Eron in the Deadlands Second Installment
Wall of text, cut below features the narrative.
Eron wasn’t much of a drinker, it was a social vice to him, a rare indulgence. Despite his lack of interest in the act of drinking, he developed an unusual love of bars, pubs and the various watering holes that were so common in the multitude of realities he visited. It seemed no matter the world and culture he encountered, there was always a gathering place used for the consumption of something, and that something was usually the cause of an effect similar to drunkenness or highs. He always had the theory in the back of his mind that the one universal constant was that much of all life seeks to indulge in materials that have these effects; he never shared this with anyone aside from Rosaa, of course.
It was obvious which building served as the bar, as a couple of intoxicated patrons stumbled out. They sloppily stepped onto the dirt road; a man in dusty clothes held up his friend who was the more inebriated of the pair. While his friend’s head hung low in a drunken stupor, he turned to see the Eron’s approach. He flashed a smile at the visiting stranger and tended back to his friend. Eron stepped onto the wooden porch and entered the doorway.
If it were a western, the people in the bar would have stopped to look at the stranger, but nobody looked up, and nobody cared. Eron always loved that, as nobody in the Amalgam was a total oddity. Eron’s eyes and hair always presented problems in other lands, and he had to pick his social moments carefully.
The bar and stools were located right across from the entrance. The bartender was cleaning glasses and nodded to Eron as he approached.
“Just come on the train then, Worldwalker?”
Eron nodded and smiled, a friendly gesture, “Yeah. I’m actually looking for the visitor center’s rep.”
The bartender set the clean glass down in front of Eron and began to pour the local flavor; the smell was a blend of sharp and nutty as it sloshed into the glass.
“Well, I guess you’d be looking for me.”
The bartender corked the bottle and Eron took a courtesy sip. It was slightly acidic.
“The name is Clary Morlat, I’ve more or less turned my bar into the visitor center, I figured visitors would probably need to be good and drunk to visit this town anyway.”
Eron took another sip and choked it down. This drink was obviously an acquired taste.
“My name is Eron Kamella, nice to meet you Clary. I’m not much of a drinker.”
Clary flashed a grin, showing several metallic teeth of various colors, “well, I reckon you’re here long enough, you’ll take to the drink like a fish takes water. You’re drinking our town’s special, we make it out of snake venom. Call it the Rattlebrew.”
Eron decided he didn’t much care for the drink, but kept drinking on the principle of being a guest to a strange town.
“It’s good stuff. Do you know where I can arrange for a transport to the Deathgate?”
Clary asked Eron to wait a moment as he poured several new glasses for a group of locals who just wandered into the bar. When he came out, he answered without missing a beat, “It’s good you’re direct, you’d fit in well here. Yeah, we got a Roc rancher out here, that’s how most of us get around.”
Eron had to ask “Is the rancher here?”
Clary pointed to a table in the corner of the bar, a single patron sat there, his skin looked the texture of burlap, extremely wrinkled, rough and tan, he was definitely someone who had worked outside his entire life. He was also clearly asleep.
Eron was dreading getting back to the drink, but a sudden, familiar, throaty laugh caught his ear. He looked over his shoulder, pleased to see a rather drunk Dwarve, obviously entertaining the locals. Staedtler.
He approached the dwarve’s left side and tapped on the table. Staedtler turned around. He had a puzzled expression, but near-instantly, his eyes widened and shined like those of a drunk and he looked genuinely happy.
“Ah be! If it ain’t mah friend Eron! What the hell are ya doing in this place?”
Staedtler rose to his feet rather sloppily and nearly fell back into his chair before wrapping his arms around Eron’s torso. Eron felt a slight squeeze, though he really couldn’t be sure if it was due to affection, or his trying to gain his footing.
“I was going to ask you that. Where’s Klatu?”
Staedtler fell back into the chair with an exhausted thud.
“Klatu was gettin’ a bit tired, I got ‘er resting at a ranch up north. Barata’s runnin’ around with me for now.”
Klatu was Staedtler’s cat. Or at least, Klatu was a relative to a cat, She was massive and deadly, she resembled a leopard, or perhaps she was, Eron was never sure. Barata on the other hand wasn’t quite a velociraptor, but was close enough. One of those odd variations that was found in another sphere of existence. Eron forgot the name of the species, and mostly just called her a raptor, much like anyone who had seen her.
“Here, here Eron. Sit down and meet the boys!" Staedtler poured handed him a glass.
The next several hours were spent drinking and talking. They mostly talked about the local interests, and it was good. There’d be time for the friends to catch up later.
…
Aluia patrolled the Deathgate with a particular fervor. The sun was setting, and this area was always so much more intimidating in the blood-red sunlight. The massive wall and doorway that divided the Deadlands from the surrounding area was strong, and the ghouls within would never be able to break through, but the incessant moaning was enough to put her on edge. There were so many precautions; so many ways of stopping anything that made it’s way out, even though it would never happen.
She sat down on one of the large leftover stones from the construction of the gateway. She grabbed a nearby twig and began to draw little stick figures divided by a wall in the sandy ground.
One side only featured a single drawing, a lone figure with a sword, there were at least twenty other stickmen on the other side. Aluia smiled as she drew an aura around the lone swordswoman.