Chapter 41: Expensive Way To Get Flayed

We approach the town, Scab Cy patting my back with his creepy almost-but-not-quite-fully-regrown arm. It's hot and humid, feeling like every step has me wading through the air. My brain still lags behind, listless, overwhelmed and swept along by the whitewater current of time travel bullshittery.

“Think of it this way; day 1— well technically you're on day 14 since entering the game— but day 1 in the wider world would always be hectic for a time traveler. It's the very first moment where things can be changed. If time travel was a thing back on Earth, the day Hitler was born would be chaotic as all hell. Just chock full of time travelers, terminators, counter-terminators when his death accidentally makes a worse genocide, space Nazis— you name it.” Scab Cy says, cloyingly trying to reassure.

“Gee. Thanks for the Hitler comparison.” I say, only half-listening, instead staring at the town ahead of us.

The architecture is what catches my attention first. It's an odd eclectic mix that I suppose is a consequence of having several different species, each with different needs, cohabitating. There are the familiar white stone rectangular buildings, with odd shingles and roofs reminding me of Japanese architecture. Not a lot of wood, as we're still on the border of a desert, and what timber can be imported is better used for other things, I'd imagine.

But beyond the familiar architecture lies the unfamiliar. The distinctly different buildings seem to cluster together into little neighborhoods, for the most part. There are rounded, black or dark shaded buildings. The air ripples off of them, looking to be absorbing quite a bit of heat. I watch as a Naga leaves one of these buildings. Cloth or tarp like barriers are tied up next to them, able to be stretched over to form a shade barrier, not needed now apparently. Do they consider this to be cold? My feet are getting blisters from sweat and running.

Lastly, uphill from the river but still close to the reedy crops being grown alongside it, are these half subterranean homes, denoted by the hills of dirt extending into these sloped raised openings to burrows with doors. Sort of like Hobbit holes. Some are fenced off containing simple poultry livestock, one with what looks like massive toucan-chickens. Another has a wagon where a lizardfolk is lashing a—

“Is that a fucking dinosaur?!” I ask, shocked.

Scab Cy glances over to where I'm staring. “Oh.” He laughs. “Yeah, but no one can tell if that one came from Earth or not. Doesn't match any of our fossils but I've yet to meet someone who claims it. Might be native to the Wider World. They're called sand-skimmers or just ‘skimmers.’”

The creature in question is a massive reptile-bird thing, lightly feathered at the crest of its shoebill-like head where a gecko lizardfolk is detaching a feed bag. The skimmer is low to the ground, a long and tailed creature that has splayed legs with wide clawed feet to disperse weight along the sand.

Scab Cy snaps to get my attention back from where I'm staring as we walk down the riverstone paved main road in the town.

He pulls his left sleeve back to check the timepieces along it— he barely glances, so that looks like it's going to be a nervous habit I pick up, but his checking lets me catch a glimpse at a few. One has a strange series of dots and lines, looking almost like constellations but of stars unfamiliar to me. Another had the numbers “26:13 = 10:32 AM.”

I catch his little hand making a subtle flicking motion to himself and then me as he speaks.

“This place gets a good bit of traffic, being a border town, so there's a few inns to choose from. You're meeting your man at one called The Riverboat. You've got time for brunch and a shower.”

I flinch slightly as something pierces through my mind— not painfully, but forcefully. Words come to me in my own voice, like a train of thought I can't shake free from no matter how hard I try to think of something else.

“This is a message spell. Try not to react. Cover story is I am the product of a skill of yours. Be coy when asked. Social norms mean it's impolite to ask specifics about class, and skill stuff. Use that.”

I shake out my head like I've gotten a bad headache. Caught up as I was in the chaos, I had forgotten how odd it might look to see a man walking along with his doppelganger. I look around and see the varied people currently in the streets staring. At first I'm sure they stared because we were from out of town, then they realized we're from way out of town. A few have now picked up on the oddity between the two of us and I see a human woman whispering with an old chameleon like Naga, scales grey and flaking. Each of the lizard's eyes follows one or the other of us as we walk.

Scab Cy’s fingers flick again.

“Don't hide. Play it like this is normal. But act busy.”

Our steps hasten, and my eye flicks about looking for The Riverboat. I don't have to look long until I see the very obvious building that is quite literally a beached riverboat, hollowed and adapted to be used as the main dining room of an inn.

The wooden door clacks behind us, and the room is pleasantly cooler. There are few patrons currently in the late morning; A few humans in travelling garb, a crocodilian naga slowly working down a massive plate of a full roasted toucan-chicken as they read their book. The one server is a younger human woman, who the swarthy and heavyset man behind the bar keeps one eye on as she speaks with the travelers.

Scab Cy moves us towards the main bar, quickly paying for a room for the day, and tossing me the key. He speaks with a smirk and a slight bow.

“Your accommodations, master. I'll prepare your bath and then wait for you downstairs.”

I sweat slightly at the way the [Innkeeper] and crocodilian stare. Letting Scab Cy lead the way to quickly get out of there.

“Is the act really necessary? Or, at least, do you have to call me ‘master’?” I ask once Scab Cy leads me into a— relatively fancy compared to the rest of the inn— room, with an attached bathroom.

“Maybe not. But until we take some precautions or until you can handle yourself, we gotta play it safe. The right person overhearing the wrong thing means a lot of trouble. [Heat]. [Raincloud].”

Scab Cy finishes speaking, and casts two spells on the filled wash basin in quick succession. The steaming water evaporates and condensates into a cloud near the ceiling of the tiled room, and begins raining down.

“I'll be downstairs.” He says, turning to leave.

“Wait.” I let out, before I know what I'm saying.

He pauses at the door.

“I— we should talk.” I manage out.

Scab Cy wears a sad smile.

“We'll have time. Take your shower.”

The door closes.

I'm not certain what prompted me to do that. Some kind of anxiety bubbling forth at the idea of being swept along in more chaos and bullshit. So, understandable. I let the pleasantly warm water hit my face, carefully washing out the sweaty divot of my right eyesocket.

What did I want to talk about? I suppose the future, for one. But— I know that's difficult, dancing around the precognition of it all. Maybe I just want to know who I'm becoming. Is that vain? Scab Cy doesn't seem like a bad guy, but he's different. Mysterious Cy was… scary.

I should probably stop giving them nicknames based on the first thing I notice about them. They're all Cy. I'm gonna be Scab Cy one day. Then again, I don't think I'd mind, and it's a decent way to differentiate.

I let the water wash across me, zoning out halfway through lathering up a ball of lye soap.

I wonder how Demarcus and the gang are doing? I hope I'm there with them.

The dreadful feeling that I'm gonna be stuck doing “errands” for future selves and flitting from life and death fight to chaotic pandemonium settles heavily on my shoulders. It feels like that's all my life ever really was, all for the briefest moments of levity, but never quite ease— is that what my afterlife will be too?

I'm so tired.

And hungry.

My stomach gurgles, upset at the caloric deficit I've been maintaining for the past few days.

I sigh, finish my shower, and regretfully put on the same dirty, blood-stained pants I was wearing before, lacking replacements.

I head back downstairs, look around the room, and find Scab Cy waving me down to a table where a hooded figure sits across from him. The short man wears a plain white mask and a sandy brown cloak that covers his missing right arm. A curved sword is sheathed on his left— and it is clearly for show cuz he is obviously me. This is blatantly just another me.

The plates of food between them is the nail in the coffin that gets me moving. I descend the stairs, making note that the group of travelers have gained another 2 members, the crocodilian is very pointedly reading his book and not looking at us, the [Innkeeper] is subtly glancing, and the [Server] is unsubtly staring.

I approach the table where the two of them wait, notice Scab Cy's mouth moving strangely and without a sound, then feel my ears pop as I enter an uncomfortable radius around them. The sound of his voice returns as his mouth moves normally, and little details like the shuffle of their feet and the clink of the plates settle back into place.

I blink, slightly unnerved and Scab Cy waves me over.

“Privacy spell. Come on, sit down.”

I do, staring at the masked figure for a moment as he digs through a bag at his side.

“First things first,” Masked Cy says, pulling out a signet ring. The symbol atop it shifts slightly, like a moving Rorschach image.

“Put this on.” he says, setting it down on the table in a spot behind a plate, away from view.

I hesitate, but do as he asks, fitting it on my left hand, seeing as I'm going to lose my right sometime in the future.

“Advanced anti-appraisal. A tier 6.5 skill or spell can break through it, and dragons n’ stuff, but it's no use hiding from that level of person anyways.” Masked Cy rattles off.

“Be glad we've got some friends.” He continues with a sigh, then turns to Scab Cy.

“I'm getting real tired of the clerical work already. Tell me it gets easier. I don't care if it's a lie.”

Scab Cy chuckles, taking a little pastry covered in powdered sugar into his mouth and speaking around it.

“It gets easier. Once ya start researching the options you can go a little insane which makes the whole thing a bit more fun. Plus, Alex is easy to trick into helping.”

Masked Cy grabs a pastry as well and I follow suit. He slips one under his mask and they're delicious. I start carving off a bit of the roasted bird in the center of the table as the two future versions of myself chat.

“I must get a lot more familiar with her by the end of this, cuz she still scares the shit outta me.”

Scab Cy laughs. “Oh she can be scary, for sure, you don't get to her age and size without being able to level at least one city— but she's a huuuge dweeb. Promise.”

Masked Cy gives half a shrug.

“Whatever you say.”

He looks towards me, though his entire face is hidden behind the mask.

“So, kid, long time no see. Ready to get down to brass taxes?”

“Hey.” I say. “Still missing the arm so I'm guessing this isn't too long after you popped out of the bird guy during the tutor coupon thing?”

They both laugh nostalgically.

“Yeah, that's about right. Sorry about that, I might've overdone it on the painkillers. Effective though.”

“Yeah…” I say. “But what ‘brass taxes’ are we even doing?”

Masked Cy hoists a leather bag from the floor onto the table. I can feel the eyes in the inn locking onto it.

“Gearing you up.”

He flips open the bag and begins pulling things out one at a time. A book, another ring, several pairs of folded pants, a pair of boots, and several healing potions in a little sectioned wooden tray. He speaks as he pulls them out.

“Keep in mind I'm not exactly giving you Excalibur here. Besides the ring, this stuff is actually kinda shit. Firstly, cuz if we just hand stuff to you, you'll never level— same reason we don't fight your battles. Future you might level, but you're just making it take that much longer to get there. We're tryna wean ya off of crutches here.”

“Secondly, even if we gave you the preemo stuff, you wouldn't be able to use it to its utmost. It'd be a bit of a waste and just draw unnecessary attention.”

“So, we've got a spell book with some simple tier 1 and 2 spells. Your journal has most of these, but you don't exactly have that right now.”

“We've got a ring of simple deflection. Deflects a single projectile under 150 mph. Projectiles faster than that might get deflected into an arm or still hit you. Takes 23 hours to recharge.”

“One projectile a day? I know you said this isn't the best gear but don't arrows usually come in volleys? Do you know how many rounds an m16 fires a second?” I ask.

“Ey, kid, if you know it, I know it. And don't sneer at this, it's essentially an extra life once a day. A lotta people die to things they don't see coming. Now, at least, it'll take two shots.” Masked Cy replies.

“Finally,” he continues, “we got the healing potions. Standard grade, not boot juice. You can tell I didn't make them myself. These are more expensive than you'd think, get the book back before you buy more so ya don't get scammed. But, that about does it.” Masked Cy finishes, forking a bit of the seasoned meat under his mask.

“What about the pants and boots?” I ask, sliding the items over the table to me, slipping the ring on my left hand.

“They're just extra pants and boots. I know you don't have spares, so, did some shopping. You're welcome.”

“Thanks.” I reply, trying to hide the disappointment from my voice.

“I'd actually put the ring of deflection on the right hand.” Scab Cy says, and I doubtfully follow the advice of the man that lost his entire right side.

“Not an issue now, cuz we handpicked the items, but some magic items don't play nice.”

“Oh yeah.” Masked Cy agrees around a mouth of toucan chicken. “Never put something with dimensional magic in a bag of holding. Very expensive way to get flayed.”

“That’s the big one, but magic items get enchanted different ways or might have conflicting effects and might violently interact. It's called enchantment dissonance. It's why you'll never see someone wearing 5 rings on each hand— unless they're all garbage enchantments like allergy neutralization.” Scab Cy expounds.

“Ey, don't diss allergy neutralization. Buckwheat’s not bad. But yeah, high level people usually have one or two really powerful items, and a few mid-grade. The potent stuff makes an accordingly potent explosion when it’s dissonant. I've seen a guy get turned inside out from it before. He was like a fleshy mosaic of bones.” Masked Cy remarks with a shudder.

I set the fork of meat back down and look away from the open ribcage of the roasted bird in front of me.

“Is there a way to tell when items are dissonant, or do you find out the hard way?” I ask.

“Sure. If items start humming, vibrating, or heating up; throw one.” Scab Cy says.

I take a mental note with a nod.

“Well, looks like the server and the Innkeeper are arguing about serving us, so that's about my cue to leave.” Masked Cy says, and I subtly glance behind me to see the server whispering nervously to the man behind the bar.

Masked Cy raises a hand, and black smoke coalesces into a little black leather book in his hand. He sets it on the table, and jots something down.

“Nice to get that one checked off. Now for…” a deep sigh. “Several months of research. Yippee. Shake my hand and pay for the meal to make this look more official.” He says, extending his left hand for Scab Cy to shake.

They shake, and Masked Cy walks off, shooting a glance towards the crocodilian and thanking the staff for the food.

Scab Cy adjusts his seat, grabbing another two pastries, and speaks to me without looking.

“We've gotta get working here soon to catch up with that lizard. Leaving them with the book for too long could have… consequences. So, I'd start working on that spellbook while ya finish eating. I'll drop the privacy spell in a second and then we're back in character.”

I nod, and crack open the book. There's some kind of foreword that mixes in with the table of contents. I skim it, getting the vibe that this is a textbook that is supposed to be worked in alongside an actual class. Probably one of the ones the professor wrote themself and changes the font every year to force students to buy the newest.

A few interesting ones catch my eye and imagination, but if we're ironically pressed for time…

—competency with tier 1 temperature and elemental spells, a unit on the combination of the two concepts will begin, surrounding the example spell, [Frostbite]—

“How are we finding everything?” The nervous server asks with that practiced saccharine tone.

I look up from my book with a genuine and fiendish smile that probably doesn't help the poor girl's nerves or our appearance.

“Absolutely wonderful. Thank you.”

***

A man dressed in travelling clothes sits back down at the table with his compatriots in this scenic little inn.

3 of them lean and laugh, keeping up the charade of good cheer and conversation, but carefully eye the man pulling out the chair and sitting down.

A woman with cloth wrapped around most of her head leans in and whispers to him.

“So?”

The man looks away from her, to the man next to him. His smiley expression doesn't match his words as he replies while pretending to have a different conversation.

“I followed their masked contact well past the edge of town. I think they might've noticed me, and they suddenly disappeared. Marks on the ground suggest teleportation.”

“Damn. That's tier 5 magic. Scroll? Who was that?” The woman asks, quietly, thumbing the daggers at her side.

Her gaze turns to the 2 nearly identical young men on the other end of the inn.

“More importantly, who are they?”