The Loneliest Guy: Part 2 of 8

My name's Peter Donaldson.

I had an accident in two thousand and eight and woke up in a fantasy world.

It's like I'm living the best dream ever. They say that if you wake up in a dream you can take control and change it. Maybe that's what's happened to me.

I'm surrounded by people I know, people I've hurt from the real world, now maybe if I make amends I can send us all home.


Peter stared down at his reflection in the pool. He looked the same. Exactly the same, even down to the spot he tried popping the day before yesterday.

He looked up from the water and cast his eyes round the others. They were laughing, joking and eating together as if they were all friends.

Peter looked down again and he saw someone standing behind him in the reflection but when he shot a glance over his shoulder there was no one there.

"Trick of the light." The stranger said with a grin. He recognised him as the figure who had waved at him from the Inn that morning. He was a curious fellow with an old-young face and silver hair; he looked disturbingly like Jon Pertwee.

"Who are you?"

The stranger looked up at the group and back down at Peter. "I'm the Dungeon Master. Or at least, I was. "

"Good one. Well, I'm a Dungeon Master too on weekends."

The apparition ignored him, "You're going to ask what has happened to you and what's going on – unfortunately, if I tell you those things I'll give you the tools you need to restore yourself to your realm."

"My realm?" Peter hissed, trying not to make it look as if he was speaking to a puddle.

"I will, however, give you some advice." The Dungeon Master warned, "Your companions aren't the people you knew. They are something else. Trying to extract information from them will only bring tears."

"Get me out of here."

"Sorry. I need you. This world needs you."

"Who're you talking to?" A voice muttered. Peter sat up and looked around. It was Bobby. Or at least he looked like Bobby's ghost. He was stripped to the waist, scarred and tanned and had a hollow look about him. Slung over his back was a club.

"Nobody. Just the voice in my head."

"Do all Mages have voices that speak to them?" The Bobby doppelganger asked, "Is that where your power comes from?"

"Power?"

"You are strange." Bobby replied leaning over with his hand in greeting. "We have not been properly introduced. I am Id."

Peter laughed, "Haha! That's good. I do psychology. I know what Id means. Very clever. Well, my name is Presto. Apparently. "

Confused, Id tried to explain, "It is a shorter form of Idjian. It is my race. I have no name, so I have adopted the name of my ancestors. This offends you?"

"No!" Peter replied sharply, "No. Id is fine by me."

"I hear you have not long joined this group also."

"You could say that."

"I have not travelled in these parts before. I like your world."

"Is that meant to be a joke?" Peter asked sharply, "Sorry. I didn't mean to snap."

"Are you feeling well? You look unsettled."

"I'm fine. You just look a lot like someone I know."

"You know more 'barbarian' warriors?"

"Nah, he's more of a dorky kid with greasy hair and communication issues." Peter replied, trying to picture Bobby as an image in his mind. Bitterly, he wondered whether doing that would make the world implode and send him home.

No such luck.

"Like me." Peter finished with a grin.

Id laughed at the top of his voice. It was rich and confident and totally unlike Bobby's wobbly-voiced cackle. "You are funny." Id affirmed, clapping him firmly on the back.

"What's going on over there?" the Frank doppelganger called from across the clearing. He was standing on a log and looking quite a bit like Errol Flynn. Oh God, Peter cursed inwardly, he was even wearing the Elseworld equivalent of green tights.

"Nothing." Peter replied.

"Presto is a funny man." Id said as he walked back towards the group.

"Yes he is," Frank said with a smile. "Here!" he called, chucking over a satchel of bread and cheese.

Peter looked down at the pool again, hoping to see the Dungeon Master there. He wasn't. Of course he wasn't. What were you thinking? That he'd turn up inbetween conversations? Please. Peter shook his head and reminded himself emphatically that an internal monologue was the last thing he needed. The psyche versus reality issues here were already convoluted enough. Besides, the internal monologue was the bane of most comic book heroes. Remember Spiderman, he reminded himself soberly. Remember Spiderman. Brand New Day? More like Brand New Crap.

Peter opened the satchel and picked out a lump of bread. If this really is a fantasy this bread and cheese will taste of air. Unless my head is making it taste like bread and cheese, in which case I won't be be able to tell the difference. You're doing it again.

As he munched on his lunch, which did taste of bread and cheese, he mused that trying to fathom the hithertos and the wherefores might not be that productive. The Dungeon Master had been kind enough to leave him some clues – maybe this farce had some kind of logical conclusion.

He didn't have time to ponder it much further as a volley of arrows soared overhead and struck the ground with shocking intensity. Random battles certainly weren't like this in Warcraft.

"To arms!" Frank bellowed. Peter's body went onto auto-pilot and he found himself darting back towards the group.

Steedman, who was huge and armoured, took to the front and brandished his shield. "Behind me comrades!"

Frank had already loosed three arrows and was notching a fourth when a posse of angry Orc-like creatures burst out of the surrounding forest. Id and Steedman surged forward to meet them. Peter looked around to Sarah and Dione – Sarah had her eyes closed and was standing very still. Peter blinked and when he looked again she had disappeared. He looked over at Dione and saw that she was sneaking off into the woods, armed with a short staff and a long knife.

"Presto!" Frank yelled, "Some magic would be nice!"

Aye, now there's the rub. Do you happen to know any magic? The Monologue teased. Peter shook his head and tried to think of something. Terrified and at a total loss for what to do, he concluded that he didn't have anything to lose so he raised his arms and screamed the first thing that came to mind.

"Teenage Mutant Hero Turtles!"

As a second volley of arrows descended, he closed his eyes and felt something soft and wet hit his face. When he opened them again he found that the arrows had somehow been transformed into flowers.

The battle didn't last much longer. Sarah and Dione made short work of the archers hidden in the trees and Steedman and Id made even shorter work of the Orcs dumb enough to come into close range.

When he was assured the Orcs were dead Peter took a closer look. Fantasy or no, he wasn't going to pass up an opportunity to examine a dead Orc.

"Damn, they really smell." Peter coughed as he got a bit too close. He looked up at Steedman who gave him an impenetrable stare.

"Yes. They do." He replied, "Not only this, but their blood never washes off." At first Peter thought he was being funny but in the corner of his eye he watched Steedman polishing his armour vigorously with a cloth.

"What were those strange words you spoke?" Id asked.

"Magical words. From an ancient language." Peter shrugged, trying not to think of the boxset DVDs in his house.

"You are strange. I cannot tell if you are jesting or being truthful"

"Well, you aren't the only one." Peter replied, his face flushing at the memory of how he'd got into this mess.

Later, Frank came up to Peter and spoke with him privately. "That was bravely done. I have never seen magic such as yours before. Any other Mage would have just erected a shield."

Peter shrugged, how could he explain or justify something he didn't understand? He tried to discern from Frank – if that even was his name – what kind of connection he held with his real-world counterpart, if any. But the man was unreadable.

"This might sound like a stupid question, so I apologise in advance, but am I pronouncing your name wrong? Is it Frank?"

"Frenic." He replied, smiling, "Last night really was a bit rough for you, wasn't it?"

Peter nodded, cursing his brain for deliberate use of irony.

"In case you were wondering," Frenic continued, "Saraii is a bit touchy about her name and Dionae is even more so."

"Who are you all?" Peter asked, unable to resist the need for answers. Besides, what possessed a bunch of teens to run around killing Orcs, even if it was a fantasy?

"Adventurers, mostly. Runaways and thrill-seekers in some small measure." Frenic explained. "I think it's safe to say we're all driven by some need to move on. We all have ghosts in our past. Come, we must make Ealdwic by nightfall."

They collected the horses and talked a while together. Peter observed their easy manner and collective spirit. They avoided all personal matters instead they concentrated on the here and now.

"Are the idols safe?" Frenic asked Steedman as they got onto their horses.

"They are," the Knight replied, passing over a satchel to Frenic. Peter tried to peer over to see what was in it.

"Here," Frenic said, passing the satchel to Peter. "You're a Mage, see if you can gauge the magical value of these items."

Peter opened the bag and he nearly dropped it. Within was Sarah's diary and Bobby's Xena toy.

"As far as we've been able to discern, one is an idol of the war goddess Xenia and the other is a text in a language none of us recognises. What do you think? Presto?"

Peter closed the bag quickly and forced a smile. "Where did you find these?"

"Along our travels." Frenic explained, "We found ourselves drawn to them, which is why we thought they might have magical properties."

Peter considered his next words carefully, "They're very powerful. I should probably look after them" He stuffed the satchel into the saddlebag of his horse.

For the rest of the day they travelled in easy silence. The journey along the road to the distant, tiered city of Ealdwic was an easy ride. It was dusk by the time they arrived.

Outside the gate they were stopped by a series of guards in black armour.

"Travel passes and official documents please." One of them said in a monotone.

"We're adventurers." Frenic said, as if this would explain everything.

"Sorry. You're going to have to join the queue." The guard pointed to a column of carts and travellers that extended for a mile around the moat. Peter looked aghast at the scale of the backlog.

"Excuse me, what's going on?" Frenic demanded, his cool demeanour beginning to fray.

"Read the leaflet." The guard said, passing him a sheet of paper before walking away. The group huddled in close and listened to Frenic as he read the note aloud:

"By order of Venger, the city of Ealdwic is now a subject of the Black Crusade. The Royal family have been detained and will be put on trial for war crimes. All visitors must justify entrance to the city. - - The Office of the Gatekeeper."

Venger? Peter wondered, staring down at the crudely mass-produced pamphlet. Where had he heard that name before?