Fates of Grenora: Return of the Night

A waiter came by and quickly placed down three tankards of ale and three bowls of soup to which Jared took to without a care in the world.

"Oh my god real food," Jared moaned as he slurped down his soup, forgoing the use of a spoon.

Pierre sipped on his ale, his face puckering up from the bitterness. "Once again, I am reminded why I do not drink what Dwarves make."

Picking up his spoon, Aldrin was unsure if he could eat and drink normal food. Hesitantly, he scooped up a spoonful of soup and placed it in his mouth. He chewed the meaty chunks in his mouth, trying to get a taste for it all, which did not happen. Swallowing, he waited with bated breath, trying to see how his body would react to the soup. 10 minutes went by and nothing happened, which left him disappointed.

Jared had been watching carefully, as did Pierre. "Well?" Jared asked.

Sighing, "It tastes like nothing and I feel nothing," Aldrin admitted.

"That's good, right?!" Jared leaned forward.

Aldrin folded his arms and stared down at the soup. "Yes, and no."

Pierre frowned, "No? How come?"

"Means I can eat whatever, but I don't taste it and it doesn't deal with the fact that I am still hungry," Aldrin said, finally looking up at them both.

Jared's excitement dropped as the revelation dawned on him, "So even with the Humanity skill fully upgraded, it doesn't actually give you all the benefits of living again. Damn." He said.

Scooting out of the booth, Pierre got up and walked over to the bar. They both watched him as he spoke something to the Dwarven bartender, who listened intently. The Dwarf's braided black hair and beard visibly bristled when his face turned beet red from anger. The Dwarf turned around and started grabbing bottles and pouring them all into one large container. Pierre sauntered back after placing two silver coins on the bar counter, a proud smile gracing his face as he sat down.

The Dwarf rushed over, carrying the large container, and roughly placed it down in front of Aldrin. "I hear ye ain't got no taste buds," The Dwarf declared.

"W-What?" Aldrin sputtered, looking between the Dwarf and Pierre, who sat back smugly.

That seemed to anger the Dwarf even more. "I said, ye ain't got no taste buds, so drink this," He jabbed a meaty finger in Aldrin's chest. His anger slightly wilted as he felt his finger meet what felt like a stone wall in the form of Aldrin's chest. Aldrin Inspected the drink in front of him.

"Uh, excuse me, but that says-" Aldrin began.

"I know what it says boy, now drink," the Dwarf insisted.

"Better yet," The Dwarf then whistled, arresting the attention of everyone present. "AYE LADS AND LADIES WE GOT A NEW CHALLENGER HERE AT THE GLEAMING MARIGOLD!" He bellowed to all in the inn. One of the waiters ran out to get the patrons who were sitting outside after hearing the Dwarf's proclamation.

If Aldrin could shit his pants in this moment, he would have as all eyes turned to their table.

"What happened to being low key?" Jared whispered to Pierre, who simply shrugged his shoulders.

Taken aback by Pierre's noncommittal answer, "What are you playing at?" he tried a different approach.

"We want information, and the best way to do so here is to see who's friendly enough to give it out without being too nosey," Pierre said.

"But by putting Aldrin on the spot?! Are you mad?!" Jared tried his best to stay quiet but failed, earning a few strange looks from nearby patrons.

"Learned it from the best," Pierre fired back, his smug smirk still lingering on his face.

Jared had no response as he opened and closed his mouth at the brazen audacity of his friend.

The other patrons in the bar watched expectantly when the Dwarf turned back around with his tree logs for arms folded across his barrel-sized chest. Aldrin had been keenly listening to the whispers of Jared and Pierre. He looked at Pierre, who subtly nodded in response.

Grabbing the large container with both hands, Aldrin pulled it towards him, feeling the weight of the liquid slosh around ‌inside. Uncapping the lid, liquid death greeted his nose, which made his eyes water. Trying his best to keep his outburst from squirming its way out of his mouth, he held his breath and chugged the container.

When the first drop of it hit his tongue, it was a sizzling tang at first that melted his tongue before it regrew. Then the mouthful came that burned the inside of his mouth to nothingness as it worked its way down his throat. Surprisingly, his Undead Body kicked in, numbing the sensations entirely, leaving only the taste of citrus and vanilla-flavored cream in its wake. Eyes widening at the taste, he pulled back the container as everyone watched wide-eyed and mouths agape.

Looking at the container with childlike wonder, Aldrin raised it. "I CAN TASTE THIS!" He cheered, resulting in the inn exploding in celebration with him.

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"DRINKS ARE ON ME!" Aldrin merrily announced, taking another swig of the alcoholic drink.

The Dwarf stared at Aldrin still as he gulped down the whole container. Setting it down, Aldrin looked at the Dwarf. "Another please," He held out the container to the Dwarf, who took it absentmindedly.

The Dwarf stared at the container, then at Aldrin, going back and forth between the two. "Ye wouldn't be part Dwarf now, would ye?" he asked skeptically, but he couldn't hide the grin that was forming beneath his beard.

Aldrin guffawed, "I am afraid not."

"Well, you were born the wrong Race," The Dwarf mumbled, but Aldrin picked it up and smiled, nonetheless.

Throughout the rest of the day and into the night, the Dwarf, whose name turned out to be Thakheam Blackgrog, continued to pour Aldrin Dwavern Killer while the rest of the inn drank to their heart's desire. A few of the patrons retired early either from being passed out drunk or from getting too rowdy and their buddies had to come take care of them. Only a few patrons remained as Aldrin finished his eighth container of the drink.

"Do you feel any effects at all?" Jared asked.

"Honestly, no, and it's great! I can't get drunk, which means no hangovers!" Aldrin excitedly said.

"Oh, man. . . I can't get drunk," he bemoaned, cutting his mood down some.

Pierre was nowhere to be found since he had gotten swept up in the earlier celebration after Aldrin finished the third container, permanently giving him an honored guest status at The Gleaming Marigold.

"HESH YOU GUSH!" Pierre stumbled into the booth, drunk off his ass.

Jared looked at Pierre in astonishment. "Pierre. . ."

"Yesh?" Pierre's half-closed eyes ambled around to focus on Jared.

Groaning, Jared ran his hands down his face. "You know what? No! We deserve this after the shit we have been through!" Slamming his fist down on the table.

"Hey Mr. Blackgrog!" Jared called to the Dwarf that initially served the Dwarven Killer to Aldrin.

"Aye lad! I told ye to call me Thakheam!" He looked up from the glass he was cleaning.

"Are there any pubs open this late nearby still? My friends and I want to do one more round," Jared asked.

Thakheam frowned, pondering the question. "Aye, but yer not gonna like it,"

"Do tell!" Aldrin piped up, letting his festive mood shine again.

"Blackbelly Alley, home of my clan's distillery and pubs," Thakheam answered.

Aldrin looked at Jared, who then looked at Pierre, who was rolling his head around trying to keep it up. "Shall we?" Aldrin asked.

"YESH!" Pierre jumped up from his seat, stumbling for the door.

"Come with us!" Pierre called to Thakheam as he exited.

Jared and Aldrin waited for Thakheam's answer as he thought about it. "Ah, why the fook not," he shrugged.

Leaving the inn in the hands of the staff, the group of four meandered, albeit slowly, thanks to Pierre's drunken state, over to Blackbelly Alley, where the party had only begun. The alley was packed as many people stumbled from the various pubs that blasted music. A few of them bumped into Aldrin, who brushed it off, but the beast inside him growled every time someone did.

What started out as a memorable time turned into a blurry hot mess after Aldrin's third drink as unfortunately, he discovered that he was not all immune to alcoholic drinks. He should have known by the name of the pub called The Ivory Middle Finger, which ironically had the skeletal hand forming the middle finger gesture. Inside it was dark and dingy with eerie purple flames floating around but that didn't stop the amount of people clogging up the bar to get drinks as heavy metal music; or at least the Dwarven variation of heavy metal music blared out from somewhere amongst the sea of people.

Thakheam had managed to get four shots of the signature drink called the Pale Chariot, which was a milky cream colored drink with bits of red flakes floating around. Not caring and caught up in the moment, he took the first shot. It was sweet, followed by a bitter crunchiness from whatever the flakes were. There was also an addictive quality to it that made him want more, which Thakheam wholeheartedly obliged. The second shot made him feel woozy, but it was soon shaken off. It was the third shot that made his knees buckle and almost take him out.

That sobered up Aldrin really quick, but it was already too late as his knees gave out, making him fall flat on his ass.

Thakheam laughed, as did Pierre, but Jared had been pacing himself and saw the scared look of Aldrin. Jared was the first to scoop him up. "What happened?" He whispered in his ear.

"Poison, numb," Aldrin managed before he felt the rest of his body, including his tongue, go limp.

Aldrin felt himself being dragged as he struggled to keep his eyes open. He heard Jared and Thakheam speaking rapidly, or at least it was rapidly to Aldrin as his mind slowed to a crawl and everything moving was a blurry figure. Deciding to shut his eyes for good, sleep called to him and he answered, letting himself drift into its embrace.

Loud banging greeted him the next morning, groaning and rolling over in the comforts of something soft, Aldrin did not get up. The banging continued, harder this time, until a door opened and voices could be heard speaking in hushed tones. His hearing was still muffled and cloggy, so he didn't exactly hear what they were saying, nor did he want to, since whatever comfortable thing he was on molded to fit his body.

Two sets of boots thundered along the wooden floor towards him, making him cover his ears even more since his ears struggled to heal and adjust themselves. Then his own door opened, making him frown at the sudden intrusion.

"He's in here. He is alive or well, un-alive, but you get the point," Jared said.

Aldrin sat up. The light streaming in from the window blinded him as the two figures that stood in the room blurred together. "What happened? Where am I?" Aldrin asked, feeling his senses slowly come into focus.

"Long story short, we had a good night," Jared chuckled.

"Too much of a good night," Pierre said, taking a seat at the desk in the room to nurse his raging headache, his usual ponytail nowhere to be seen, letting his hair hang out wildly.

"Pierre, we needed it." Jared argued.

Pierre waved his hand and gulped down more water that sat on the desk along with a fresh bowl of jassatil, which were marble sized lavender colored fruits.

Slowly but surely Aldrin's vision focused more, taking in the room he was situated in. It was pretty basic. It held a bed, a chest for storage, an end table, a desk, and a wardrobe. The walls were painted a soft blue color that contrasted the white wooden furniture with a landscape painting of a jutting mountain surrounded with fields of flowers.

"Here," Jared held out a cup of dark red liquid that made Aldrin's stomach grumble in protest.

"Is this?" Aldrin asked.

"Fresh and it should tide you over until we can at least get you someone to fill you up," Jared said, sitting down on the chest.

Aldrin gulped down the blood and felt himself feel immediately better. Thanks to his new level in Thirst the little he had felt like he had drunk at least half a person. Filing that away for later, he hoped he no longer had to kill anyone in order to be satisfied.

"How do you feel now?" Jared asked, eyeing Pierre

"Like shit still," Pierre answered, still rubbing his head and eating a jassatil. "We get transported to a magical world, and there is no cure for hangovers. What kind of stupid nonsense does that make?" he grumbled to himself.

"There probably is somewhere out in the world, and we just don't know where to look," Aldrin offered.

"Wait! Are those jassatils?!" Aldrin finally noticed.

Pierre looked down at the almost empty bowl, then looked at Aldrin as he slowly nodded his head. He swallowed. "Do you want one?" He offered Aldrin.

Aldrin remembered the way the jassatils would send tingles running up and down his tongue to enhance the flavor of the sweet nectar whenever he bit down on the soft fruit. Mourning ‌the loss of one his favorite fruits, he shook his head, not wanting to get his hopes up if it turned out to taste like nothing again.

"So what's the first order of business today?" Aldrin asked after feeling a lot better than when he woke up.

"First things first! We gotta talk," Jared leaned forward, the seriousness of his tone made Aldrin pause all other thoughts, making Pierre perk up as well.