Chapter 3: Tavern Talk

  Bromm led the way back to the inn, his boots crunching against the dirt path. The evening air had cooled, but as we neared The Frog Leg, something warm and inviting cut through the crisp breeze. A rich, nutty aroma curled through the air—sweet, earthy, and unbelievably mouthwatering.

  I inhaled deeply, my stomach tightening with sudden, primal hunger. “Oh, man. What is that smell?”

  Bromm smirked. “Heh, that’d be Ferowen.”

  I blinked. “Ferowen?”

  “Wild Loaf Bread,” he clarified. “Good eatin’. Made from foraged nuts an’ wild grains. Got a bit of honey in it, too. The lass runnin’ the kitchen at The Frog Leg bakes a fresh batch every few days.”

  My stomach growled in response. I hadn’t even thought about food until now, but that scent flipped a switch in my brain. Whatever that bread was, I needed it in my life. Immediately.

  Bromm chuckled. “Aye, you’ll like it. But first…” He patted the coin pouch at his hip. “That drink.”

  I grinned. “Yeah. I think you’ve earned it.” With that, we stepped through the inn’s heavy wooden doors, the warm glow of lantern light spilling out to welcome us inside.

  If I had been asked to picture the perfect fantasy tavern, this would’ve been it. The place was alive—loud, warm, and packed with more personality than I knew what to do with. Massive kegs lined the back wall, their taps dripping frothy white foam into overflowing tankards. A lively band played something fast and upbeat, the kind of tune that made you want to tap your foot whether you meant to or not. In the center of the room, a wide stone hearth housed a roaring fire, its flames licking upward and casting golden light across the ceiling beams. The air hummed with conversation, the lanterns casting a warm glow across worn wooden tables. The scent of roasted meat, spiced ale, and the faint tang of wood smoke thickened the air.

  Laughter rang out from a group of humans near the hearth—hunters, judging by their rough leathers and the battered bows propped against the wall. One of them, a burly man with a patchwork cloak slung over his shoulders, slammed a scarred hand down on the table, barking out a victory as dice clattered across the wood. His companions groaned, one tossing a coin onto the pile in defeat. At another table, another pair of humans—arguing over a rolled piece of parchment, their voices low but sharp, each jabbing a finger at whatever deal they were trying to cut. One wore a dark blue doublet embroidered with silver thread, while the other, in a patched and stained vest, scowled over a tankard that was half-empty.

  Most of the patrons were human, their faces weathered from travel or work, their clothes simple but well-worn—tunics rolled to the elbows, sturdy boots caked in dirt, belts weighed down with pouches and small tools. But a few stood out. Near the bar, two dwarves sat side by side, yet they couldn’t have been more different. One sat in silence, his beard tucked neatly into his belt as he studied a mug of ale like it held the answers to life itself. His heavy wool coat, dusted with travel grime, stretched over broad shoulders, its sleeves rolled up to reveal thick forearms crisscrossed with faded scars. Beside him, his companion was the complete opposite—broader, louder, and already deep into his cups. He clapped a heavy hand on the counter, gesturing wildly as he spoke, his thick leather jerkin, reinforced with iron studs, creaking as he threw his head back in laughter. His cheeks were flushed, his voice booming over the din, words slurring at the edges as he regaled the bar with some exaggerated tale. The first dwarf merely exhaled, shaking his head as he sipped his drink.

  In the farthest corner, two elves sat side by side, their posture relaxed but their sharp eyes flicking across the room—ever watchful. One, draped in deep green robes embroidered with delicate gold filigree, absentmindedly traced a pattern into the condensation on their glass, while the other, wrapped in a dark cloak with the hood resting against their shoulders, listened intently, their expression unreadable.

  Bromm led the way to a sturdy table near the hearth, its surface worn with the marks of a thousand past conversations. The stools weren’t just simple wooden seats—they were heavy, reinforced with iron bands, built to withstand rowdy drunks and the occasional bar brawl. The kind of seating that promised you’d leave with a sore ass if you sat too long. As soon as we settled in, a familiar voice cut through the noise.

  “Well now, look who finally decided to show his face again.”

  I turned just in time to see Elunara saunter up to our table, one hand on her hip, the other balancing a tray of empty mugs. Her violet eyes flicked between Bromm and me, curiosity clear in her gaze.

  “Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon, Leetstrider,” she mused. “Figured you’d either be halfway to another town by now or buried in a ditch.”

  I huffed out a weak laugh. “Barely. But, hey—I’m still breathing.”

  Bromm snorted. “Barely.”

  Elunara raised a brow. “Mm-hmm. I’m guessing there’s a story there.”

  “Oh, there is,” Bromm said, pulling out a gold coin and setting it on the table with a clink. “But first—drinks.”

  Elunara smirked, tucking the gold coin away with a practiced flick of her fingers. "Now that’s something I can help with."

  She turned and disappeared into the crowd, weaving between tables with the kind of effortless grace that came from years of dodging drunken patrons. Bromm leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms as he scanned the room.

  "Good place, this," he muttered. "’Bit rowdy some nights, but that’s what makes it home." A moment later, Elunara returned, balancing two foaming tankards. She set them down with a satisfying —thunk.

  "There." She smirked, "Try not to get yourselves killed before the second." I chuckled, wrapping my fingers around the handle. The tankard was heavy, the wood cool beneath my touch.

  Bromm raised his own, tilting it in my direction. “Drink up, lad. You’ve earned it.” Not needing to be told twice, I took a sip.

  Oh.

  I wasn’t sure what I was expecting—something harsh, bitter, maybe—but this? This was good. Really good. It was rich, malty, with a hint of caramel and something else I couldn’t place. Before I could comment, Bromm leaned in slightly, lowering his voice.

  “So,” he said, “ya’ gonna tell me your story, lad?”

  I hesitated, glancing up at him. “What story do you think that is?”

  Bromm snorted. “Well, it’s clear enough ya’ ain’t from here. The way ya’ looked when that gnoll came at ya’? Might as well’ve had a sign ‘round your neck sayin’ ‘Fresh Meat.’” He took a slow sip of his ale, watching me over the rim. “An’ gnolls? They’re nowhere near the deadliest thing that hunts in the Hollow. So there ain’t no way ya’ just stumbled all the way out here.”

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  I exhaled, tapping a finger against my tankard. “I, uh—it’s that obvious, huh?”

  Bromm smirked. “Aye. Can’t imagine how ya’ must’ve looked, dumbfounded in Bob’s digging pit.”

  I let out a laugh. “Yeah, that wasn’t my finest moment.”

  Bromm shrugged. “Well… the pit, I just figured ya’ were a drunkard. It was more the gnoll encounter that gave ya’ away.”

  I huffed, shaking my head. “Great, so I looked completely useless.”

  Bromm chuckled. “Not completely. Ya’ made it through, at least.”

  I took another sip, letting the warmth of the ale settle in my stomach. Should I tell him? How much? No one here knew what a computer was, let alone what Earth was. Hell, for all I knew, people would think I was crazy—or worse. Still… Bromm didn’t seem like the type to take kindly to dodged questions. I swallowed hard, then set my tankard down.

  “…Alright,” I said, inhaling slowly. “This might take a while.”

  Bromm took a long sip of his ale, waiting. His expression wasn’t impatient, but it was expectant—like a man who’d already put the pieces together and was just waiting for confirmation.

  I exhaled through my nose, rubbing the back of my neck. “Alright… I guess I’d better start from the beginning.”

  Bromm smirked, then waved Elunara down. “Another for the lad. An’ one for me while yer at it.”

  She raised her brow but didn’t argue, disappearing into the crowd.

  I tapped my fingers against the table, choosing my words carefully. “Look… I don’t know how I got here.” That much was true. “One second, I was sitting at my desk—”

  Bromm tilted his head. “Desk?”

  Crap—

  “Uh… yeah. My… workstation.” I coughed. “A place where I did work. Inside. A lot of numbers. Logs.” Bromm frowned like he was trying to figure out if I was serious.

  I waved a hand. “Not important. Point is, I was working. Then out of nowhere—BAM.” I tapped my chest. “Something hit me, hard. It felt like my lungs just… stopped working. Next thing I know, I’m waking up in Bob’s pit with you looming over me.”

  Bromm’s brows pulled together. “Ya’ just… woke up?”

  “Yeah.” I exhaled. “No idea how. No idea why. Just there.”

  The dwarf’s gaze was sharp, but he didn’t say anything right away. Just took another slow sip of his drink. I hesitated, then leaned forward. “There was one thing, though.”

  Bromm arched his brow. “Aye?”

  I swallowed. “There was a scroll in my bag when I woke up. Looked… expensive. Bound in twisted string, symbols glowing on the parchment.” I hesitated. “It had a message.”

  Bromm leaned in slightly. “What kind of message?”

  I ran a hand down my face. “It called me Summoned. Said I was ‘bound to this world.’” I met his gaze. “It also said I had ‘No Mark. No Chain. No Oath.’”

  Bromm’s expression darkened slightly.

  I shifted. “Then, before I could even process it, it burned itself up. Poof—gone. Not even ash left behind.”

  For a long moment, Bromm just stared. Then, slowly, he exhaled through his nose. “Hells.”

  “…Hells?” I repeated. “That’s all you’ve got?”

  Bromm took another slow drink, setting his tankard down with a thud. “Means someone—or somethin’—called ya’ here.”

  I frowned. “But the message made it sound like it wasn’t intentional.”

  The dwarf’s lips pressed into a thin linen . “Aye, which might be worse.”

  Great. Fantastic. Exactly what I wanted to hear. I sat back in my chair, rubbing my temples. “So. That’s my story.”

  Bromm studied me for a long moment. Then, finally, he sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Well, lad… I’ve heard worse.”

  I blinked. “…That’s it?”

  The dwarf snorted. “What, ya’ want me to throw ya’ out the door? Call ya’ a liar?” He shook his head. “I’ve seen a lot of things in my years. A lad falling from the sky? Not the strangest.”

  I wasn’t sure if that made me feel better or worse. He leaned back in his chair, eyeing me thoughtfully. “So, what now?”

  I opened my mouth—then hesitated. Because honestly? I had no idea.

  My fingers curled around my tankard as I glanced toward the window. The orange and red glow of the setting sun spilled through the glass, stretching long shadows across the inn’s wooden floor. The sky was shifting—warm golds fading into deeper shades of blue. It’d be dark soon. Elunara slid two plates onto the table with practiced ease, the scent of warm bread and roasted meat pulling me from my thoughts.

  “Eat up,” she said, smirking as she wiped her hands on her apron. “You look like you need it.”

  She wasn’t wrong. I nodded in thanks before tearing off a chunk of the dark, nutty-smelling bread. The first bite hit like a hammer—crisp crust, soft center, slightly sweet but rich with butter. If nothing else, I could die happy knowing fantasy bread was amazing. Bromm chewed through his food methodically, washing it down with ale before finally speaking again.

  “So…” He tapped a finger against the table. “No clue how ya’ got here. No weapons and no coin.”

  I sighed, rubbing a hand over my face. “Pretty much sums it up.”

  Bromm smirked. “Sounds like a rough start.” He leaned back, considering something. “Though… I might know someone who can help.”

  I perked up. “Yeah?”

  “Aye.” Bromm took another swig of ale. “Not far from here, there’s a mage. Knows all sorts of spells, but more importantly—knows his history.” He shot me a look. “Served in the The Umbral Arcanum, back in the day.”

  I raised a brow. “The Umbral Arcanum?”

  Bromm grunted. “Elite military unit. Dealt with things most folk don’t like to talk about.” He drummed his fingers against the wood. “If there’s anything tied to summonin’—or misfires—he might be able to make sense of it.”

  I exhaled, leaning back in my chair. “Well… that’s something.”

  Bromm snorted. “Aye. Just a warnin’, though—he’s… odd.”

  I frowned. “Odd how?”

  Bromm took a slow drink. “Not in a dangerous way. Just… well, he argues with things that ain’t there, gets into shouting matches with his own spells, and once threw a book out a window ‘cause it gave him an attitude.”

  I blinked. “I—what?”

  Bromm shrugged. “Says it was being ‘deliberately vague.’”

  “…Right.”

  He leaned forward. “Smart as hell, though. Knows magic better than anyone. Just don’t be surprised if he interrupts himself mid-sentence to yell at a chair.”

  I exhaled, rubbing my temple. “So, my best hope for answers is a wizard who beefs with furniture?”

  Bromm smirked. “Welcome to the Hollow, lad.”

  I stared down at my plate. Waking up in a hole, fighting a gnoll, nearly dying, and now, somehow, I was about to track down a mage who may or may not be completely unhinged. I reached for my ale, taking a long drink. Bromm drained the last of his, then pushed his tankard aside.

  “Best get some rest, lad.” He stood, rolling his shoulders before giving me a pointed look. “If you’re still set on seein’ that mage, come find me in the mornin’. We’ll head out then.”

  I hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah… alright. Sounds like a plan.”

  Elunara appeared at the table just as Bromm turned to leave. She arched her brow. “Need a room?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “That’d be great.”

  She smirked. “Lucky for you, we’ve got one open. Just don’t go jumping out the window or anything.”

  I blinked. “Why would I—”

  Bromm snorted. “Don’t ask.”

  Elunara chuckled and tossed me a key. “Upstairs, second door on the left.”

  I caught it, rolling it over in my palm. “Nice— bed that isn’t a pile of dirt? Moving up in the world.”

  Bromm stretched, cracking his neck. “Get some sleep, Leetstrider.”

  With that, he made his way toward the door, Bob already waiting outside. The moment the door swung open, the pig let out a deep, heavy snort before trotting off into the night. I exhaled, running a hand through my hair. Yeah, tomorrow was going to be interesting.