Grand.
That's how one would describe everything in this place. Though holy, they were a fan of excess.
That shows a lot.
From the places he had been and the places he was in now. After the Ultimatum, he was led by consorts of the royal family. They were women of spectacular figure and style. Although they wore clothes that you would mistake for robes, the outline of their hourglass body still lined the whole thing.
And now, he was in the master bedroom.
If this was not the master bedroom, by God, he could only imagine what that would look like. This four-cornered dwelling was decorated to the brim. Paintings here and there, gold and silver used as accents along with red and purple velvet. Every spot he looked, there's something else to see. Henry particularly enjoyed the smooth, oaken drawer that had plates of fruits and juice bottles thereof.
Again, there was no alcohol in Tearh.
He was standing near the drawer, munching on an apple as he gazed at a painting of a woman praying amidst a battlefield hung above the drawer. Behind her were knights, and he saw some of the Silver Sun there.
They were raising the banner of the Vorhan Empire.
That was not why he looked at it though. Henry Savoy felt some sort of familiarity with the woman, as if he saw her before. When he couldn't figure it out, he scratched his head and went to look at another spot.
On the left corner, just near the door, was a bookshelf.
Henry Savoy was an avid reader. Sometimes, when the Walking Stick was silent, which was rare, he'd immerse himself in reading Literature. He was a fan of the Beatniks, resonating with them. But unlike them, he wasn't born to change the world in the way of giving the world some sort of revelation.
He knew his place all too well.
Truly, he knew it so much that thinking never changes no matter what you say to him.
Being a reader, then, means he was entirely curious as to what kind of books these people read. And he was so disappointed to see that the spine of the books were purely titles of histories and other accounts. There was no fiction at all.
Truly, why would this world need one if it is already one?
It's utter nonsense anyway. It's like using a projecting image to the wall and pretending to be a window.
What a stupid fucking thing.
Though, one title was an attention-grabber: Accounts of the Otherworlders and Their Historie.
"So, I'm not the first?" he snickered, still munching on the apple. "At least I'm not alone then."
With his free hand, he grabbed that book and opened it. Henry Savoy flipped through the pages, leaving out the introductory part and went straight to the first Otherworlder, as they say. He always read-out-loud when he was alone.
"Amelia," and then he stopped and laughed when he saw the next name. "Earhart."
"Amelia-fucking-Earhart?! You're kidding me, right?"
And no, the book did not kid him. When his eyes fell on the painted picture of the lady, it did look like Amelia Earhart, at least a younger version of her. He was wearing a smile and a copy of aviator glasses, this one was painted gold, so it must be made from it. Then he read the rest of the page.
"Lady Amelia Earhart, the Angel of Linbern, was the first known Otherworlder. He was summoned to fight in the war known as the Calamity of Cain by the Fourfold Whisperers, the monks of Norsiwease, the gods of wind and fortune.
"Jesus Christ, this is damn absurd," he shook his head and chuckled. Knowing that he was in for another surprise, he flipped to the next pages or so, skipping most parts of what Amelia Earhart did in this world.
"Anastasia Romanov, Lady of Thorns," he chuckled again. "Of course, what the hell am I expecting?"
He read and read, but fell silent after a few words or so. A memory permeated in his head, one of those nights back in the Walking Stick with Wally the Weirdo spitting about how many of the conspiracy theorists were wrong about lost people being abducted. At first, he was amused by how it turned out. A conspiracy theorist disagreed with his own kind, but then it was replaced with bewilderment when he supplicated it with another reason—that they were not abducted but transported to another realm.
And now, that wasn't so absurd to him. I mean, he was seeing it first hand. These two are famous for mysteriously disappearing. He expected to see Ambrose Bierce, an author who vanished next. He enjoyed reading his works as a kid, particularly his short stories and a specific one called The Boarded Window. And to his astonishment the man was not there.
Instead, it was someone named Alexandros. That's it, no family name. The only thing that followed was his title: The Realmbearer.
Unusual to say the least, but from the way he was painted in that book, he looked something like a hero should be.
Flowing blonde hair like strings of gold, a strong jaw that supported his bright smile, and broad shoulders that were covered by a broader set of pauldrons—the right one had a snarling lion head sculpted on it, and the other had a focused stallion. The painting, greatly so, captured the spirit in his eyes.
One that was looking far away joyously, as if it had just wept for the death of his purpose and now gleamed once more.
For now, Henry Savoy decided to close the book, placing it on the empty spaces on the edges of the book, the front cover facing him instead of the spine. He was planning to steal that since it proved to really be an interesting read.
He paced the room again, eating his apple and thinking how to escape, but mainly how to put those bottles of juices to use. He could use his magick again and drown on the wine he'll make, but the problem is that, even though this world is vastly different from where he came from, hangovers and intoxication are still a thing.
Henry Savoy felt a bit of that earlier in the morning even though he only drank one bottle of wine. Those damn things are easy to underestimate, but they pack a punch and one hell of a bad morning if you drank too much of them.
When he thought of a way back home, he couldn't really figure how to work it out. Sure, he could always escape this place, but what then? Would he need to use the same magick as the one that took him here? If so, how would that even work? Is that kind of magick exclusive to some or can it be done by everyone? Is it something you do with a group or alone?
The rules of magick.
It's absurd in the most complex way possible.
Well, hey, he thought, it's better to escape this place rather than be subjected to that bullshit prophecy.
The apple, after a few more minutes of pacing, was all but a core. He had eaten most of it and, for the sake of knowing himself more, he thought of opening that tab of status that appeared to him when the Saint of Oberin was choking the shit out of him.
And it was that simple, it popped out when he thought it would.
He half-chuckled.
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Name: Henry Savoy
Level: ∞
Title: The Chosen One
HP: 100/100
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[Active Skills]
Ultratolerance (Lvl. 1)
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[Passive Skills]
King of Rot (Lvl. 1)Master of Liquors (Lvl. 1)(Unknown)(Unknown)
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There was a temporary skill there earlier, thought Henry Savoy. It must've ran its course. The next time it appeared, he was sure to study it. To dwell on it was not an option, and he took to something else.
"Ultratolerance?" he said, eyebrow quirking. And another tab popped out beside it.
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[Active Skills]
Ultratolerance (Lvl. 1)
Henry Savoy can continue fighting or working without rest for longer periods before exhaustion sets in. Additionally, The character is 20% less likely to be poisoned and is 10% resistant to any form of magick. Effective for one hour.
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"Neat," he chuckled, walking to the drawer where the plate of fruits are and picking five bulbs of plump grapes by their stem. "It might test this out. What pertains to poison anyway? Maybe that applies to alcohol, too."
Henry imagined the tabs would close and it did so. He sat on the surface of the drawer , eating the sweet grapes, his eyes now on the bottles of fruit juices. Some of it was made from grapes, some from apples, pears. plum, and others that he wasn't sure existed in his world. There was one called Apricia and it was made from the apriceros fruit.
What the fuck is an apriceros fruit?
That question was also floating in Henry Savoy's mind.
So, he placed back the rest of the uneaten grapes on the brass bowl and took the bottle of Apricia. He bit the cork, popping it off, and taking a hearty swig from it. And holy shit, was it a treat.
It is like tasting three fruits at the same time. A ripe peach bursting with syrupy sweetness on his tongue like an exploding sun, then, upon reaching the middle of his taste buds, it became tarty like a crisp green apple. To top it off was the aftertaste. Creamy is a texture, but in this case, he swore it was a taste. It somehow reminded him of a mango he once had.
Otherworldly, just like him.
Unbeknownst to him, he drank every last drop of that bottle. Good thing there was another one because he liked it very much. There were so many things he'd like to steal from this place and those bottles are one of them.
But, another question floated in his mind: what does it taste like fermented?
He recklessly placed the empty bottle of juice beside him and took the other Apricia. Imagining that an energy flowed in him, the King of Rot worked its wonders and fermented the juice inside the glass. After a minute, he opened the cork the way he did with the one earlier and took a small swig of it.
It tasted better, in some way. There was a bit of kick to it, one that he didn't expect. It was sharp, like gin, but it had the flavors of it still. It was a cross between a wine and vodka, so it was real pleasing to the tongue.
"God damn, this is a dangerous drink," he smirked before taking another glutinous drink.
It was a peaceful moment.
A man, all alone, in a lavish room, drinking an alcoholic beverage new to him. He remembered that these are the reasons why he was so obsessed with making drinks, because they are a delight to the senses.
But everything must come to an end.
Peace is only a pleasure because of disturbance.
A knock came on the door, Henry Savoy stopped drinking. He knitted his eyebrows—who would knock on the door in the middle of the night? That's always a weird thing, no matter which world you are in.
"Who's there?" he shouted.
"It's me," the person said, as if that means something. He doesn't know anyone in this world in that way to merit that kind of response.
So, there's only one way to find out.
He walked to the door, the bottle of Apricia in hand, and opened it slowly.
When he saw who had the balls to bother someone in the middle of the night, it became clear. Though she looked vastly different from how he met her.
"What is it, babe?" he snickered. "You feel lonely tonight?"
"May I come in?" Lady Keirin asked, eyes downcast for reasons that Henry Savoy already knew.
"Sure thing," he smiled, one that was not entirely genuine but looked like one, opening the door widely and gesturing to her to come in.