Chapter 2: Desmend Dylan Job
Desmend was a city guy. He was used to keeping his head down but eyes forward to avoid problems. When in a crowd, he could pick out the safest place and talk his way to blend in with anybody. He got along with pensioners, retirees, kids near his age, and people much older as well. It wasn't because he was friendly; it was a survival tactic, to not ruffle any feathers and be agreeable to everyone. That way, people would generally go with his flow instead of against his grain.
Which was to say, he was a manipulator. A white liar. A half-truther. A fake newser. He knew what people wanted and would say it without a second thought when he was on guard. It was his natural defense that got him through 20-odd years in a highly competitive and ruthless social environment. He escaped scandals and rumors by telling the truth, in small doses, to the right people. It was his hustle. His skill. His compensation for bad luck.
In a brand new environment, he knew his skill would be put to the test. The land of Aucrulethen was nothing like the city he grew up in. It replaced concrete for heavy stone and basic mortar. Instead of steel, there was wood and even more stone for supports. There were castles and castle-towns with wide-open horse-carriage roadways and arching bridges over a series of rivers that acted as moats and district borders.
From the great heights of the central palace, he could see the vast landscapes and knew he was not on Earth. The air looked so clean and fresh in the sky that he nearly stammered. Though smoke rose from hearths and fires in the town below where meats were cooked, and homes were kept, none of it seemed to reach high enough to besmirch the crystal clarity of the sky. The clouds were soft and white. The grass in the distance was brilliantly green. The mountains were shades of blueish-grey, not quite colorful but somehow more soulful than the mounds of granite and lumps of rock that he knew.
Despite it all, as majestic as it was, it wasn't home. And Desmend doubted they had any way to get into his bank account to honor his ticket. The slip in his pocket, safely guarded as his sole asset from his world into the next, rustled and shifted as he walked. He was constantly aware of it like it was some heavy sacred object. It wasn't just a piece of plastic to him. His legacy as a leader or ruler or chosen one was in a distant backseat to his achievable dream of being well off.
"Desmend," Tangerine called. She walked ahead of him as his escort - a literal one, one who led him and guided him from place to place - and turned to face him as she stood before a tall, ornate door. Behind Desmend were the divine nobles from the ritual room. Most of them branched off to return to their duties in other parts of the castle. The few who remained were all old men with variations of thick and long beards. Desmend kept his back to them and remained totally focused on Tangerine.
"Through here," she began, "is the great upper hall, the passageway which leads from the annexes of the castle to the Pinnacle, which is the place you will be staying."
"Pinnacle?" Desmend asked. That clearly meant top. His immediate vision was of a fantasy-themed penthouse of some kind with a wide-open, four-person-at-a-time bed, a deep jacuzzi bath, a wall of nothing but bottles of wine, and whatever passed for entertainment in the largest display available.
"It is the nexus of control," she said, "from which you shall engage your duties as the Chosen One."
"Oh," Desmend said, a bit disappointed. He brightened himself up to act as honored as possible. "I am sure it will live up to the name." She smiled. Desmend already had a clear read on Tangerine. She was earnest about her role and seemed to love it. He could tell that she had no thoughts in her head that wasn't directly related to her duties and was trying hard to impress everyone with how well she could handle it. Maybe an overachiever complex? Perhaps she was trying to do right by someone in particular.
Desmend was already piecing together a profile of her, like a dating app, to keep what he knew cataloged and easily referenced in his mind. The old men were as silent as they were aged and simply followed him around like they were part of the tour. Obviously, they were also part of the rite and would speak when they were called. Desmend assumed they were like advisors or assistants. They were natives to the strange new world that could clue him in on what he had to do when Tangerine wasn't present.
The great upper hall was, indeed, great in size. It was more like a gigantic lobby with a high ceiling that ended in a dome of pillars that branched and latticed together like huge stone trees. Every wall was an arched window of stained glass some four stories tall. The light that came in from the outside was somehow more brilliant than the hall's light between the ritual room and the main castle.
It was also bustling. It seemed to be an open floor lounge. There were tables and chairs where people sat and talked, all regal-looking like the other white-robed cultists that summoned him. At one end was a scholarly assembly of men with soft, pointed hats - like Christmas gnome hats with tinsel and everything, but worn with decorum and earnestly. They were leaned forward and chattering and occasionally laughed at one another.
At the other end of the room, he saw a group of soldiers. Knights in shining armor - literally. He caught a glare off of one of their pauldrons as they stood up. They were the tallest and meanest looking knight. Their armor was covered with sharp angles, bladed edges, and decorated spikes that stuck out along the shins and the outer side of the forearms. The spiny knight turned and caught Desmend looking. He acted like he was fascinated by the whole gathering, tried to play it off innocently, and hide his fear.
It didn't work. The spiny knight marched over, and another knight with long wavy shawls over their armor rushed over. He, the subordinate, was a young man with a harmless-looking face and a sense of desperation to stay caught up to the rugged-looking knight. If the boy was some kind of assistant with his shiny and well-made armor, then the spine-wearing knight must have been a leader.
Then he heard the spiked knight speak in a similar but much more demanding voice than Tangerine's.
"This is the Chosen One?" she said with obvious disappointment. She took her helmet off and handed it off to her subordinate. She looked surprisingly similar to Tangerine, but her face was a bit harder. Especially in her eyes. Tangerine was a soft, gracious woman. The lady knight was a she-wolf.
"Yes, he is," Desmend said. "And his name is Desmend Dylan." He turned to Tangerine with a bit of a smug look. He knew the type well; a disciplined and assertive person needed to be met with unwavering confidence. Tangerine didn't seem to agree. She looked scared. Desmend turned back when he felt a hand grip his shoulder and was faced with the razor-sharp edges of the lady knight's gauntlet right next to his face.
"I am Clementine Aucrulethen," she proudly proclaimed. "Captain of the order of the Dogmatic Reagent, the knights who protect this fair kingdom. We shall be at your command from this day forward." She stepped back and bowed down on one knee so fast that her long, deep-orange hair flew forward and whipped a breeze against Desmend's face. Then she stood up with the same tremendous, show-offy force and her hair fell back like a frizzled cape across her back. "That said, you must know that we are knights of honor, loyalty, fidelity, and trust before we are simple pieces in your grand game of design. We have defended this realm, Chosen One or no, for generations. It is part of the Goddess' wisdom that you have been sent here. But even so, you appear as no more than a man who had some good fortune. And that's hardly a skill."
There were a thousand things Desmend wanted to say to her but held back. He refused to show shock or offense. He simply nodded to acknowledge her speech and waited for her next beat. She grinned and stepped back, then swatted her hand against the small of her aide's back to make him step forward.
"Greetings, Chosen One," the timid knight said with a much shorter, standing bow. "I am Andre of the Knights of the Dogmatic Reagent. As the Captain shall follow your orders, I follow hers, as do we all. We will be in your charge to protect the safety of the kingdom from its growing threats and dangers….and as we have defended it thus far, I shall give you counsel upon request to review the methods and practices our military forces are familiar with."
"Speak to him," Clementine warned, "as if you were speaking to me. Even though he does not carry himself with pride, he is still one of the loyal soldiers you will lead."
"Indeed," Tangerine said. "The Chosen One is not a simple commander. They are the ones who are entrusted by the Goddess to defend this kingdom with all of its resources present for a prosperous future. You were chosen by her for a reason, but even our greatest sages cannot understand the Goddess' nature. But we have faith in you, Desmend. We believe that you will guide us rightly and goodly."
Clementine crossed her arms, somehow avoiding all the spikes on her armor, and stood brashly in silent opposition. It dawned on Desmend that he wasn't on vacation. He wasn't there to simply pass the time or be lost in a world of wonder. He had a job.
But he didn't need a job anymore because he had his ticket.
Lady Luck must love teasing him.
She better be hot.