TravelingDreamer
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B7—Chapter 35: When Giants Mistake You for a Dwarf
🕑 Added 2025-10-23 14:55:28 +0000 UTCThe snow started again, and this time it wasn’t just a light fall but a real storm, winds and all. The temperature kept dropping day after day, and it got so cold that even my amazing cloak couldn’t protect me completely. It kept my body warm enough, but my face was another story. Even with the hood pulled down over half of it, my nose felt like it was about to fall off. Sure, I could cover my face completely, but then I wouldn’t be able to see where I was going. Crashing into a tree, or worse, flying into one, wasn’t high on my list.
Even the underground city was getting colder. The thick layers of rock made decent insulation, but the chill still seeped through.
Mahya, Al, and I stood about twenty meters inside the tunnel, staring out at the raging snow. The wind tossed it in every direction, wild and relentless. It looked quite apocalyptic.
“We should return to Quassior,” Mahya said, pulling her coat tighter as the wind howled through the tunnel entrance. “I think we arrived at the start of winter, and now it has truly set in.”
“But I want to meet dwarves,” I said, trying not to sound like a sulking child while kicking at a bit of frozen gravel near my boot.
“Do you intend to remain underground for an indefinite period?” Al asked. “You should take into account that not all seasons are of equal length as on Earth. Zindor serves as a good example. This winter might last four or five months.”
“Probably longer,” Mahya said, peering out at the swirling white. “We’re way up north.”
I had no answer, so I just sighed, shoulders slumping, and followed them back toward the house, the crunch of our footsteps echoing through the cold tunnel.
While I was cooking lunch, Mahya came to the kitchen and leaned against the bar. “I’ve been thinking.”
“Dangerous,” I said without looking up, stirring the pan.
She gave my shoulder a playful shove and chuckled. “Anyway, since Zindor is closed to us, I need a new source of cores.”
“This world is only twenty-seven,” I said, glancing at her. “No dungeons.”
“I know.” She leaned over the pan, sniffing. “But Quassior still has the red zones, and one of them is only two or three days from the Gate. So, I’ve been thinking. You want to meet dwarves, and with that cloak of yours, you can handle the cold. Besides, you don’t want to fight anyway. Al still wants levels; he hasn’t exactly recovered from his near-death experiences. We can go back to Quassior, collect cores right under the eliminators’ noses, and you can visit the dwarves. When you’re done with them, come find us in the nearest zone.”
“You said the cores are too small.” I glanced at her as I stirred the pan.
She sighed and kicked the bar, the faint clang echoing through the kitchen. “They are. But since they’re the only ones available right now, I need to compromise.”
“Do we know the time skip?” I asked, setting the spoon down.
“Yeah. Al and I checked. Time moves slower on this side.”
“What’s the difference?”
She shrugged. “Something like an hour here is ten or fifteen minutes in Quassior.”
“And if you can’t collect cores?”
“We’ll wait out the snow and come find you with Malith’s bracelet,” she said, moving closer to the counter. “By the way, we should write him a thank-you note in the Archive. When he gave them to us, I didn’t think we’d ever actually use them, but they proved invaluable.”
I nodded, setting the pan aside to cool. “Yeah, both his gifts are great.”
Mahya wrinkled her nose, tilting her head. “The pendant is useful for you and Al, less for me. But the bracelets are great.” She tapped her fingers lightly on the counter and looked at me expectantly. “So, what do you think about my idea?”
“Did you check with Al?”
“Yeah, he’s in.”
“Sounds good,” I said, grabbing plates. “We’ll talk it through over lunch.”
Turned out we didn’t really have much to discuss. They wanted levels and cores; I wanted to meet dwarves. Sure, it would’ve been nicer in good weather, but the universe doesn’t exactly cater to our preferences.
When I asked Rue if he wanted to join me, he almost choked on his steak, gave me a long, judgmental side-eye, shook his head in disappointment, and sent a very clear feeling through the bond—one that questioned my sanity. He didn’t say a word, but the message was loud and clear.
I laughed, shaking my head. My dog, the snow-hating drama queen.
They stayed with me in the underground city for another three days, waiting out the storm. Al wanted to supply me with potions, and Mahya and Rue wanted me to supply them with food. Mahya hovered near the stove, arms crossed, making sure I cooked enough to fill her Storage and Rue’s stomach. Every now and then, the big lump of fur would bump my leg, drooling hopefully at the smell.
By the morning of the third day, the storm broke. The roaring wind faded to a whisper, and when I stepped outside, the world looked transformed. Snow blanketed everything, soft and glimmering, and delicate flakes drifted lazily from the sky. It was still cold enough to bite, but after days of white chaos, it looked peaceful.
Inside, the others were ready. After a quick breakfast and a few last words, I walked them to the Gate on the upper terrace.
Mahya pulled me into a tight hug, her braids brushing my cheek. “Have fun, but don’t do anything stupid,” she said with a grin.
Al clapped me on the back. “Be careful”.
Rue, of course, went for the emotional approach, planting his paws on my shoulders and covering my face in wet, slobbery affection.
“Okay, okay! I get it,” I laughed, wiping my face. “Miss me later.”
They stepped through the Gate. I went back down, closed up the house, then pulled on a ski mask, goggles, gloves, and my cloak before heading out. The air bit at every bit of exposed skin as I flew out of the tunnel into the cold, glittering sky. Excitement bubbled in my gut. I’d read about dwarves in countless fantasy books, but now I’d finally get to see if the stories got them right.
The closest town was about half an hour away, and by the time I reached it, every bit of skin the cloak didn’t cover felt frozen solid. I poured as much mana into the cloak as it would take, but it made no difference. The cold slipped through every gap and crevice, creeping along hidden paths toward my body with the malicious intent of freezing me to death. I didn’t have a thermometer, but I guessed it had to be around minus thirty-five, maybe even minus fifty.
Brrr.
The town was medium-sized, no more than forty log houses, each about thirty or forty meters long, with a few chimneys puffing smoke and one releasing steam. They were arranged around a massive round log building in the center, like spokes of a wheel. Most of the residents moved around that central house, their figures distinct even from the air. They were tall—definitely not dwarves.
What caught my attention most was how lightly they were dressed. Every one of them wore fur coats and pants, but some had their coats open, revealing thin cloth shirts underneath. Just watching them made me shiver.
I landed a short distance from the people and listened, letting the wind carry bits of conversation to me. The language was rough and guttural, filled with hard consonants and barely any vowels, as if the words were carved rather than spoken. It took time to pick up the rhythm, and longer still to practice the sounds quietly under my breath until they stopped scraping my tongue.
When I finally felt confident enough to try speaking, I took to the air again and glided toward what I guessed was the main road. At least, I hoped it was. The snow was so thick that the only sign of a path was the lack of trees.
Just in case, I took off the ski mask and goggles, covered my poor freezing nose with my hand, and walked into town. I had to channel the Heat spell in front of me to clear a path, so the going was slow, but I finally made it. Thankfully, they cleared the snow in town.
Up close, I could finally estimate their height, and they were tall. Very tall. The shortest woman I saw was at least a head taller than me, and most of the men had two heads on me easily. They looked Caucasian, with pale pink skin and long blond or ginger hair in thick dreadlocks. Every man I saw had a beard long enough to braid, with small bones and coins woven through it that clinked softly when they moved.
All of them looked down at me from their towering height with confused expressions. There was no hostility, just the blank, startled look people might wear if the furniture suddenly started talking.
The round house served as a kind of commercial center. The first open door led into a carpenter’s shop, where a mini giant was sanding a plank with long strokes. The next doorway opened into a bakery that smelled incredible. The unmistakable aroma of frying onions and meat drifted out, making me drool. The meat was common to all worlds, but onions weren’t, and that got me excited. If they actually had onions here —or even something similar —I needed to restock.
The third door revealed what looked like a clothing shop, or maybe a fur workshop; it was hard to tell with all the pelts hanging from the ceiling. The fourth door was the real prize. I couldn’t tell if it was a bar or a restaurant, but the sight of long tables and benches was welcome.
Inside, it wasn’t much warmer than outside. The door stood wide open, and three large windows let in gusts of icy air that bit at my skin. Most of the people inside had taken off their outer fur jackets and sat comfortably in their shirts as if the cold were nothing more than a mild breeze. Meanwhile, I was shivering so hard my teeth almost clattered. The chill from my exposed face seemed to seep straight through my skin and crawl down my body, cloak or no cloak.
When the barman noticed me, he froze mid-pour, eyes wide as if he had just seen something impossible. The cup overflowed, and golden liquid spilled across the bar, pooling under his hand. He blinked rapidly, gave a quick shake of his head like someone snapping out of a daze, then hurried to grab a rag and wipe up the mess.
What the hell?
I approached him, stamping my boots to shake off the cold. “You have hot drink here?”
He just stared, eyes wide, looking even more stupefied than before.
I waved a hand in front of his face. “Hey. You hear me?”
He blinked, drew in a sharp breath, and finally nodded.
“Hot drink, please. Freeze here.” I rubbed my arms for emphasis, breath fogging the air.
Again, that same stupefied look. His mouth opened, then closed, like he couldn’t decide if I was real.
“Is something problem? Why you look me like that?” I asked, frowning slightly, trying to keep my teeth from chattering.
He bowed deeply, eyes fixed on the floor, and said, “We welcome back the cursed, and apologize for past… something something.” His voice trailed off into words I didn’t recognize.
Now it was my turn to look stupefied.
Two men stepped up to the bar and stopped on either side of me. Their boots thudded heavily on the wooden floor, and I caught a faint smell of smoke and fur. I wasn’t worried; I could handle myself, especially in mana 27, but the way they boxed me in sent a chill down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold. It reminded me too much of high school, when bigger guys thought crowding me put me in my place. I didn’t like the memory or the feeling it brought back.
“Where is your beard, little man?” asked the guy on the left, leaning closer. He was at least two and a half meters tall, with thick ginger dreadlocks and far too many bones woven into his beard.
“Huh?” I frowned at him, unsure if I’d heard right.
The one on the right rested a heavy hand on my shoulder, his grip firm but not aggressive. “He is not cursed,” he said. He was even taller, blond, with pale blue eyes so light they almost looked white.
I turned to him, still frowning, completely lost.
“Yes, he is,” said the one with the bone beard, straightening to his full height.
“No, he is not,” pale eyes said. “Look, he reaches my chest.” He tapped his chest for emphasis. “Cursed reach to my something.”
Bone beard reached around me and slapped pale eyes’ butt with a loud smack. “With such a big ass, they can use it like a roof.”
Oh, so they reach his ass? Is he talking about dwarves?
“Why cursed?” I asked, glancing between them.
Both of them gave me that famous look all Travelers get—the one that says, "How come you don’t know this and need to ask?"
Bone beard patted my shoulder, his hand surprisingly gentle for its size.
“Because they’re short,” pale eyes said.
“And their women have beards,” bone beard added with a grin.
The bartender finally brought my drink. It reminded me of German sour cider, though it had a faintly bitter aftertaste. Not the best thing I’d ever tasted, but warmth-wise, it was the best drink I’d ever had. I had just taken my third sip when the two giants suddenly grabbed me by the arms and half-lifted, half-dragged me toward a table. My boots barely touched the floor as I sputtered and choked, cider going down the wrong pipe.
“What the?” I managed between coughs, not having the word for hell yet.
They froze mid-step like Al caught looking for cookies and gently lowered me back to the floor.
Better.
I straightened my cloak, dignity somewhat intact, and walked to the table under my own power. They followed close behind and sat on either side, again boxing me in. I decided not to complain. Their body heat worked as a great heater.
“Who are you?” pale eyes asked, leaning forward with intense curiosity.
“How did you get here?” bone beard asked immediately after.
“I asked first,” pale eyes said, narrowing his eyes.
“I’m older,” bone beard countered.
“By two days,” pale eyes shot back, glaring.
Bone beard reached around me and smacked the back of pale eyes’ neck.
Pale eyes, not to be outdone, reached over my head and gave him a firm slap on the skull.
I took another long sip of my hot cider, pretending this was perfectly normal. They clearly didn’t need me to mediate.
When the slapping stopped, both of them turned to me in perfect unison, eyes wide with anticipation.
“What?” I asked.
“Who are you?” pale eyes repeated.
“How did you get here?” bone beard added.
“I asked first,” pale eyes said again, reaching around me to shove bone beard in the shoulder.
I sighed. Here we go again.
This time, their argument lasted longer and involved a lot more slaps. The only problem was that all the smacking and shoving took place right above my head, like I was sitting under a thunderstorm made of fists. I wasn’t exactly tall, and it usually didn’t bother me, but between these two giants, I felt like a kid stuck between feuding mountains.
A young woman approached our table and hit both of them on the head with a big metal mug. “Act your age and leave the poor cursed alone.”
“He’s not cursed,” said pale eyes.
“Yes, he reaches Silent Fang’s chest, not his ass,” said bone beard, grinning wide enough to show every tooth.
Silent Fang slapped him again, over my head, of course. The mug-wielding woman joined in and smacked Silent Fang’s skull with a sharp thunk that echoed across the room.
I hunched down, half expecting the next swing to catch me by accident. The two giants glared at each other, then at the woman, before going right back to smacking, shoving, and thunking each other on the head like overgrown children. For a moment, I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or run. I chose the safer option and sat perfectly still, regretting every life choice that had led me to this point. Especially since the cider in my cup had run out and I was freezing again.
The bartender stormed out from behind the bar, grabbed the two giants by their dreadlocks, yanked them off the bench, dragged them to the door, and threw them out with a satisfying thud, adding a kick to each for good measure.
The girl slid into the seat beside me, grinning wide enough to show all her teeth. She looked at me like I was some exotic creature in a traveling fair.
“What?” I asked, for what felt like the hundredth time that day.
“I never met a cursed,” she said, leaning closer a little, her tone somewhere between wonder and disbelief.
“I’m not cursed.” I frowned, trying to keep my voice calm.
“But you’re short!” she said, her eyebrows shooting up.
“Not short enough.”
She grabbed my shoulder and yanked me to my feet, turned me sideways, and eyed me from head to toe like she was inspecting a piece of furniture. “You sure?”
I’d had enough of being manhandled. “Do you have an inn here?”
“What for?” she asked, tilting her head and squinting as if the question made no sense.
I sighed, walked to the bar, set a silver coin on it, not knowing the price, and headed out. The street was still fairly busy, but I ducked behind the nearest log house, made sure no one could see me, turned invisible, and took off toward the underground city. They didn’t mean any harm, that much was clear, but Spirits, they were strange. I needed at least a day to prepare mentally before making a second attempt to visit that bizarre town and finally find out what they knew about the dwarves.
Comments
TravelingDreamer
John? Think ahead? And stop being a wizard?
C Smith
Funny chapter but one thing confuses me.Why wouldn't he make some magic thing to heat up the area around him?? I mean he's a Wizard, he can make magic script, runes, etc he can power stuff with cores or in other ways
