharply at him. “Eyes forward, prisoner. We’re almost there.”

John looked ahead, and looming before him was the largest tree he had ever seen. At least 500 feet tall and as wide as 3 school buses, it was truly a sight to behold. It was probably older than many human civilizations; although judging by the burn marks and craters left in the tree, it had been in and survived many wars, yet it still stood strong. At the very base of the tree was a carved out entryway, flanked by guards in ornate armor and statues of regal elves, whose gaze seemed to pierce John’s very soul.

Had John not been held in the hand of a giant this morning who could have probably evaporated him with a single breath, he might have been a little scared. However, staring into the eyes of Surtr had raised the bar of his “oh my god, this is terrifying” scale.

The entourage - made up of him, the guards and Talia’s family - approached the entrance, and one of the guards walked up to meet them. John decided that while no one was paying attention, he might as well see if he could learn a little bit. He looked up at the new guard who was walking towards them, and casually used Observe.

Bob Robertsson
Lvl 6, Captain of the Guard
737 Years Old
HP: 75/75
MP: 5/5

‘Bob? Really? Bob son of Robert? So… Bob son of Bob?... Sure. Bob is a rather low level. Must be mostly for display purposes. Although, I would wager there’s some powerhouses around here, but they’re probably within the tree itself.’

John could not quite overhear what the guards were talking about, but he could pick up the words Surtr, mage, and council members. Eventually, the guard that brought him here stepped back, as (ugh) Bob walked up to him.

“Come. I shall take you before the council. They shall decide your fate.”

“Don’t I get my one phone call?”

“Conspirators with the Jotun get no such luxuries. If I were in charge, the only thing you would get would be a dagger to the heart.”

“...Duly noted.” Apparently Bob was not messed around with.

John walked forward, trying to ignore the sound of the guard’s sword being unsheathed or the feeling of the same sword’s tip being poked into his back. He walked forward, into the maw of the great oak tree.