by R. A. Mejia
Instead, he bent over and vomited on my feet. I’d have winced in disgust had my faceplate been capable of it. Instead, I stepped to the side as my friend heaved his excess of alcohol out. When he was done, he passed out, and I carried him home.
Chapter 3 - Possibilities
I left Greebo snoring in his bed at the boarding house where he shared a room with a dozen other goblins. As I left, I wondered if he would move out now that he’d finally reached his goal of getting his class or if he’d stay there to save money. He’d been saving for so long, I wasn’t sure if he realized how much extra coin he’d soon have.
As I traveled out of the Northern District, I noticed that the area was still full of life despite the late hour. People hung lanterns outside their homes, and the full moon illuminated the city streets. Young people were busy drinking, singing, and carousing, and children were running around, clearly excited to be up so late. A group of young goblins in work clothes sang as they drunkenly walked down the street. Music played from every tavern and bar that I passed, and each was filled with people from the community.
Those who were middle-aged or older gathered together in small intimate groups and talked quietly, almost reverently, and I caught snatches of conversations about fallen friends and relatives. Occasionally, some of the oldest gestured south toward the center of town with something like either anger or contempt in their expressions and gestures.
A pair of withered-looking, obviously-married old trolls were seated on their second-story porch, rocking back and forth in their chairs. Their blue skin sagged over their large frames, their white eyebrows grew in long tufts, and they craned forward under hunched backs, somberly talking as they looked out at everyone.
As I walked south and got closer to the center of town where the dungeon was located, the makeup of the revelers shifted and became more diverse. Humans started to appear in the mix along with dwarfs and gnomes. There were a couple of drunken arguments, but for the most part, everyone seemed happier and more cheerful.
It wasn’t until I was halfway through the crowded center of town and I actually stopped to listen to a drunken group of humans arguing that I got my first clue as to why everyone was celebrating.
One short, balding guy poked his finger into the chest of his taller, drunker, bearded friend. “I tells you, Shaun, this is my favorite holiday of the year. The day we signed the Accords and put an end to the seven-year war. My father fought in that terrible war, and he says that he wept when it was all done. So many of his friends had died that he was just glad it was over.”
“Yes, yes, Alvin. You tell me the same thing every Remembrance Day. It was a terrible war fought between them monsters and us. And all over, what? The dungeons? Your grandpappy was right to be glad it was done. We won, they lost, and we’ve all been living together since. Here, let's go home before you start telling me about that time you almost spent the night with that succubus girl.”
“Oh, have I told you about Stacy? She had such a lovely shade of red to her skin. Maybe I should try to find her?”
The conversation drifted into Alvin’s long detailed account of how he missed a chance with the love of his life as Shaun tried to get him to go home.
It was a holiday. That was why everyone in the city seemed to be celebrating. In my last life, after my folks died, I never had anyone to celebrate the holidays with, and I certainly never celebrated the end of any wars. Though, I could imagine that the folks that lived through the world wars would have.
My thoughts were interrupted by the greeting of a familiar feminine gnome guard, Niala Applebrush. “Hello, Repair. How are you enjoying Remembrance Day?”
The four-foot-eight-inch tall Niala was wearing a long-sleeved, striped grey dress with a floor-length hemline and a neckline that went up to her chin. There was a tight black belt cinched around her waist, and the corset beneath the dress gave her an enticingly exaggerated hourglass figure. Her dark curls were up in a Pompadour style hairdo that, combined with her high-collared dress, elongated the look of her neck.
The look was a stark contrast to the full platemail she normally wore when she was on guard duty at the Gnomish Research Institute. If not for her familiar voice, bright blue eyes, and rosy cheeks, I might not have recognized her. I was so stunned by the attractive transformation of the guard I’d chatted with that I just stared at her. If I had a mouth, it would have been hanging open.
She snapped her fingers at me and asked, “You alright there? You’ve been staring at me for a minute. I know I look a bit different from when I’m on the job, but it's me--Niala.”
I was thankful that my Metalman frame didn't have the ability to blush out of embarrassment from being caught staring and that I was able to play it cool. Using a move I recalled seeing in the movie Pride and Prejudice, I put my right hand to my stomach, bowed from the waist a few inches, and answered. “I’m sorry, Niala. I was just admiring the lovely figure you cut in that dress. You’re quite right that I almost didn't recognize you in the fetching outfit, but I’m very glad to get the chance to see you outside that armor you normally wear.”
I could see her cheeks redden and she stepped closer. “Oh, yes. It’s good to see you too. Are you enjoying your Remembrance Day?”
I shrugged and held up my hands open-palmed in a gesture of unsureness. “I’m afraid that this is my first experience with the holiday. If I’m being honest, I’m not even sure what it’s about.”
She put her hands on her hips and gave a small giggle. “Oh, well, I could explain it all to you and show you the best places in the city to celebrate if you wanted.”
While I’d planned to spend the night crafting and planning for the future, the temptation of a celebration and the opportunity to spend some time with the admittedly fetching Niala was something I could not pass up. “I’d be delighted if you would be my guide tonight,” I answered, giving her two thumbs up, my non-verbal gesture for a smile.
She smiled and reached up to take my arm and escorted me through the massive celebration in the center of town. There were musicians, food and drink stalls, and all manner of merrymaking. She guided me to a bakery in a quieter part of the city center and then said, “This place has the best pastries in town. They make a special dessert just for Remembrance Day. You want to try one?”
“Sorry, I don’t eat,” I said, pointing to my faceplate and the lack of a mouth. “But, please, don’t let that stop you from enjoying one.”
She made a small silent ‘O’ with her mouth and patted my arm consolingly. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. I don’t think I could stand that. I love to eat. Especially sweets.” She patted her trim stomach and continued, “Thankfully, my job and my training keep me in good shape.” She got in line and bought a hand-sized square dessert with a flaky sugar crust and red filling, and then we sat at a table just outside the establishment while she ate.
I watched as she took her first bite of the pastry. Her eyes closed, and she moaned softly. “Is it that good?” I asked.
She nodded enthusiastically and took another bite.
I longed to taste the delicious-looking dessert and internally mourned my loss of the ability to eat. It was one of the very few drawbacks I’d found to choosing the Metalman race after reincarnating. I’d loved eating and drinking in my last life on Earth. Sure, it’d contributed to my heart attack and death, but that didn’t mean that I didn’t miss food.
“Niala, would you mind if I asked you a favor?”
She paused her chewing and looked up at me. “Sure.”
“Uh, would you mind describing what you're experiencing while eating?”
Her eyebrows raised, and she leaned back from me. I quickly explained, “I don’t know exactly how much you know about what the researchers at the Institute did to bring me here, but originally, I could eat like everyone else. It’s only since I woke up in this Metalman body that I couldn’t eat, and I miss it a lot.”
Her expression softened, and she patted my hand. “That’s
a terrible sacrifice, and while I think you look very fine all in metal and sculpted like you are, I don’t know that I could do the same. I’ll tell you what the pastry tastes like, and afterward, I tell you about Remembrance Day.”
I gave her two thumbs up and waited anxiously for her to describe what she ate.
She took another bite and pursed her lips as she thought about what she experienced. “The pastry is called a Remembrance Square, and it’s made from ground Wheetle. The outside is buttery and flaky and is so tender it practically melts in your mouth. But it’s the sweet Nobleberries that make it special. They’re imported from the south where they were planted after the war ended and are a unique mix of flavors. The first bite floods your mouth with a tartness that makes your mouth pucker, but it soon melts as the sweet juice hits your tongue. The quick mix sends a shiver down my spine with every bite.” She nodded to herself and finished off the second pastry then said. “Yes. That’s the best I can describe it, I’m afraid.”
I sat transfixed by her detailed description of the food. I’d never expected such a clear description but was grateful that she’d gone along with the request. I could almost taste the pastry myself as she described what she experienced. It was the first time I’d felt that way since I’d woken up on this world. I took her hands in mine and put them up to my faceplate briefly. “Thank you, Niala. You don’t know what it means to me that you did that. I’d kiss you, but again, no lips.”
She blushed and smiled, but didn't pull her hands away. Instead, she said, “You’re welcome. Would you like to hear about Remembrance Day now?”
I nodded but didn’t let her hands go as we sat at the table and she asked, “What do you know about the Dungeon Wars?”
“I’m afraid I know nothing. I haven’t been here that long and know no history about the city or even the country for that matter.”
“Well, it might seem strange to you then. But the dungeon”--she pointed in the general direction of the stairs that led down to the city’s dungeon--“and others like it, have been a source of conflict for thousands of years. There have been countless battles fought over the resource-rich dungeons that dot this part of the continent. Cities have been destroyed and rebuilt by various groups around them, and men and women of all races have vied for the chance to monopolize the resources they provide.
“For hundreds of years, the dark races hoarded the dungeons while the light races to the south had to grow their food and mine for materials. Then a coalition of dwarves, elves, gnomes, and humans came together to take back what we’d lost during the first dungeon war. The battles were brutal with each side deploying armies and unleashing ever more terrible magics. After years at a stalemate with the dungeons changing hands multiple times, the light races used a massive spell that destroyed several dungeons the dark alliance depended on for supplies. It was enough to turn the tides of battle, and the fighting soon ended with the Accords being signed here in this city, finally ending the war.”
I was reminded of the great World Wars on Earth and how terrible they were. Not only had they cost millions of lives, but entire cities and infrastructures were destroyed. The post-war depression some nations experienced resulted in many people starving to death or dying due to political unrest. “What happened then?”
“Well, the Accords stopped the war and declared the light races the victors. But we’d learned that the dark ones would just rise up and start fighting us again if we didn’t give them some kind of place with us. So, the Accords not only created peace, but they also made everyone equals of a sort. The actual management and control of the cities and dungeons would remain with the coalition of light races, but everyone would be able to live in the same cities and access the dungeons regardless of where they came from. There was a lot of tension between the groups who’d just stopped fighting, but boundaries were eventually established, with the dark ones congregating in the Northern District and the rest of us in the Southern District. Year after year, the city expanded and people found wealth as commerce exploded and the resources poured out of the dungeon. The Western crafting district came as more and more craftsmen established themselves, and the Eastern District rose as rich merchants and adventurers built their own fanciful homes.” She gestured to the city around us with one hand and continued, “And here we are. The city Divitiae in all its current glory. Each year, we celebrate the end of the ceaseless battles for the dungeon and remember the sacrifices that our ancestors made to create our peaceful city.”
I listened carefully and could only imagine what it would have been like to try and meld such antagonistic groups after years of fighting. I also recalled the less-than-celebratory mood some people had shown in the Northern District where Greebo and the other dark race people lived, and I wondered if there was some old goblin somewhere telling a different story--one where the light races were pictured as aggressive invaders. It’s something I could ask Greebo about tomorrow.
Yet, I didn't voice my thoughts as it would have been rather impolite and Niala had been a wonderful guide. Instead, I said, “Thank you for the history lesson. I can only imagine how difficult it was for everyone after all those years fighting. But the city seems to be thriving now. Would you mind showing me around the celebration some more?”
Her cheeks reddened again at the compliment to her storytelling, and she popped up out of her seat. We spent the night watching puppet shows that reenacted famous battles, listened to grey-haired dwarves and long-lived elves recount their personal experiences in the war, and we even danced to some of the minstrels that played music and sang songs about the end of the terrible Dungeon Wars.
As we traveled past the center of town and into the more expensive district where only the wealthy lived, the celebration became more muted. There were no goblins or trolls there, only humans, dwarfs, and elves. They walked around in their expensively tailored clothes, drinking from small crystal cups. There was no raucous music, only the polite stringed instruments that accompanied quiet conversations. I found that I much preferred the fun in the center of town, and we returned there.
The night went by in a flash, and as the parties broke up and people started to go home, I once again pressed Niala’s hands to my faceplate, mimicking a sweet kiss, and I told her, “Thank you, dear Niala. I don’t think I’ve ever had such a fun night. I hope we can spend more time together again soon.”
She caressed my hand and looked up at me with a smile. “I hope we can too.”
Then we parted. I headed east toward the Institute, and she went south to where she lived.
Chapter 4 - Scavenger Research
On the walk back to the Gnomish Research Institute, my mind was filled with thoughts of Niala and the history that she’d told me. She was a kind woman, who filled out a dress quite nicely. She’d never treated me like I was the property of the institute. Instead, I’d always been a person to her. I chuckled and found that I definitely liked her more as I spent more time with her.
Yet, as my mind turned toward the history she’d imparted to me, I was sure there was another side to the story. Still, even the victors’ version of the events from the Dungeon Wars gave me a bit of context as to how the goblins, trolls, orcs, and other monster races were treated in the city. They lost the war and thus became second-class citizens in a city that they had helped build. But things could be worse for them. There were countless records in Earth's history books of the conquered being plundered, enslaved, or slaughtered. It seemed like things were better than they could be, but not as good as they should be.
I finally reached the Institute, and I greeted the guards on duty. They nodded back and let me inside the compound. As I walked through the courtyard and through the brick buildings, I recalled just how I had first met the gnomes. When I’d awoken in this world, I had been greeted by a group of gnome researchers who had told me that they’d found my soul floating in the ether and bound it to this Metalman frame. While some among them argued that I was still their property, it had been d
ecided that I qualified as a sentient being and that, as long as I paid back the debt incurred in unearthing this rare Metalman frame, I would be free to live my life as I pleased. I hadn’t realized just how important the idea of being free was to me until I had been considered someone else’s property. Many people in the city treated me like I wasn’t alive, and I had to carry around proof that I belonged to someone.
Thankfully, the gnomes had pointed out a way for me to earn enough coin to pay off the debt. All I had to do was represent them in the Ultimate Research Warrior Competition and help them win. They’d get a massive research grant, and not only would I be able to pay them back, but they would also make sure that I was granted citizenship in this strange new country. I understood that they were using me, but I benefited from the relationship, gaining resources that I might not have otherwise had access to and a measure of protection against some of the enemies I’d made.
I turned the doorknob of the laboratory building and opened the door a crack, but I stopped when I heard a voice say, “I tire of staying up so late for the stupid contraption. I could be working on my own projects, but no, I must spend my time talking to that waste of resources.”
