Allison snorted. “You’re telling me. I wasn’t even going to come to this thing until TJ started harassing me. I kind of like the idea of indoor plumbing and not getting cholera and stuff. Though I guess if someone got cholera I would probably be able to cure them . . . but that’s not the point. How are we going to get back home?”
The question hung there until TJ spoke. His voice carried a sense of authority that hadn’t been there before, suggesting that it wasn’t him that was speaking as much as Galphalon. “Well, we crossed over into this world sometime between the wolf men and the village. If you recall, they seemed confused by our use of game references, such as Simon’s diplomacy score. And if we had really been thinking about it, we would have realized that there were just too many NPCs at that encounter. Where would they have gotten those kids to play in the dirt?
“When specifically it happened, who knows? So I guess we have two choices. One would be to go back down the path in case there was something physical that we passed through, or near, that made all this happen.” He gestured to the world around them with his hands. “Something makes me think that’s probably not the answer. If it was simply a portal we walked through, the other groups would almost certainly have been transported here as well, and there was at least one group ahead of us that the villagers would have seen. They didn’t mention anything, so I assume that means it wasn’t something physical.
“The other option would be to continue on and try to figure out the reason we were brought here.” He spoke the word reason in a reverent tone. “Assuming we were, the only choice we have is to carry on and see where we find ourselves on the other end of this. The trick will be determining what that reason actually is. Is it the same story we were given by our ‘king’? Or is it something else completely?
“If you ask my opinion, I think that for good or ill we can only go forward. Maybe we will find our way back home, and maybe we won’t. Just sitting around here and doing nothing, however, doesn’t seem to be an option.”
Stu suggested, “Well, we could just sit around here and do nothing. This is the sort of place where someone could live, with a bit of work tilling up some fields. It’s not like this would be a hard place to defend either.” At the looks he received from Allison and Jimmy, he raised his hands in defense. “I’m not suggesting that we actually do that, but it’s an option.”
TJ shook his head. “No. Honestly, I don’t think it is. Have you noticed how we all have been changing? We saw how Jimmy reacted when the battle started. And Chuck.” He shot a quick glance at his friend, who grinned sheepishly. “And tell me, Stu. When you shot that guy earlier, how did it feel to you? I’m willing to bet it didn’t feel like anything. Certainly not what it should have felt for a teenager to kill another human being. I know that because I incinerated two of them, and the only thing I felt was exhilaration. That’s not normal. At least not for people who aren’t psychopaths.
“We are changing. We’ve gained the skills of our characters, but as we saw with Chuck, we’ve also gained our characters’ memories. Stu, what you told us about the greybeard moss earlier. About spending all that time in these woods. Whose memory was that? Was it yours, or your character’s? Are you sure you even know the difference anymore? I’m not so sure that I do. Sure, we could stay here, but eventually the desires that originally drove our characters to become adventurers will become too strong to suppress, and we’ll be out fighting monsters and rescuing damsels and recovering lost relics. We probably won’t lose ourselves, but the selves we are going to become won’t be satisfied living as peasant farmers.”
“There is a third possibility,” Allison chimed in. Eight eyes turned her way. “Let’s say for a moment that the story we were told is true. That wizard guy has gotten super powerful and is trying to conquer the world, and the world isn’t necessarily going to give up easily. Maybe we are just innocent bystanders, and because of some random piece of magic being flung around here, we got sucked in by mistake. No reason to it. It just sort of happened. Then what?”
TJ smiled. “I’d decided not to bring that up for the sake of morale. Yes, that’s a possibility. And if that’s what happened, then perhaps we’re out of luck. We’re never going home, and we’re going to live out the rest of our lives as the great adventurers we were playing. If we’re lucky, those lives will be relatively long. If we’re not, well, then perhaps the bards will sing of us after we pass.
“But the reality is that we don’t know what really happened. Maybe we’re here for a reason, and maybe we’re here just by accident. What does that do to our decision process? A couple years ago, I read Ian Fleming’s James Bond series. One thing stuck with me, other than the fact that Fleming was an atrocious bigot. Bond was playing bridge—the card game, you know?—against some nemesis at a gentlemen’s club, and for some reason he was stuck with a really high bid to make.” His friends’ looks had gone blank at the mention of bridge. “Just humor me. He had a very small shot at winning.”
They nodded.
“Anyway, this is what he said. If there is only one way to win, and it is dependent on something that is uncertain—in this case who had a particular card in their hand—the only thing you can do is play as if you know for a fact that it is true. Maybe it’s not. Maybe winning was never an option. But if it turns out you were right, you may end up bucking the odds after all.”
Jimmy smirked. “So what you’re saying is that whether we actually have a chance at getting out of here is irrelevant. We carry on and hope that we can get this sorted out and get ourselves back home. Either we will or we won’t, but if we start out by assuming we can’t, we definitely won’t.”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“Huh. Good point.”
The group stewed over TJ’s assessment as they ate their meal. No one really felt like talking after everything they’d been through that day. After TJ had finished his second helping, he tossed the bowl into the fire. When the others looked at him, he said, “I dunno. Just sort of feels like the right thing to do. One last protest against it all.”
Four other bowls followed TJ’s into the fire, and the friends watched them be consumed by the flames. The bowls hissed briefly as the moisture sizzled out of them, and then the only sound was the crackling of the wood as it burned.
After a time, Chuck said, “I guess we could torch the whole place.”
The group exchanged looks as they considered the suggestion.
At last Jimmy said, “No, I don’t think that’s the right thing to do. There is a lot here that people could use.” He gestured around them. “People could even live here. It is defensible, and the clearing has enough room for someone to plant a large garden. We already saw that there’s game nearby. Those poor bastards in the woods . . . they could make a better life here.”
The others nodded at the suggestion, and then everyone retreated into their own thoughts. They were still sitting in silence when the moon rose and their eyes began to get heavy. The fire dimmed and they all prepared their bedrolls. The brigands had bunkhouses, but no one wanted to sleep in them, partly on principle and partly because they were all infested with bugs. Newfound instincts urged them to set a watch, and they divvied up the shifts, though it turned out to be unnecessary as the night passed uneventfully. In retrospect, it made sense that they would sleep undisturbed. These were the local bad guys—who in their right mind would try to attack them? The local peasantry was vastly outmatched, and if what Claude had said was true, the local soldiery was as likely as not to just exchange pleasantries and pass on by.