Game Master in Another World

We headed out into town, following Igasnov through the snaking alleyways before emerging onto a main road. There were numerous people shopping at the small vending stalls; the smells of leather and cooking meat mingled, adding vibrant life to the grey weather.

As we walked down the street, two guards stopped us, holding a piece of paper.

“Have you seen this woman?” asked the guard in worn armour.

I looked at the picture; our own face stared back at us.

“She may be wearing a disguise; her last known look was a face covered in flour and hair coated in charcoal,” he added.

I was immensely glad we had made the effort to craft a proper disguise; clearly, it was working well.

“No, sorry, but we will let you know if we find her, sir,” Vera replied sweetly.

“Thank you, I appreciate your help. If you see her, do not engage, though; she is extremely dangerous.”

The guards continued down the road toward the next group of pedestrians.

“I’m pleased you have the skillset you do,” Igasnov said quietly to us.

With the guards gone, I could feel the accumulated stress leave my body. I knew they wouldn’t have been able to catch us, but fleeing a city was always messy and would make our information gathering significantly more difficult.

After some time walking, we arrived at an unremarkable grey stone building. It looked more suited to surviving a battering ram than offering any aesthetic appeal. Igasnov entered confidently through the reinforced doors.

The small room that served as reception lacked decorations, featuring bare stone walls and a single door leading further inside. An older man sat at a simple wooden desk, currently writing on some parchment.

“Eric! How’s it going?” Igasnov called out loudly as we entered.

Eric looked up. “Oh, Igasnov, I’m pleased to see you again. What brings you here of all places?”

“Well, I’m looking for a favour. I would like to review all available documentation regarding the inciting incident at Ravencrest.”

Eric stared at Igasnov for a long moment. “Why would you want that information? Where has this sudden interest come from?”

I took control of Juliana’s voice. “I had family in that city. I want to know exactly what happened; I’ve only heard rumours.”

Eric scrutinized us. “Hmm, I can likely show you some of the reports, but not everything. Do you have the name of your family member?”

“Yes. Faie, an illusionist.”

“Okay, I’ll see what I can gather for you. Please wait here.”

Eric walked through the wooden door, leaving us in the reception area. The four of us took seats in the chairs lining the wall.

“Who is Faie?” Toby asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

“She was an illusionist. I considered her a dear friend; she was quirky, to say the least, but she could always be relied upon when you needed her.”

I fondly recalled spending evenings playing games with her and Joan. Joan had died before Illara, having lived a long life of normality. Faie had seemed to handle her grief privately; outwardly, we never saw it.

Our train of thought was interrupted by Eric re-entering the room.

“I have gathered several documents in the adjoining room. Feel free to browse them on the tables there, but please treat them carefully, and you may not take them from this building.” Eric motioned for us to enter.

The next room contained a large table surrounded by several chairs. A pile of books and loose documents sat stacked at one end.

“I’ll join you in this room to observe, but I won’t be able to answer any questions pertaining to the substance of these documents,” Eric said, taking a seat.

“So, what exactly are we looking for?” Igasnov asked.

“Anything related to the instigators of the incident, such as clothing or documents left behind.”

Igasnov nodded and grabbed a leather-bound book of notes, Vera took a stack of loose parchment, and Toby grabbed a smaller volume.

We picked up a book titled Survivor Interviews 3.

It was crudely assembled; opening it, we saw it consisted of handwritten pages bound together simply to keep them organised.

We sat down and began to read. Most of the accounts were similar: hooded men attacking, followed by the interviewee somehow managing to escape through extraordinary means before being found wandering the countryside by the relief force. However, one account in particular grabbed our attention.

Name: Valorie Bernhoff 

Age: 14 

Gender: Female

Q: What were you doing at the time of the attack? 

A: Sleeping in my family home. 

Q: How did you become aware of the attack? 

A: I heard screaming outside. 

Q: What happened then? 

A: My Mum came into my room and told us to escape. We ran outside and headed toward the city gate. 

Q: Can you describe what you saw as you were running down the street? 

A: Several men wearing black hooded cloaks were throwing burning torches into homes; as people tried to escape, they cut them down. 

Q: Did you hear them saying anything? A: No, they were only laughing as they did it. Q: What happened next? A: Two of the hooded men noticed us and began to chase my Mum and me. They managed to catch up to us; my Mum tackled them, telling me to run. I ran without looking back. I heard my Mum’s scream and the sound of a sword cutting her down. I couldn’t look back; I didn’t want to look back. I was too scared to see my Mum’s last moments.

(Interviewer note: Took a short break while V. collected herself.)

Q: How did you get outside the city? 

A: I noticed a large group of people running towards the gate, and I followed them. The gate was guarded by a dozen hooded men. All of us charged the gate, desperately trying to escape. 

Q: How many of you were there? 

A: Around thirty. Q: Were any of you armed? 

A: Six elderly men had wooden sticks. 

Q: What happened next? 

A: We charged. The men with sticks tried to attack the hooded men while several others tried to pin them down. Their assault allowed me to slip through the gate. Again, I was too scared to look back. I could hear their screams as they died. I could also hear a woman pleading for her baby to be spared, only to be silenced, shortly followed by the baby’s cry stopping abruptly.

(Interviewer note: Took another break for V. to regain the ability to speak.)

Q: Once you left the city, what did you do? 

A: I walked toward the nearby village of Holver alone through the night. When I arrived, it too had been ransacked. Only one building survived; the rest had been burned down, and the bodies of the villagers were left out in the open for crows to eat. 

Q: Was anyone alive in the village? 

A: I only saw one woman from a distance. She seemed to be collecting something from the bodies. 

Q: Did you approach her?

A: No, I was too scared. 

Q: What did she look like? 

A: She wore a dark hooded cloak. All I could see was a glimpse of the black skin on her face. She looked straight at me but seemed not to see me, despite it being broad daylight. Q: What did you do then? A: I walked further to another village a few days' walk away. I finally found some people alive, and they took me in.

(Interviewer note: The village in question was Trevlor.)

Q: Is there anything else you would like to add? 

A: No. I just want the nightmares to stop.

Scribbled at the bottom of the page in different handwriting was a grim addendum: V. later that month found dead from hanging.

Another note sat just below the first, referencing suspects for the hooded figure in Holver.

Drisnil. She was the only person I knew who had notoriously bad eyesight during the day, held a relationship with Holver, and possessed pitch-black skin. What was she doing in Holver? Why was she the last person alive? Did she murder everyone in that village, or had she too escaped Ravencrest?

I was still left with far too many questions.

I placed the book back onto the stack of completed notes.

“Does anyone have a document labelled 'Suspects'?” I asked the group.

Eric spoke up. “That one I couldn’t give you, for it is classified, sorry.”

It seemed there was a limit to the favours Igasnov could pull. But now that I knew the document existed within the archive, I could always return later via other means.

“I notice that on one of the dead soldiers' profiles, the symbol found on their orders has been redacted. I don’t suppose I can see what that symbol was, or at least get a description?” Igasnov asked.

“Sorry, again, that information is classified. I cannot retrieve that for you,” Eric replied.

“All good, friend. I appreciate the help you have given us so far.”

After reading through more accounts from different perspectives, I established several key facts:

It took us three hours to read through all the provided documentation.

“Thank you again, Eric. I owe you one,” Igasnov said as we stood up to leave.

Eric escorted us out of the room. “Just call us even; you helped me out when I was in a bind.”

Igasnov and Eric shook hands, and we headed out into the street.

The bright sunlight stung our eyes after emerging from the dark, windowless archive.

“Did you get what you needed?” Toby asked.

“Mostly, but I may need to return,” I replied with a smile.

That was a task for tonight. Right now, we needed lunch.

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