“You’re saying the Ware is the cause of an apocalypse?”

“Well, to hear Geoff the bartender talk about it, yeah.” Topher started into his second ale. “But what he says does bring up some concerns.”

I found myself in a loop of deciding whether to take another drink or set it down. I eventually chose the latter. “Such as?” I asked.

“It seems the Ware is a magic field that covers Dungeonia. Those who use it have a slight purplish glow around their eyes, and it’s the reason the sky is purple. He said it’s destroying the population by corrupting those who use it. When I asked how it did that, he said he wasn’t a damn library and that it’d be two silver for the pitcher.”

“…’Those who use it’? Is it a choice?”

Topher shrugged. “Or it’s forced on them. If it’s a choice, then people either don’t know about the corruption, or just don’t care. Or Geoff doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

I shook my head. “If those cultists did take ‘too much of the Ware’, then whatever that corruption is explains their behavior. Was that all that you got from him?”

“Not quite; I also ordered us some meat pies. If you want to talk more about the Ware, though, I’m sure you’re welcome to ask.”

I stared at my mug, grabbed it and downed the rest. “Nah, it’ll keep until tomorrow. And I’m sure he’s not the only one who could tell us about it.” I poured my second cup. “Besides which, if the DM is any good, this’ll either be a red herring or one of many contributing parts to whatever the story is.”

“So sayeth the voice of experience,” said Topher.

“Darn straight. Now, you said the lead cultist started auto-healing towards the end of your fight?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Really annoying.”

“The cultists I fended off regenerated too, at least until towards the end. I’m guessing that was because of the Ware. Do you think the Ware in general heals people? Maybe not so quickly, but….”

“I could see it.” He leaned back, taking another drink. Just before setting the mug down, a glint of an idea shined in his eye. “Hey, magical healing is usually done by divine magic, right? Clerics and such?” He abandoned his relaxed posture in favor of facing me full-on, both hands in use for gesticulative description. “So, what if whatever caused it is trying to ween people off the need for divine, magical healing? And eventually, by extension, the gods?” He snapped his fingers, “Trying to sever the populace from divine influence - now that could be apocalypse-worthy.”

I considered for a while. “It’s a long shot,” I said, “but I like it. Or rather, I think it’s a good assumption to start from. Though, in fifth edition, I’m not sure there is a difference between ‘divine’ magic and ‘arcane’. I know if someone has levels in cleric and wizard, using spells from one class would also limit the number of spells you could use from the other class that day, so I think the assumption is ‘magic is magic’, regardless of source. I mean, bards traditionally have arcane magic, but I can cast healing spells.” I gave a shrug. “But I like the idea. Magical healing is mostly done by clerics, I’d imagine. If someone is trying to lessen people’s reliance on the gods, then the Ware is likely just a small part of a bigger picture. And the whole thing could bring disastrous repercussions down on the world if the gods end up being petty, and the bad guys most likely come from a defendable, even sympathetic, position. It’s story gold. Bravo, Topher.” I gave him a sincere golf clap.

He did a courteously small, seated bow. Back in his relaxed position, he smiled at me over his mug. “So, what do you think of Jenn?”

My current seating position suddenly wasn’t comfortable, so I shifted. “She’s cool,” I said, in a noncommittal sort of way.

“…And?”

“And I think things are too stressful for her or us to be thinking of anything but getting through this.”

Topher gave a slow, somehow innocent shrug. “You know what’s good stress relief?”

“I do.” Made sure I cut that off. “And I think Kevin may already have ideas.”

“Kevin? She’s too tall for him.” He gave a dismissive wave.

I laughed. “Well, I’m glad you’ve thought this through. What about you, though?”

“Actually, I—“ He was interrupted as a man, walking with the heavy, unrhythmic steps of someone either drunk or horribly disfigured, fell sideways next to me on the bench. He wasn’t a large man, but did have a disproportionately large, bald head. The smell of death surrounded him.

“Hey, friends,” he slurred terribly. “I see you’ve got two empty cups waiting. Well, I can help with that.” He grabbed the pitcher at the same moment Topher grabbed his arm. The drunk lazily switched perception from the pitcher to him.

Topher’s eyes bored through his bald head. “Go away now,” commanded Topher, whose voice was suddenly layered with a bestial array of low grumbling and growling sounds. I could feel his words reverberate in my stomach, which was quite disconcerting when coupled with the sheer amount of menace he exuded. Must be a half-orc thing. It would definitely explain why they get the intimidation skill for free.

The whole experience washed over the drunk. “C’mon, friend, you got plenty to share. Who are you to keep happiness from spreading?”

Topher bared fangs. “I am Topher…cion. The terrible!” A hint of doubt came and went as he retightened his grip on the man. “Tophercion the Terrible! Look upon my works, ye mighty, and despair!” He wrenched the pitcher from the bewildered man’s grip and dragged him away from the booth, neither of which taking much effort.

“All right, don’t have to be mean,” said the drunk as Topher dropped him.

“Dude’s a loser,” I said as Topher sat back down. “Well done. But make sure he didn’t pickpocket you or anything.” I started checking my bags.

“Yeah, it was best to nip that in the bud. He was the kind of guy who’d take a mile if given an inch. Nope; everything’s still here. He left, anyway, and I’m not in the mood to chase—” Something toward the door caught his eye, and he smiled and started pouring the other cups. “How went the shopping?” he asked.

Kevin and Jenn stepped up to the table, but didn’t sit. “We got the door chain pretty cheap,” said Kevin, “but the locksmith said he can’t install it until tomorrow morning.”

“We still gave him the letter,” added Jenn, “but we’re going to head to Marisa’s with another one, just to be safe. Thought you should know. We’ll be okay; you two stay here and enjoy.”

I was about to put up a fight when Topher said, “I already poured your drinks. It’d be impolite to not toast us.”

“We’ll live,” said Jenn with a smile.

Kevin, however, seemed amenable. “We can spare time for a drink, at least.”

She shot him a quick glare. She had to be tired, as well. “You should sit for a glass. Marisa would understand,” I cajoled.

Jenn might’ve argued if the bartender hadn’t excused himself to get around her and set four breaded pies on our table. Gruffly, he told us, “You guys need anything else, my waitress’ll be here in a few minutes.” He stepped back toward the bar.

“Thanks, Geoff,” Topher raised his glass to him. He didn’t respond.

“Those smell awesome,” said Kevin, sitting next to me.

“I got one for each of us. Figured it’d be a good call - I know I’m hungry.” Topher grabbed a utensil and dug in.

I noticed Jenn staring longingly at the food. “Jenn? While it’s hot?” I pushed a pie towards her with my spoon. If I could just get her to join us, I knew she’d drop the whole ‘note thing’ until tomorrow.

She gave in. “They do smell good,” she said, sitting. I took a triumphant sip.

“These are great,” said Kevin. “Good choice.”

Topher swallowed. “They make up for the mediocrity of the ale,” he said.

“Speaking of,” I raised my drink, “here’s to crashing a cult, pulverizing pixies, seeing scary squirrels and… and… damn, I had something for this….” Everyone’s mugs were held aloft, expectantly.

“…carrying a crying kid out of the clutches of crazies?” offered Jenn.

“Hot damn!” I exclaimed. “Er, I mean… yeah, that’s totally what I was going to say,” I overtly lied.

We toasted. Jenn and Kevin winced a bit at the drink, but pushed past it.

The pies didn’t last long, and neither did the ale once everyone got used to it. We didn’t see a waitress, so Kevin said he’d get the next one. On his return I proposed: “How about we split up the coin? But rather than four ways, we add a party fund which can be drawn upon by majority decision? For food, drinks, rooms for the night and stuff?”

It was agreed. Kevin spilled the coins onto the table, and the sound of gold on gold rang. I looked to see if anyone was watching, but no one seemed interested. All counted, including what was left of Topher’s ten, we had sixty gold coins. We split everything five ways. Jenn was elected to take care of the party fund, and I suggested she give a speech to commemorate her appointment to the position of party treasurer. She declined to speak. I then nominated myself for party leader, followed by Topher and Kevin throwing their hats into the ring. When Jenn abstained from voting, we dropped the subject.

Jenn tapped her fingers on the table. “I should take our note to Marisa.”

God, why wasn’t she dropping this? Still just diversion from her situation? “…Jenn?” She looked at me. “We’ve done a lot for her - saved her baby, given her money, paid for her security - no one can say we haven’t done enough. She’ll get the note first thing in the morning. There’s no way she’d begrudge us having drinks and celebrating our good deeds right now, tonight. Jenn, you deserve to relax.” I took a beat so she’d understand both meanings of my next words. “You’re here, now. Might as well enjoy it.”

Her shoulders slouched. She stared at her mug, fingers rubbing the wood up and down. “‘Good deeds’, huh?” she said.

“Of course,” said Topher. “What would you call saving a baby?”

She shook her head. “No, you’re right. Sorry.” Three gulps later she asked, “So, how does Dungeons and Dragons actually work as a game? How do you win?”

“Same with most other games,” I shrugged. “By having fun.”

“If you specifically mean how are we going to get out of here,” Kevin gestured to all the surroundings, “then we don’t know.”

“You mean there isn’t a way to actually win it?” She looked very concerned. “There’s no… definitive end?”

“When you decide to stop playing, I suppose,” Topher set down his mug. “You take your characters through whatever stories the DM sets up. You gain more and more power until… well, I guess, what, you start a nation? Make sure it thrives?” He looked at us for ideas.

“I always thought the ultimate end for an adventurer was godhood,” said Kevin.

“Godhood?” repeated Jenn, halfway between curiosity and concern.

“Yeah,” Kevin took a sip. “We said there tend to be lots of gods in D&D worlds, right? Depending on the world, mortals can ascend into gods. It’s quite rare, though.”

“Most characters die or are retired before then,” I clarified.

“Retired, which is what you mean by ‘stop playing’?”

I nodded. “Yeah, when players get bored with their characters and feel they’d have more fun with new ones, generally the old characters retire. And live happily ever after.”

“We hope,” said Kevin into his mug.

“So how do you think it’s going to apply to this place?” asked Jenn. “Can’t we just… retire? Say we’re not going to adventure?”

“Maybe…” Topher started thinking.

“Not adventuring is a great way to piss the DM off,” I said. “But fortunately, most players go into D&D with the idea that their characters are going on an adventure. And if they started saying they were going to stay put and never leave their homes, as a DM I’d have something attack them, destroy their home and spurn them onto something.”

“Umm,” Topher seemed to be thinking about how to word his thoughts, “if the players actually want to stop adventuring, that’s the same thing as retiring, isn’t it?”

“Well, yeah.” I thought about it. “I guess the difference lies in whether or not they get up and leave the D&D table, or something,” I said.

“And we can’t leave the table,” muttered Kevin.

Jenn was getting frustrated. “So we’re just stuck here? No way out?”

“Well, we could always die,” offered Topher. “That’d at least be a way out, at least. We just don’t know if we’ll go back home when that happens.”

“That’s true; most D&D worlds have afterlives,” nodded Kevin. “We could end up going to whatever realm our alignments or beliefs dictate.”

“Or to whatever afterlife or nonexistence home has for us,” I added under my breath. I looked up at the others. “Well, I guess there’s three real ways we’ll have to look into to get back home without dying. Any or all of them might be inclusive.” I poured another ale and downed it in two seconds - a trick I learned back when my diet was almost nothing but whey protein mixed with water.

“And what are they?” asked Jenn, impatiently.

“I’m only seeing one,” said Topher. “We get through whatever story the DM has in store for us.”

“That’s the first one,” I agreed. “And probably the most likely. The second one, like Kevin pointed out earlier, has to do with how there might be other adventurers from our world. There’s a chance we’re all competing with each other to do something, we’ll just have to figure out what.”

“So you’re saying those could be inclusive because we might be competing with other adventurers to complete the story?” asked Kevin.

“Basically,” I affirmed. “And they might not be inclusive, and the idea is to find a specific artifact or something that can take us home.”

“And the third?”

“Again, what Kevin said,” I smiled. “Godhood. One or all of us become gods and use whatever powers that gives us to go back home.”

“There’s no guarantee a D&D god’s power will be enough to get us home,” said Topher.

“No guarantee any of those will get us home,” pointed out Jenn, despondently.

“True,” I said. “In which case, I guess we’re just stuck until whatever powers-that-be show us mercy.” Everyone went quiet. I poured another ale.

“Then let’s focus on what we can do,” said Topher. “Which is to search for a story and other adventurers from our world. Also to gain experience so we can become gods.”

Kevin raised his mug. “To doing what we can.”

It was toasted. We rehashed everything that had happened, went through two more pitchers, got rooms, and called it an early night.

I couldn’t sleep.

It might’ve been because of all the excitement and unpredictability of the day, or it might’ve been the straw mattress that seemed to also be filled with pissed off imps wielding pitchforks. Or it might’ve been Topher’s incessant snoring. We three guys had taken one room and, while there was a fourth bed, Jenn decided to get her own room. I’d been staring up at the ceiling for an hour, at least. I used to have insomnia, so this was nothing new. I turned to the next bed. Topher slept on his stomach, mouth open. His massive back rose and fell with each cacophonous breath. He looked… too peaceful. I thought about smothering him with a pillow, but decided against it. I didn’t recall him ever snoring before. I would’ve noticed if it was this loud, him being in the next room of the apartment. Those tusks must've been messing with things.

Cripes - he was turned into a half-orc. I tried to take it in stride earlier, but Holy Freaking Hell. I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. Not to mention Kevin turning into an elf, or my newly discovered magic limb that reaches into my soul to rip emotions out to cast spells. I didn’t mind the world itself so much - it was all new, which made it all easier, I guess. New besides D&D rules, of course. Everything else, though….

I wasn’t going to sleep anytime soon. I rolled off the bed, letting whatever monsters were in it take their parting stabs at me. My boots slid on. I was already wearing some clothes - they were a desperate attempt to keep the bed imps at bay. The leather armor was too rigid to really sleep in. Heading to the door, I heard Kevin: “Can’t sleep?”

“No, I always sleepwalk when trapped in fantasy worlds. You know that.”

“Of course. Stay safe.”

I grumbled in response, opened the door, reconsidered what ‘safe’ meant here, went to where I heaped all my stuff, grabbed my dagger, tucked it away, and then quietly left. The hall was lit by a few candles, and more light was coming from the bar, one floor below. I went downstairs.

“Something to drink, hon?” A lady was sweeping up. I saw the bald drunk from earlier lying flat on his back, unconscious, atop a table. He had come back later in the evening, but mercifully left the four of us alone. The bar was empty otherwise.

“No thanks, just going outside for a bit. Maybe when I get back.” I stepped quickly through the room, avoiding tables.

“Well, just don’t drag mud onto my clean floor….” She trailed off as I walked out into the cicada screeching outdoors.

Wow.

Toledo isn’t a terribly large city, as metropolises go. Detroit is bigger, and fairly close by America’s standards. Both are fairly lit up in after sundown, and because of this, at night only the most determined of stars can be seen.

This night sky was a diamond blanket. A purple diamond blanket, but still. It was almost blinding. I could hold out my hand and cover a thousand specks of light. They were everywhere, from horizon to horizon, nothing but stars. It took my breath away. I always loved looking at stars. They were the closest thing to infinity I could find. When I would stare up at them, I could almost feel my feet give away and be swept up by the vast and incomprehensible nothing that separated me from them. Connected only by light.

So, again: Wow.

“Nice night.”

I turned to see Jenn coming out of the bar. She looked completely different - maybe it was because this was the first time I saw her out of her armor. Or because of the starlight. Looking at her, I noticed her body had lean, streamlined muscle under her clothes, and she moved with a fluid grace that incorporated all of her…. Er, yeah, it was probably the lack of armor that made her look different.

I quickly looked back to the sky. “I love looking at stars,” I said, quietly.

She moved next to me. “…Being purple kind of makes them look weird.”

I shrugged. “Still pretty.”

“Any familiar constellations? What about a moon?”

That thought hadn’t occurred to me. As much as I liked stars, I only knew how to spot a few constellations - the Dippers, Orion, and Cassiopeia. There were so many stars, it was almost hard to pick out the brighter ones. I did my best, though….

“…No, I’m not seeing anything familiar. Not that I know too many constellations. There’s the moon,” I pointed to it.

“Um, there’s nothing there,” she said.

“Exactly; it must be a new moon. Unless there’s some other reason a chunk of the sky is just dark, it’s the moon blocking the stars. I don’t suppose you recognize anything?”

She shook her head. “No.” I took a second to watch her look towards the heavens. “I wonder if this world has its own mythic figures in the sky,” she thought aloud.

“Probably,” I said. “I remember a world where the constellations were representative of the gods, and when one would disappear, it meant that god was walking among mortals.”

“Maybe that’s why some of the stars are missing.”

“Heh. Could be.” I closed my eyes, breathed in the warm night air. “Hey, the cicadas stopped. I’d have thought there’d be more noise coming from the woods.” I looked towards them. The edge was only a couple blocks away.

“You’re right,” she said. “It was really loud earlier….”

A loud smacking sound made us jump. We looked behind to see the bald drunk, eyes puffy, stumble out of the bar, accidentally slamming the door behind him. Must’ve been kicked out. After a couple steps he stood still, as though precariously balanced, until he leaned a bit too far one way. He managed to keep his feet under him, albeit slightly behind, which amounted to him making a stalling jog off in the direction of the forest. When he finally got his bearings, he kept going. I found myself relieved he didn’t stop to chat.

We watched him go. “Was that the guy you and Topher told us about?” Jenn asked.

The man had started using buildings for support. I shook my head. “Yeah. Part of me hopes he gets home alright, another hopes just enough bad stuff happens to make him reexamine his life.”

“He was buying his own drinks when I saw him. Why would he need to bother you two for beer earlier?”

I looked at her. “Are you saying free beer isn’t worth pursuing?”

“You know what I mean,” she said, rolling her eyes amusedly. “Why approach two large, armed men over beer? Just that drunk?”

“Probably.” The man disappeared down an alley, and I lost interest in the subject. “What were we talking about before?”

“How quiet the forest is.”

“Oh, right,” I nodded. “Think it’s always like this, or is it just tonight? I mean, do you suppose—“

My thoughts were cut short by a deafening explosion. The block nearest the forest went up in flames.