Chapter 5: -5- “Morning After”

Awaking with a refreshed mind, Deacon sits up in bed. There is warmth on his side and waist, looking down and seeing Damaris cuddled up with him. Heat comes to his cheeks as the beautiful rogue sleeps soundly with her other hand balled up next to her face like a kitten. Looking away, he turns his thoughts to other matters.

A piece of him wonders if last night had just been a very bizarre wet dream and if Adrienne was gone. But something at the back of his mind told him it was all very much reality. Even without a tangible piece of evidence, Deacon took comfort in knowing that someone he was familiar with was here. Though if not physically, she did say all he had to do was think of her when he slept to go back to her realm. 

Unwrapping himself from the still-sleeping rogue, he sits at the edge of the bed after retrieving his 1911, staring at the well-worn floorboards. Yesterday was alien to him; he constantly asks himself if it is all a dream in and of itself. How did he go from a college student in nuclear-blown-up California to a necromancer in whatever world he found himself in? He needs to ask Adrienne more questions the next time he sees her, for there is still much he needs to learn. 

He hears a knock at the door creaking open, just a crack as one of the skeletons peeks at him. The others are looking through the windows, all with concern in their eyes? That was somewhat creepy but also interesting. “I’m fine, you four. Return to your post.”

Behind him, he hears Damaris ruffling the bed sheets with a yawn. Watching her, she sits up in bed and rubs her eyes. “Morning already? Damn, that was a good sleep. Been awhile since.” 

“Glad you rested well. A bit too much, considering I found you cuddling me when I woke up. What happened to keeping to our sides?” Deacon teases her a bit as he remains seated. She clears her throat and looks away, trying to conceal the tiniest bit of pink from her cheeks. 

“I simply got cold and needed warmth. So it was only natural that I seek it from you.” Damaris brushes the hair out of her face, beginning to tie it up behind her into a messy ponytail. “Are your guards still outside?” 

“Yup. Right where I left them.” Standing up, Deacon puts on his blouse shirt, then straps in the doughboy pack and holsters his pistol. He remembers what Adrienne told him about being able to make modern clothing, but with Damaris here, he didn’t want to take up time nor show her too much of his abilities. 

Grabbing the campaign hat, he turns around to see her putting on her coat and strapping her short sword to her hip. She looked up at him, silently asking if he is ready. Putting on the hat and grabbing his BAR by the door, he nods to her. 

“It’s good we got some rest; gonna need all of our strength for the road ahead. From here, it’s just walking until we hit the next town.” She smiles weakly, pulling up her mask to cover her mouth as the two start down the path back to the main road. The skeletons wordlessly surround them as they travel. 

“We? You don’t mind if I continue to travel with you?” 

“Normally, I would be opposed to it, like being a lone wolf. But you were still there in the morning, along with my belongings. So I can trust you just a bit. Plus, again, the added security of your undead makes this worth it. Just don’t forget to dismiss them before we reach the town.” 

Deacon shrugs, “Not a problem. What even is there in the surrounding areas?” 

“Let’s see here; West of here is the city of Lithelburg, where I came from with the coach. To the south are the Dakarma Sultanate’s lands, if you ever wish to see the desert. East, where we’re heading, is towards the provincial capital of Balmar.” She explains to him, brushing some loose strands from her eyes. “I still have to report the cargo’s destruction, from there though, I think I’ll just wander.” 

Deacon nods. He didn’t have any extensive knowledge of survival in the wilderness, having lived his whole life as a more sheltered city kid. Since Damaris is well-traveled, having her around sounds optimal. “I mean, it doesn’t have to end there, Damaris. You can still accompany me; I think I’m going to explore the whole region.” 

Damaris chuckles while nodding. “I’m in no position to decline, Deacon. Who knows, you might find me a fortune, and I can retire old.” 

“Then we’ll stay together. As I said, I’m a foreigner to these lands. And even with my guard, there’s bound to be some things I won’t be able to overcome.” He smiles appreciatively. “It would be nice to have someone who has traversed the place long enough to know her way around.” 

“Heh, flattery only gets you so much, Deacon. Anyway, is that amalgam of pouches all you have?” She tugs at one of the shoulder straps of the doughboy pack, testing it. For a brief moment, he thinks about what she means but comes to a positive conclusion. 

“Well yeah. The carrying I leave to my squad.” He motions to the shotgunners, who had giant travel packs aligned with what troops carried in the First World War. “Come to think of it, they were looting the bodies yesterday, but I never checked to see what they picked up.” 

Removing his canteen from a pouch, Deacon uncaps it and starts to drink from it. It was such a fluid movement that he didn’t even think about where the water came from since he doesn’t remember filling it. Wiping his mouth, he offers a drink to Damaris, who takes it with a grateful nod. 

Pulling down her mask, she takes a swig before capping it, copying his motions, and handing it back to him. “Sound material right there. As for what your undead picked up, I suppose we can check before we enter whatever town comes up ahead of us.” 

Deacon thinks for a moment at the thought of money. How back home, the only real financial worries he had were his tuition continuing to be paid by his scholarships and what he would be eating from value aisles in supermarkets. Now money had a more central role in his survival in this land. “If those bandits were worth their share of coin, I’m sure the skeletons found their purses.” 

“Here’s hoping.” Damaris brushes away more strands of hair, blowing some away before groaning. “I miss having proper baths.” 

“If we’re lucky, we might come upon a stream or something. I take it that it’s been a while since your last bath?” Deacon asks as they walk, slinging the BAR across his back since there is no danger. Plus, the skeletons would keep any trouble away from them. 

“About four days now. There was a point where the others I was with found a spring, but being the only woman, I wasn't comfortable bathing for obvious reasons.” But, strangely enough, he didn’t smell anything unpleasant about her despite the admission. 

“Got it. Won't have to worry about that from me; I do have dignity as a man.” He laughs softly at his joke, earning a chuckle from her. While they walk, where there is hard and cleared dirt led onto paved cobblestone paths, a sharp cutoff begins and ends abruptly. “What the hell?”

“Most of the time, the lands are tended to by the local lords and baronies. Some prioritize the land, others the wealth.” Damaris casually explains to him while gesturing with her hands. 

“I guess they don’t realize the land often equates to their wealth.” 

“Most of those in power are fiercely intelligent. But, some do let it inflate their heads. That is just the way it works. To think, when I was a girl, I had such dreams of being some handsome noble’s bride and being able to live a good life.” 

“Don’t have such aspirations anymore?” 

“No. Those dreams died a long time ago with my family.” 

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Deacon glances over at the black-haired rogue. He couldn’t tell from her mask, but he could swear that something about Damaris’ expression contained sadness, which explains the questions about his own family the night before. It helps him learn a bit about her views and topics he should avoid discussing with her. 

“Something interesting about my face?” Damaris’ honey-brown eyes fix on him, having caught him lingering too long on her. 

“No. Sorry, I was just thinking about what you said about your family.” He blurts out, completely disregarding what he just told himself. 

“It’s sad, I know. But morbidly, it’s too common for rabble like me to lose our family early in our lives, leaving the survivors to clutch at the stones and hope for another day of life.” She sighs softly before straightening up. “If there’s anything you don’t recognize, let me know. I’ve fought and seen a lot of things during my years.” 

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“Got it.” 

The walk stretched on well into the day until the trio of suns was in roughly the same position as noon back on Earth. Then, a peculiar sight came into view as Deacon noticed a particular corner of the forest was closed in by a tall fence of wrought iron. The large posts were topped with a barbed speartip, capable of piercing flesh. Furthermore, a fragrant and sweet smell started to get into Deacon’s nose as he couldn't help but stare into this stretch of forest. 

Despite it being noon, the suns barely penetrated the shadowed canopies of the trees, which in their own right, looked twisted and wrong. Further down the path, the walk that stretched for about another hour, they came upon the massive gate that led into the forest. A massive padlock and chains adorned with glowing symbols adorn the gate, sealing in whatever was inside. Damaris had to grab Deacon by the arm to pull him away and break his staring. 

“Try not to fall for the smells. That’s how the Rotwood gets you.” She tells him, pulling him back onto the main path. Deacon hadn’t even realized he was off the trail and slowly approaching the gate. 

“What is this place?” He asks her, turning to her and back to the woods. The sounds of branches breaking and loud groans could be heard from within. It made him take a step back as the skeletons raised their weapons. 

“A dungeon. Labyrinthine places that house a lot of fucked up horrors and monsters. See the gate and the magic? It's the only thing that keeps the things in and people out.” 

“Do people go into them to, like…explore and stuff?” Deacon asks as he looks upon the gate and continues to hear the eerie noises from within. 

Damaris sighs softly, “Yeah. The Lodge provides special one-use keys that allow people to enter dungeons. Most of the time, these things appear in places where a lot of death occurred in the past. Be it a fortress, graveyard, waterfront, or battlefield; all of them can become a dungeon. As for getting out, you need a keystone to warp back out.” 

With her gloved hand, she points to a small formation of rocks to the right of the massive gate. They were smooth and etched with intricate designs, a ball of blue energy sitting in the center of the central stone. They all rested atop a circular plate of the same carved stone, which also glowed blue. 

Another hour of walking and soon the edge of the fenced-in forest dungeon came and went. Whatever was in there felt like it was calling out to Deacon. That aroma also lingered in his nose, giving him a slight headache because of how strong it was. Damaris gently lifts his chin and gives him a small pouch. Within was white crystalline dust that gave off a very calming scent. 

“Smelling salts.” Deacon concludes as he takes another whiff of the powder. 

“Yup. They help in a pinch whenever you go near one of those damned forests.” 

After a few minutes, the headache subsides, and he hands the salts back to Damaris. The sound of gentle water fills their ears, a stream now flowing alongside the travelers as they grow closer to their destination, according to Damaris. More hours pass, and the suns begin to dwindle in the sky slowly. 

“I think we can camp here for a bit; feet are starting to get sore.” Damaris proclaims, stepping down to the bank. Deacon follows closely behind, as do the skeletons. At the foot of the water, the rogue would pull back the sleeves of her coat and remove her glove. Then, scooping up water, she would splash her face and wash away the day’s grime. 

Deacon follows suit, squatting next to her and doing the same. Damaris was, so far, the only ally he had in this new world. Traveling with her has proven beneficial thus far, as he has learned many things from her. By keeping her, he at least guaranteed he would have someone to watch his back and help him learn how to survive. Despite her gruff and intimidating demeanor, she has been more than kind to him. Getting on her bad side is the last thing he should do. 

“Damaris.” She turns to him, wiping her face dry with a cloth. “I notice you’re human, but are there other humanoid races here? On this continent, I mean.” 

“There are quite a few that I know of.” Damaris finished drying herself, offering the rag to Deacon. “There’s elves, dwarves, orcs, the beastmen. A whole slew of different people exists here. Even hybrids exist as well. So why do you ask?” 

“Just curious. Nonhumans are forbidden from entering our lands. Even then, we all conflict with each other despite being human, simply because of the colors of our skin or shapes of our bodies.” Reaching back, he grabs the canteen from his pouch and dumps the old water into the stream before filling it with fresh water. Damaris does the same with a leather waterskin she’s carrying. 

“Well. At least I know our faults carry over to other parts of the world.” She chuckles. 

“Yeah, we are still human, after all.” He smiles while the two finish filling their water. “You’re not going to take a swim? Water seems to be clean enough.” 

“Heh, no offense, Deacon, but I prefer bathing where I know no witnesses will be around.” She smirks at him from beneath her mask, the curve of her cheeks showing it.

“Fair enough. At least we cleaned up our faces.” Raising the canteen to his lips, he drinks. Surprisingly, the water was crisp and refreshing, having a touch of natural sweetness to it. Satisfying his thirst, he fills it once more, and the two set up camp for the night. The skeletons collect tinder and wood while Damaris builds a makeshift pit with stones. Even if neither of them bathed, their spirits were in better shape to have at least cleaned their faces and arms. 

The companions chat, both swapping random stories about their past or just general discussion. Damaris brings up a particular account on how she once shot a squirrel from 25 yards away. 

“I didn’t even know I had a natural talent for shooting until I picked up my first gun at fifteen.” She says, staring into the fire. The two of them had unrolled sleeping mats down onto the ground, Deacon having to grab one from the travel pack of a shotgunner. 

“If I’m being honest, I don’t have a talent for weaponry. Books and knowledge have taken up much of my interests in life. It seems that I’m a capable actor, though, those years in drama class paid off.” The simpler times in his life brought a reminiscent grin to Deacon, before he was forced into the real world. There are a lot of things he doesn’t miss about Earth, but for those he does, he keeps close. 

Despite admitting he had no knack for combat, Damaris complimented him that his little act did work, even if his bravado didn’t fool her. Then came the rumble of their stomachs, both realizing they had forgotten to forage for food. By a stroke of luck, Damaris had a ration of dried meat in her pocket, the two snacking in quiet comfort. 

“We should be able to get a few hours of rest; then we keep moving.” Damaris gestures to the road. “Staying in the open at night carries risks, even with your undead guarding us.” 

Deacon stares at her for a moment. “You know, I was always afraid of the outdoors as a kid. Always thinking that if I was going to sleep out here, some monster would snatch me up and eat me. Now that possibility is even higher. Funny that.” 

“Heh. Yeah, I used to think the same thing. Only when it happens though,  do you realize it isn’t too bad.” Damaris responds, lying on her side on her bedroll. “The first few times though, I was terrified. Not of the monsters, mind you, just more so that it happened when I was most vulnerable.” 

The talk continued for a while, the two finishing their meager dinner. The fire slowly dies while the night drones on, Damaris moving closer to Deacon. Hesitantly, the two agree to sleep next to each other once more, trying to keep to their respective bedrolls. Turning her back to him, Deacon watches as, within a few minutes, his companion starts to snore quietly. Such a capacity to sleep was never his strong suit, even now. 

Bootsteps crunch along the grass, and in the darkness, he could see the glowing eyes of his squad while they moved about. The clouds overhead part away, revealing a beautiful star-filled sky, accompanied by a pale blue moon. Thoughts start to rush into Deacon’s head. Thoughts of his home, his friends, his family and Adrienne. The last one occupies much of his head, as she is more or less all he has left of his home and friends. An itching appears in the back of his mind as if a response to his thinking of her. Maybe that was a sign that she was thinking of him. 

The rustle of cloth sounds next to him as an arm wraps around his chest and warm breath tickles his neck. Looking down, he chuckles as Damaris had cuddled up against him again in her sleep. It didn’t bother him though, why would it? Only a fool would oppose a beautiful woman cuddling up to them as they slept. 

Thoughts of Deacon’s newfound powers and the new world he was in then push forward now. He wonders where exactly he would be had he not found Damaris or continued to travel with her. Regardless, he was grateful he has her to accompany him in whatever lay ahead. That finality made him yawn, comfortable with his thoughts. Closing his eyes, he would drift off to sleep, but not before wrapping an arm around the rogue.

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