Lost

The sun beat down on the hard packed dirt, scorching all with heat. It was the middle of the summer, and the sun burned everything and everyone. Trees swaying in the breeze and heat rising off the road, the crops thirsting for water.

A lone figure slowly walked down the road, headed towards the small farming village. It wore a black cloak and a hood was pulled up over his head. Thin, pitch black clothes, and a sword on his back.

‘Crunch, crunch, crunch,’ went the hooded figure’s boots on the dirt that slowly turned to gravel. Lost ignored the farmers out in the fields staring at him. He was wrapped up in his own world, sulking and angry of his failure.

‘Nearly at the village. Then I can get some food and information,’ Lost angrily thought.

It had been 3 days since magic was released upon the world, 3 days since he failed. He used to have a different name, but it didn't seem to fit him anymore. It was a bitter reminder of the past- of who he was. He had settled on a name on the first day: Lost.

It made sense, after all he had lost. He was Lost, the failure hero. It was also a reminder to do better, not to fail this time.

Thinking over these things, Lost entered the village and headed toward a small tavern. The village was small, but not too small. It had a few shops interspersed on the roads and between houses. The buildings were made of wood and stone.

‘How long has it been? How long since I trapped the magic?’ Lost thought bitterly. He was angry, no fuming and raging.

He swung the wooden door of the tavern in, a little to hard. Causing it to bang against the wall. Eyes turned towards him, with surprise. Lost took a few steps into the tavern, looking around the room, a strong smell of alcohol and charred meat wafted towards him. There were a few patrons at tables and at the bar.

They all looked at him, questioning and sizing him up. He closed the door and walked up to the bar. Lost grabbed a stool on the far side of the bar and sat down in it, away from everyone else.

The bar keep walked up to him and grunted a, “What can I get you?”

Lost looked up at the man, he had a peppered black beard and a bald head. His skin was rough and browned from being in the sun. He wore a grease stained apron over worn brown clothes.

The bar keeper handed him a thick sheet of paper, the menu. Neat handwriting listed all the drinks and food. There weren't many.

Lost scanned the paper with his eerily glowing amber eyes. After reading it a few times, he decided on a simple meal.

“Can I have your strongest beer and a plate of chicken, please?” He asked the barkeeper, handing back the menu. There was nothing wrong with manners, even when you were in a bad mood.

The bar keep grunted and walked off with the menu. He walked into the back, probably where the fire was. Lost waited for a few minutes and his food was brought to him. By now all the patrons had gone back to their conversations and meals.

“Thank you,” Lost said to the bearded man, who grunted acknowledgment and walked off toward the other customers.

Lost was starving so he grabbed a slice of seasoned meat off the plate and shoved it in his mouth. It had a slippery texture, but no flavor. Lost gulped it down, not tasting anything. He moaned, it smelled so good!

Once he had escaped the underground catacombs, he had wandered for a while till he found a road. By the end of the day he was ravenous and stopped when he spotted a bush.

It was covered in reddish orange berries, not caring if they were poisonous, Lost had grabbed a handful of the berries. He had shoved it in his mouth. He was expecting a bitter or sweet taste, but there was nothing. They had no flavor, or that's what he thought. He tried a few different berries on surrounding bushes, looking for something with at least some flavor. But all of them were tasteless.

Eventually he had come to a conclusion over his three day walk. The magic had brought him back to life, somehow, but hadn't brought everything back.

It had repaired everything, but apparently it hadn't gotten to his taste buds. Lost had shouted out in frustration, he couldn't taste anything. Nothing. He even tried a piece of grass and found it had no taste. He could feel it in his mouth, but not taste it. This piece of knowledge had only added to his bad mood. It also made him wonder what else was different or missing from this new body.

Lost took another bite of the chicken, chewing and gulping it down. He grabbed the mug of beer and took a long swig. He planned to drown his sorrows in beer.

Once he had finished off the beer he ordered another one, and another. After a while, he begrudgingly finished off the chicken and handed the wooden plate to the bar keeper. Expecting the effects of the beer to take him any minute, Lost sat in silence. He looked down at the polished wood of the bar counter.

It never came, the beer didn't even have a flavor. Its effects never hit.

‘So I can't taste anything and can't get drunk. Damn magic! Well, I might as well see what info I can get on this new world since I can't get drunk.’ Lost thought, his mood darkening even more.

He called for the bar keep, and asked, “What year is it?”

The bar keeper let out a short laugh and answered, “What year? Its 1276, the age of Bracken.”

Lost was shocked, he had been dead for over a thousand years. He asked his next question.

“What kingdom am I in?”

The bar keeper looked at him, questioning and responded, “There ‘aven't been kingdoms in hundreds of years. Who exactly are you?”

Lost glared at him, his glowing amber eyes the only thing showing from under his black hood.

“Where am I?” He tried again.

“Haha! You are in the country of Hessa, ruled over by the Great Emperor Bracken the 23rd.”

Lost mulled over this information. It would appear that kingdoms were a thing of the past. ‘I wonder what else has changed.’

“How much for the meal?” Lost asked, he didn't know how much currency had changed since he died.

“Five coppers, plus drinks,” The bar keeper responded.

Lost went down to his belt and pulled out his only money. He didn't have any coins, but he did have money. Lost pulled out a small chunk of pure silver and set it on the counter. His money pouch was filled with them. They had been a gift to help him in his past life.

The bar keeper’s eyes opened up in surprise. Lost guessed he overpaid. The bar keeper picked up the small chunk of silver and peered at it.

Lost looked around the tavern, some of the patrons had noticed. He should leave before they came after him.

“Keep the change,” Lost said getting up off the stool and walking toward the door. Behind him he heard the incoherent bubbling of the bar keeper and the sound of people getting out the their chairs.

Lost closed the door behind him and started to walk down the gravel road out of the village. A few moments later two men opened the door and followed him out.

Lost headed into an alleyway, so as not to draw attention to what was about to happen. The alley way ended in a dead end, it was filled with trash and smelled horrible. It was out of view from the street.

“Perfect,” He said to himself. He was in a bad mood and needed to blow off some steam. Two men from the tavern strolled into the alley way.

They each wore a simple leather breastplate over dirty white shirts and brown pants. Each holding a rusted iron sword, faces were twisted into ugly smiles. They looked identical, probably brothers. They had brown hair and stubble on chiseled chins.

“Hand over all yer silver, adventurer and we won't hurt you,” said the taller of the two men.

“Now why would I do that?” Lost asked, peering at them from under his hood. He was shorter than both of them, by at least a couple inches.

The other man snorted, then answered, “Because if you don't, we will kill you. You’re out numbered, kid. Just hand over the silver and you won't get hurt.”

Lost was annoyed, why did people think they could do anything they wanted?

“I'll think about it, but first a question.”

“What?” Both men answered in unison confusion evident on their faces.

“Alright. So, how much did I just pay the bar keeper?” Lost was genuinely curious how much he had paid, it was good to know how much money you had.

The shorter of the men shrugged, “You paid him over a hundred gold pieces. Now hand over the silver.”

Lost lifted his eyebrows in surprise. Back before he died the silver chunks would have been worth a hundred coppers.

“Well, I have decided. I’m not going to give you my money,” Lost said in a deadpan voice.

“Stop kidding yerself, just hand over the money.” The taller of the men said, his voice slightly shaky and his sword point leveled at Lost’s chest.

“No,” Lost said.

“You little punk, prepare to die!” The shorter of the two men said, and he charged at Lost. He held his iron sword over his head, ready to strike Lost down.

Lost didn't budge an inch. When the sword came down on his head, he turned to the side, letting it hit the ground with a clang.

He grabbed the man's wrist with one of his pale hands. Twisting and the wet sound of bone breaking could be heard. The man dropped the sword and screamed, falling to the ground. He clutched his now broken wrist in his hand.

The taller of the men looked shocked, then his expression twisted to anger.

“Demon!” He shouted, running towards Lost. He swung his sword in a sideways arc.

Lost jumped back, dodging the swing.

“You have terrible form,” Lost commented as the man came back around for a stab this time.

Lost easily dodged the stab, stepping behind the man. He brought his hand down in a karate chop, hitting the man on the back of the neck. The man stumbled to the ground, dropping his sword in the process. He let out a cry of pain, and went into unconsciousness.

“Oops, I'm sorry. You caught me in a bad mood,” Lost said still in a deadpan voice. He stepped over to the now whimpering man with a broken wrist.

“Yer a monster,” whimpered the cutpurse as he saw Lost standing over him.

“Hardly, but there will be plenty of those around here soon. Now, you will answer my questions and I’ll let you live,” Lost said, kneeling down in front of the man.

The cutpurse didn't answer, only whimpering and clutching his wrist to his chest. It was bent in an awkward angle.

“Alright. First question, where can I get a map of this country?” Lost asked politely, like nothing had happened.

The man didn't respond, still clutching his hand.

“Come on. If you don’t answer I’m going to have to break a few more bones.”

“Okay, okay! You can get a map at Barley’s shop, it's on the edge of the village. Just follow the road south from the center of town.”

“Alright, good. Now second question. Are the eleven forces of Jurack still alive?”

The man whimpered and responded, “Yer insane. The elves would kill you on site.”

“Answer the question.”

“YES! The elves are still alive… Just head north, that's the border of the country, into theirs.” He shouted in pain, now crying. Lost frowned, it wasn't exactly the answer he wanted, but hopefully these were the same elves.

“Well, that's it. Thank you,” Lost said, standing up, “Oh, and here; For your troubles.”

Lost took two pieces of silver out and threw them in front of the man on the ground. He felt bad, but not that bad. The man was a cutpurse. He wouldn't have been able to do work, the wrist was broken. His hand would be useless, probably would be best to amputate it.

The man didn't even acknowledge the silver nuggets.

Lost picked up both of the men's swords. He held one in each hand and inspected them. They were old and weren't taken care of properly. The craftsmen ship was bad too. Lost set one of the swords down and grabbed the other one’s blade. He promptly bent it in half, making it useless. He did the same with the other one and threw them down.

“Well, bye. Nice doing business with ya,” Lost said walking out of the alley, headed towards the center of town to buy a map. He planned on visiting a few friends.