Logan woke up on his back. He felt better than he had expected, considering what he knew of the extent of his injuries. Groaning, he moved to sit up.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were ya,” a voice mentioned.

  Logan lost his balance lying back down with a thump. “Ow,” he said, rubbing the back of his head.

  “Good to see you're still breathing,” the stranger commented.

  The stranger’s voice reminded Logan of his father’s. In the sense of generations of smoking and alcohol use making the vocal cords sound like gravel against sandpaper. Looking over at the man. Logan saw that he looked in relative shape. His clothes were of the workmans variety a few decades behind more mainly cotton than polycotton blend. He had a small hunting knife in his hand whittling a knotted branch in the other.

  “Where am I?” Logan asked.

  “Probably not where you want to be,” the man commented, keeping his eye on the knife and stick.

  “That wasn’t an answer,” Logan pointed out, “and who are you?”

  The man let out a slight chuckle. “Oh, I’m well aware laddy.”

  Setting the stick down and putting his knife away. He adjusted to look at Logan.

  “Kragen Bloodmoon is ma name,” he said, letting out a calloused hand for Logan to shake. “As fur where ya are. That may be harder to explain.”

  “Why?” Logan asked sceptically.

  “Well, unless ya like taking psychedelics that make ya strip off yur gear in the middle of the woods.” Kragen paused as the look on Logan’s face said he might have done it a time or two in the past. “On that note, the closest town is probably a few days' journey in a straight line so that is unlikely.”

  “What are the other options?”

  “You're not from around here are ya, lad?”

  “What gave me away?”

  Kragen pointed to various parts of his own body, reflecting the tattoos on Logan’s.

  “Some of the markings you have,” Kragen said, pointing to an area where Logan had a tattoo of crossed wrenches under a skull with a gear and flames in its mouth. “Some may think you are a necromancer or at least somethin’ like it.”

  Too Kragen’s surprise Logan chuckled. “Despite my appearance I don’t raise the dead.” he said in between small chuckles. “Let alone magic just in stories.”

  A small campfire had been set up, but not yet burning. Kragen pointed a bratwurst sized finger at it. A small flame went from the tip of the finger to the pile of firewood, catching in an instant as if it had gasoline dripped over it while Logan was out.

  “Oh your poor wife,” Logan said.

  “I’m not married,” Kragen replied at the outburst.

  He was starting to believe the man across from him may not be as crazy as to perform necromancy, but something worse.

  “How did you get out of here anyway?” Kragen asked. “You seem on the edge of sanity.”

  Logan shrugged. “Sanity is only a matter of perspective.” he commented, using his good arm to sit up and lean against a tree. “Anyway, I’m not sure how I got here. Last I knew I was in my room. Fully clothed mind, watching Netflix.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “What’s Netflix?”

  “Not important,” Logan commented. “Then, all I hear is ‘Come children of conquest’ or something like that and wake up naked in a crater.”

  Kragen put his hand to his chin in thought. A summoning, a strange one if it moves people from one place to another. Could have been a teleportation ritual gone awry. Kragen doubted it, since he admitted that he had never seen magic, and would probably deny it if he saw it again with hopefully some major exceptions.

  “Oh, I am Logan by the way.” Logan said. “I don’t think I gave you my name yet.”

  Kragen nodded his head. “Al’ight Logan, if it is al’ight with ya I’d like to take ya to ma farm. I got an alchemist on staff. She might be able to fix ya up well and good.”

  “I don’t see a problem with that, except the fact that my leg has a chunk missing,” Logan pointed out, not realizing his leg had been repaired by a potion that Kragen had given him earlier.

  “Your leg is fine,” Kragen said, throwing dirt on the fire that luckily didn’t eat too much of the firewood. “I fed you a potion after the wolves were taken care of.”

  Logan didn’t see any weapons other than the hunting knife that was kept in a sheath attached to Kragen’s belt. He believed that Kragen possibly had a pistol or some kind of equivalent hidden somewhere.

  Lifting up the blanket, he saw a pair of pants on him that he hadn’t put on or owned.

  “That was me,” Kragen admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “I needed to carry ya and the stuff we got from the wolves. Unfortunately, ya never got pants in the loot. So I put on one of my extra pairs of trousers on you.”

  “So essentially, both of us are in desperate need of a priest,” Logan said jokingly.

  …

  In the worship district of a town that was relatively close to the farm the Kragen owned and ran. A clergyman of the deity to war knelt by an altar conducting his practice of prayer.

  Hollowed footsteps of the hall of empty pews. Finishing his prayer the priest stood facing the newcomer.

  “As much as my god much appreciates yours archbishop. What can I help you with?” the priest of war asked.

  “We need to go on a journey to meet someone,” the archbishop replied by way of greeting.

  “What might a journey benefiting a clergyman of crafting have to bring a clergyman of war with you?”

  It was not common practice for clergymen of different faiths to go on spiritual journeys together; it was not unheard of. Although it was usually religions that were roughly aligned to one another.

  “It was relayed to me by another that someone in this world may not like the treatment of their friend.”

  “We are the distraction I take?”

  The archbishop of crafting nodded in agreement. “Yes, one of the beings my god has taken a liking to may have him in his care soon. It is best we get an adequate time to be opportune for his complete attention.”

  …

  Logan was not feeling the greatest. Even though they had stopped a few times to check or change the bandages. The salve under the bandages did not like under his nose. A mutual feeling relayed by his sense of smell.

  To Logan’s relief the distance was only a few days. On the edges of the forest. He was surprised by the amount of buildings. He saw close to a dozen, each a different color.

  “The building over there is where we will go for now,” Kragen commented, pointing out a small building that was probably no bigger than a medium sized shed. “Hopefully, our resident alchemist isn’t busy.”

  …

  Liliana sat or as most saw it laid, at what could only be described as a lab station. Different beakers and test tubes hooked up to one another containing the possibly noxious fumes from the various concoctions she had been making before knocking herself out from pure exhaustion.

  When she was awake and not making the less questionable potions as her experiments, tended to be good at heart, but with dubious ingredients and sometimes horrible mostly temporary side effects.

  She sat upright as her senses picked up Kragen, her boss and the space around him. Or more accurately the lack of it.

  Liliana, despite her conservative appearance of relatively loose fitting clothes, was a succubus. Her senses had a few added features other than sight and smell. She could sense the aura of a person. The general expression and emotion of a soul. Everyone had one; with the exception of the undead and very specific breed of demon with a keen delight in killing everything.

  “Come in,” she said, turning to the door, not giving Kragen a chance to knock.

  “Aye Liliana,” Kragen said, opening the door and coming in with another person. “This is Logan. Can you take a look at ‘em.”

  Liliana took a quick look at the man. He looked human. Dark hair with a pair of piercing eyes. Given the way that he awkwardly came in the door his physique was new to him. The bandages covering the man’s shoulders and chest.

  “Alright, but I have a few questions.