The world of Fabel

“Well, so much for triple B elves (big breasted beauties).” Walking around, this place looked more or less like every other Isekai story he’d ever read. A starting town with not much going on, and yet, even in those stories there was some happening that pulled the main character into the rest of the story.

“Where even am I? Would it have killed the writer to make these streets a little different?” He complained. He’d passed a few people already and just through overhearing conversations, it was clear it was a completely different language. The street signs he checked out were similar, all of them looking German or something similar. “Do I need to go somewhere specific or…? Would it have killed him to give me a manual or something?” Still looking around aimlessly, that chapel came into view again, and curiosity (and slight boredom) took him inside.

It was massive, pews lined the ground floor, four rows across all the way from the door to the front. Stained glass ran up the wall and captured the light, illuminating the entire cathedral. Tapestries hung from the ceiling with intricate designs of a god he didn’t know, and a great field of green. Yet despite its size and the people passing by outside it was mostly empty save the three or four people praying at the altar, and the priest wandering with a dove in one hand.

Somehow, he’d found himself at the altar, awkwardly just standing there until his social anxiety forced him to kneel like the rest of them. He clasped his hands together, playing along. “Dear god… ya think you could maybe give me a chance here?” He asked. “I mean, am I really supposed to learn another language just to get home? I dunno, you got some angry green owl up there or something?”

The patrons began to shake. As Arata prayed hopelessly, a light cascaded through the stained glass, and bathed him in the glow. They prayed to him, gods chosen!

“…oh, snap. Sorry bro” Arata heard back. Hearing a voice in his head should have terrified him. But, it was weirdly just kind of annoying. “Y’know, fantasy world, you just forget the smaller stuff like language. The boss is gonna have my ass for this one… anyways, you should be able to understand it now. Lemme know if you need anything else!”

“Getting me home now would be nice” Arata snapped, his face scrunching just a tad.

“Oh, would you look at the time! Good luck Gamo Arata!” The light receded.

“Son of a…”

*-*-*

A few hours had already gone by in this new world, he could finally understand the folk around him and the writing, but even still he was none the wiser on what exactly he needed to do. Deciding to take a load off, he took shelter in the local bar.

It was a small little drink house, with a saloon door and the distinctive smells of booze and stewed meats. The bar was free, a few patrons found their way to the booths, chatting away and enjoying their cold fire water. The barkeep slid a nice icy pitcher to Arata and the (admittedly rather attractive) bar assistant happily placed down a bowl of stew. Beer was beer, it was a comfort, something he was overjoyed was available in this world as well. The stew, well, he’d chosen it more out of curiosity. “Hirteneintopf”… “Shepherd’s Stew… nice…”

The beer came first though, the beer was always first!

His mind wandered, thinking back on the chapel and the streets outside. “Seems so quiet. You’d think there’d be something going on around here. I mean, this place does seem like the starting town in a game, maybe I have to leave to find the exit? Would’ve been nice of that shadowy creep to at least explain this a little. I mean, how am I supposed to know what to do?” He could just see the carefree figure peace signing him and his flagon hit the table hard. “Maybe I should try and find an inn somewhere, figure this out and make a move in the morning?” His thoughts ended with another mouthful of ale.

As he chugged he could overhear conversations at the nearby booth and between the staff, being that he’d only had the ability to understand them for a solid ten minutes his interest was piqued.

“The Princess has been what?!” The barkeep gasped.

“They say it was in the middle of the night.”

“Her poor parents…”

“Hmm? Princess?” He wondered whilst chomping on the meaty stew. His mind started to ache a little again, bringing back the manga panel of this. Of Reinhardt saving the princess. He could vaguely make out a few other panels but the alcohol of that night left patches in his memory blocking any further information. “Princess… Plotgerät? I think? She was, uhh…”

“Who would even think of kidnapping her?” One of the patrons conveniently responded. “Kidnapped, that’s the one.” He remarked. “That kid Reinhardt saves her. Damsel in distress gig, real original Mr Writer.”

The pub itself was cozy, friends shared a drink and laughed together in their own little groups, but that coziness was interrupted as the door swung open violently. Everyone, Arata included, looked over. Rather than the evil villain he was afraid would appear, it was a girl. Young and slender with long black hair that ended at her lower back. Arata instantly was drawn to her and those piercing yellow eyes, more cat like than human. She was exactly what he’d expect of a heroine in a story like this, her gear a cute combination of pinks and blacks along with her brown leather knee-high boots.

She was gasping for air and doubled over. “Has… has anyone seen Reinhardt?” She asked breathlessly. “I need… I need Reinhardt.” She explained.

Arata turned back to his drink and continued his meal. “She’s looking for the protagonist… must be Leona then. Reinhardt’s friend.” He vaguely remembered the three man cell that was led by Reinhardt, Leona was the one most people kept reading for. They were a group of adventurers that came together after a bit of trouble. The trio were close to one person in particular… “The Princess! That Reinhardt was always at the palace. Guess he’s out looking for her.” He scraped the last little bit of his stew up, “none of my business anyway.”

But it’s as the last bit of stew reached his mouth, the heat of it warming his lips, that he realised something truly terrifying. The barkeep watched him like a hawk, and Arata checked all the pockets on his outfit, frantically searching for that ever important piece of metal. The barkeep saw his distress, he’d seen it many times over his years. “How was your meal, sir?” He asked, menacingly.

The sweat on Arata’s brow leaked into his eyes, falling like salty tears. “Uh… fine, perfect. Thank you” he responded, praying to any holy being that he could that his fake smile would work. Of course it didn’t, and the barkeep leant in close. His rolled up sleeves revealed more tone and muscle than Arata had ever seen. His bald head was scarred, likely from some kitchen mishap but to Arata, it conjured images of patrons gone by that left the establishment in body bags. His skin grew sickly white.

“Your food was 12 silvers sir, the ale another 5.” He didn’t blink once, pausing for the money to be handed over but Arata did nought but shake. “Now sir, I wouldn’t like to be presumptuous here… but it seems to me, you may not have the coin…”

Slowly Arata’s soul started to seep from his mouth, his eyes rolling back in his head “goodbye, cruel world” he cried.

…

Coins slapped down onto the counter. The barkeep smiled and accepted the payment, nodding to both Arata and the girl beside him. Arata’s eyes, filled with tears, caught hers, his saviour. To his surprise, it was Leona, looking at him tentatively.

“Th- thank you…”

“Save it. Come on, we gotta go.” She told him as she grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet.

“Go?” Arata replied. “Where are you taking me?”

“The Princess needs our help!”

“The Queen has requested your presence immediately… Reinhardt.”