Walk around cautiously

Berkolsen gives a more rustic first impression than I expect. Granted, I come from a time of “modern convenience,” but this is supposed to be the biggest town for a while, right? The overall impression is more cozy than bustling, though as I walk I quickly realize that this is no small hamlet. The comfortable impression you first get is caused by the buildings nicely spacing themselves allowing for some pleasant pacing as you look from home to home. I suppose no one would be busy at home in the early morning either, further adding to the “small-town” feel of these residences.

Indeed, heading further into town I begin to encounter more people. I am hastily covered under some clothes borrowed from Geiger, so I avoid crowds to forego any close inspection. As for the people themselves, they are quite bland. Shocking, I know! I come to a fantasy world only to encounter bland individuals. I see two groups, namely humans and elves. They dress practically, except maybe the women? The dress skirts seem impractical for working in, but seeing a broad-shouldered lady hike up her skirts to clean up the gutter just seemed so natural and practiced. It was hardly even flattering to her shapely legs, because she quickly knelt in the grime with a spade and got to work.

Thinking about it, everything I see is treated so apathetically, it’s a waste! No person I see, no matter how sexy they are, looks or presents themselves for their beautiful assets. Sure, the men might have tight shirts, but kept under some bland vest or jacket. The more I look at the women’s long skirts, the more I see they treat them like rags and pants rolled into one. I can feel myself automatically try to sexually objectify every person I see. It’s not that hard, I’ve been spending the last two weeks in the woods trying not to think about the last lay I had. It’s too late though! Carnachius and Melanoche have sent me to a place where everyone already makes themselves into an object of boring hard labor. No one even stops to look at each other or appreciate the beauty of a passing human or elf.

To be honest, I don’t know if I would stop to look either. When I finally realize I see an elf, I realize I could have passed a dozen already. Some guy works on nailing a railing on some stairs. No one gives him a second look because he’s just as busy and commonplace as everyone else. What’s the point of being a new fantastic race if you’re just humans with pointy ears anyway. As soon as I ask that question, however, I realize it’s silly. My elven ranger lore begins to bombard me with interesting facts on how the elf is different from the human including skeletal structure, dietary needs and linguistic tendencies. The thoughts are stupid and useless, and not related to my point at all.

I continue on my path, turning away from major streets and occupied alleys. I eventually find myself walking down a street which is pleasantly more clean than the streets on the way into town. I continue sulking. Do these people do nothing but clean their streets? Don’t they make anything beautiful, sexy or interesting? I suppose I’m being too harsh. There are interesting things. Case in point: Four men are sitting on a wooden deck folding chairs. Folding chairs are cool and neat. I shouldn’t be judging a culture or a town based on how people dressed. I’m pretty sure that’s xenophobic or something. Am I just projecting horny frustration onto the culture around me?

As interesting as my musings on discrimination are, they are interrupted. The hooligans in the folding chairs catch me staring. I start to continue on, trying to conceal my appearance, but one of them calls after me with a tipsy lilt. “Hey, buddy! Hey, question for you! What are your dark fantasies?”

The question gives me pause. It seems familiar, and I stop. Turning to the people asking, I answer the question with “What do you mean by that?” I speak without thinking. I panic for a moment, trying to remember why that question bothers me so much. Then it comes to me. They’re not the exact words, but I remember hearing someone very important say, “We have seen your desires, your dark fantasies. And we have judged them worthy.”

I can clearly see now, this man is drunk at midmorning. It’s stupid of me to think he has anything to do with Carnachius and Melanoche. His word choice strikes me as odd, though. I might as well interrogate him.

“You know,” he says, “your darkest fantasies! The salacious desires of your heart. From the faerie tales… You know, the hero’s there and the villain says ‘I offer you the deepest desires of your heart’ and they offer their darkest fantasies and you know…” He gesticulates vaguely as he explains.

“I don’t know.” I answer honestly. It’s a vague question. I feel like investigating the question is a better use of my time then answering it. “What’s your fantasy, sir?” I ask.

“Well I would be a king, you know?” He answers quickly. “I’m not a bad guy, I’d make a great king! So you know, if a dark lady offered me a boon, I’d be a king. I can do good, you know? And I can be rich, have all the ladies I want. Tempting right? Hahaha…” He grins to himself, as if he has just solved some fantastic riddle.

“You fucking moron! That’s not a dark fantasy, that’s just your jerk-off material.” One of the other drunks retorts. “Your dark fantasy isn’t something you want, it’s something you can’t resist! It’s all a trick to get you to betray people. You can’t just pick it.”

“Ehhh, it’s all made up anyways, stay off his case!” The third drunk interjects. The fourth and final lays sleeping in his chair, already passed out despite the early hour and the rambunctiousness of his companions.

“Well if I think it’s a good idea why can’t it be my temptation, huh? What if I don’t want to resist it?” The first asks in defense of his point.

“Oh, great, yeah, some hero you are. You’ll totally be tempted by King Reala herself, you fucking fartbrain.”

“Hey, you’re one to talk fartbrain!”

“Yeah great, real creative name there bud.”

I watch with passing interest as the exchange of insults escalates into a shouting match. My mind wanders off to those words, “Dark Fantasy”. I have to admit, it was a bit of a toss up if I was really living my dark fantasy. I always felt hungry, though I don’t know if I ever need to eat. My body is a mess, even though I can do some cool new things with it. Overall, I say I have peaked already. Ever since those first few days I have only drifted around, doing nothing in particular.

“...and you mom is a whore!” That last part is all I really catch from the tirade of the drunks before they are cut off. Across the street, a window flies open with a bang, and a woman pokes her head out. Her straight hair is tucked behind her head, a sharp nose leading sharper eyes, though her ears don’t seem quite as sharp..

“Seamus!” The woman shouts a name across the street, and the two men pause in their argument. With their attention firmly in hand, she begins a lecture. “I cannot imagine what possesses Mister Tullis to let you sit on his porch while his business is closed, but if you and your friends cannot keep your dark-blighted mouths shut, Merrik and I will come out there and throw you four all the way up the street! Do you understand?”

“Duh, uh…” One of the drunks flounders dumbly for a minute before responding with a cracked voice. “Sorry Sufri, we’ll tone it down!” Then the lady, who I assume is named Sufri, closes the window with a huff and a nod.

“Bitch…” Grumbles one of the other drunks. His friend, who is now carefully trying to avoid shouting, shushes him.

“She’s had a rough time, leave her alone. I’m… I’m going to leave something with Tullis to cover her lunch tab or something.” He starts to morosely shuffle off to the door of the building they all are seated near. The grumpy drunk starts to mumble something again before his friend cuts him off.

“Give it a rest. She probably just needs to get laid or something. Goodness knows no one from around here wants to sleep with her. And if Seamus doesn’t do something nice for her he’s going to feel sorry for himself all day. I don’t want his tears in my birthday booze.” With that they all quiet down, and seem to lose interest in me faster than I lose interest in them.

I turn up the street and find a secluded spot to dump Geiger’s extra clothes. Then, I drop myself into a goopy puddle and turn back to find exactly which building Sufri is hanging out in.

After all, a half-elf is probably the most interesting thing I’ve seen in town today. I won’t pass up the chance to meet her.