For Inktober, October 22, 2020. Prompt word: “chef.” Tuckerization: Chris Williams
A reminder that volunteering for tuckerization only means a character in the story shares the participant’s name. Other than that, no other similar characteristics are implied.
The Siren’s Dice Cup
by Alan Loewen
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
The night air was chilly, and the streets were dark. Lantern light streamed through the frosted windows of the tavern, barely illuminating the overhead sign: The Siren’s Dice Cup. Above the streets, constellations, strange to Chris’s memory, twinkled in the sky. A gaseous nebula hung in the west, pale and majestic, its heart illuminated by a bright green star.
“So are we going to go in or spend the night in the streets?” The speaker was a young girl in her mid-20’s shivering in jean shorts and a t-shirt that exposed too much midriff. Chris regretted he couldn’t remember her name, but they had all just met that night. They had no idea where they were now.
“Might as well go in,” her companion said. He held her arm in his, and Chris remembered his name, Marc with a “c.” Marc’s voice shook, but Chris thought it was more from fear than the brisk night air.
The trio had already given up trying to comprehend how they had ended up in such a place. All of them avid fans of Dungeons and Dragons, they had responded to an ad for a new role-playing group. Each had already talked to Garret, the advertisement’s author, over the phone who expressed an eagerness for new players. As the Dungeon Master, Garret would act as rules interpreter and guide the trio through the adventures.
When they reached the address, Garrett answered the door with a friendly smile and ushered them inside. Strangely enough, his apartment was almost empty of furniture. There were no bookshelves, television screens, or any other furniture. They sat down at a bare wooden table. Chris also thought it odd the table was empty of dice and role-playing rule books. There wasn’t even the ever-present screen where the Dungeon Master would secretly roll dice to determine reactions, encounters, and events.
After a quick round of introductions, Chris put his books on the table along with a pad of paper, a pencil, and a large bag of dice. “Should we begin to roll out characters?”
Garrett shook his head and smiled. “No need.”
And suddenly, Chris and the other two players found themselves on their backs in a meadow outside a medieval-appearing town as the sun quickly set. It took a while to overcome the shock and the multitude of unanswered questions they asked each other. They saw their wisest move was to enter the town for shelter and information.
The streets were bare, and the trio only saw two or three individuals hurrying down the darkening streets. The hoods of their home-spun robes were pulled low over their faces as if to avoid any and all interruptions. Oddly enough, the townspeople did not even pause to stare at the oddly dressed visitors.
Now standing outside the tavern, Chris opened the door to be met with a gentle wave of warm air and the aroma of roasted meats and potatoes. Five or six people sat at tables and dressed in the same fashion as the people on the street. They drank from hardened leather tankards and ate from wooden trenchers. Seeing slabs of bread smothered in meat and broth and surrounded by roasted vegetables. Chris’s mouth watered despite himself.
A man looked up interrupting his conversation with a companion. His eyes showed no surprise at the newcomers but instead, he yelled through an open door behind the bar. “Hey, Mariah! We got some more newbies!”
A woman walked through the door wearing a well-stained apron. She walked up to the newcomers and looked them over. “Don’t tell me,” she said. “You went to play Dungeons and Dragons with a new Dungeon Master, and you found yourself outside the town in a meadow.” Mariah motioned the trio toward a table. “Have a seat, and I’ll tell you what happened.”
Thirty minutes later, Chris and Marc sat in shock as Marc’s girlfriend, Summer, quietly wept.
Mariah sat back in her chair and drained her mug dry before speaking again. “And that’s the story. Whoever this Garrett is, he sends new people to this world regularly, at least two hundred in the last year alone. Some settle down here, and others move on to settle new towns or explore. Wandering isn’t a safe option in my book. There are creatures out there with teeth.”
“So … so what do we do?” Chris asked. “Where do we go?”
Mariah nodded. “Well, we aren’t a charity. Tomorrow, you start earning your keep until you’ve earned enough to either buy a place of your own or move on. I need help in the kitchen. Another chef would always help.” She waved her hand at Summer. “I need somebody to wait tables.” She pointed at Marc. “You look like you can wield a sword. The town is always in need of new guards.”
Marc shook his head. “No way. I play D&D; I don’t live it. I’ll cook in the kitchen. I want to stay near Summer anyway.”
Mariah looked at Chris. “Well, you could join the town guard yourself or apprentice yourself to the blacksmith or cooper. It’s all hard work, but it’s honest. Those that come here with darker motives don’t last long. We don’t tolerate criminals. We have gallows on the other end of town. Fortunately, we don’t have to use them often.”
Ten months later, Chris stood outside the town wall and looked back for the last time. Marc and Summer had decided to remain at the tavern, but Chris had the itch to explore. Apprenticeship to the blacksmith had strengthened his body and honed his muscles. The very sword he wore at his hip, as well as the wrist and shin guards, were ones he had crafted himself. A bag of hard-earned coins jingled at his belt.
The walled village of Stonemere lay only a short day’s journey to the north, and the road was primarily considered safe from creatures that fancied a quick snack on travelers. And from there? Chris smiled.
Making sure his backpack was securely fastened to his shoulders and balanced on his hips, he took his first step toward his new life.
(Graphic by artist Carl Nilsson)
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