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thiswasinevitableid · 1 month

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Perfect Specimen (Sternclay)

I decided I wanted to do something for Monster March, and @bellafarallones and I were riffing on this amazing art from @panthermouthh, as the design on Doctor Frankenstein is not unlike how I personally picture Stern.

A few content notes: This is NSFW, and given the subject matter it touches on death. There's also animal death but everything comes out okay in the end.

It’s the perfect night for mystery and horror. The very air itself is filled with monsters.

And if Joseph’s lab does not have a monster of its own by the time this thunderstorm is done, he’s going to walk out the highest window in the castle.

Four years of research, another year of planning, six months of gathering supplies, days and nights without sleep, the burns on his upper arm, the white in his hair, all of it has been for this moment.

The instruments tell him the voltage from the storm is the highest he can hope for, and a moment later the readings from the nodes attached to the experiment tell him a bolt has connected long enough and strong enough to restart the heart.

He rigged the lift table to be moveable by one person, but it’s still exhausting to strain against the chains, to control the force of the descent, all the while sweat mingles with the rain as it drops from the platform. The instant the table touches the lab floor, he wrenches the handle to close the gap in the roof, shutting out the storm at last. Now all that’s left is the crackle of the equipment, the distant thunder, and his heart beating so loud that for a moment he can’t manage to move.

When his stethoscope can’t find a twin beat in the chest of his specimen, he sags to the floor, pushes himself back until he’s resting against the nearest table and tosses his gloves away in frustration. He digs his hands into his hair, gripping at the root, wanting to scream in frustration but somehow, after all this time, afraid someone might hear.

He did everything right, picked every part as carefully as if the body were his own. No beer-saturated livers, no bad hearts, no black lungs for his specimen. And it still hadn’t worked.

The window calls to him. He tugs his hair again, frees his hands only to dig his nails into his palms. No. He can do this. He’s Dr. Joseph Stern, he has brought life to lower animals and god damn it he will bring life to this one.

He rises, brushing off his lab coat, brain already churning on a new plan.

Then the figure beneath the sheet sits bolt upright and starts to scream.

—-----------------------------------------------------------

The last thing Barclay remembers is his room at the Lodge. He’d been alone, the doctor had told Mama and the others they couldn’t come in, not unless they wanted to risk the flu that was stealing his energy and breath away. He could feel he was dying, and he was so scared, he’d begged the man to at least let him see them in the doorway, but his usual doctor had passed from the flu himself. This one, sent from the city, had talked to Barclay like he had rocks for brains and didn’t even stay with him until the end. He’d cried out, weakly but still a cry, for his friends.

And now he’s crying out again, thrashing at the fabric above him. Fuck, he’s in a shroud and he can’t move, they’ve fucking buried him alive. That thought horrifies him so much he wrenches upward, freeing himself from the confines of his coffin and gasping for air.

Only there’s no wood or dirt anywhere. Just broken, leather straps hanging off his wrists and a white bed sheet tangled around his waist. A laboratory gleams and hisses around him, and to the right of his bed stands a man in white lab coat.

The man's hands are over his mouth in shock, his blue eyes wide with excited surprise. Barclay notices the streak of white in the front of his black hair as lightning flashes across the skylight.

“You’re alive. Alive!” He steps forward and Barclay leans away, body too full of residual panic to do anything else.

The scientist holds out a hand, as if Barclay is a spooked dog hiding under the bed, and says slowly and quietly, “Don’t be afraid. You’re not in danger. My name is Dr. Joseph Stern. This is my lab. And you…” a rapturous smile spreads across his face, “you’re my specimen. My vindication.”

“Specimen?” Barclay’s voice creeps upwards.

“You can talk.” Dr. Stern carefully sets his hands on the metal table Barclay mistook for a bed, “amazing, thank god I didn’t use my first choice of head and neck, it’d been damaged by hanging and might have-.”

“Woah, woah” Barclay holds up his hands, trying to get the doctor to make sense. It’s then that he sees his hands aren’t the ones he remembers, and they’re sewn to arms where the skin is a few shades darker. He tosses the sheet aside and finds the rest of his body the same kind of patchwork, clutches his face and notices a beard that wasn’t there before.

He starts screaming again.

“Please, stay calm-”

“What did you do? What the fuck did you do to me? What am I?”

“You’re a modern golem. A, a testament to science and progress.”

Barclay growls and grabs for him, dragging him close by the front of his coat, “Where the fuck is my body? My real body.”

“This is your real body.” The man pushes him back, cheeks slightly pink, “you’ve never had another one.”

“The hell I haven’t! Where is it, where’s, where’s the body of Barclay Cobb?”

The doctor stills, staring at him with fascinated confusion, “He…he’s in Kepler cemetery. Where he was buried. I needed his brain. And his eyes. But I left the rest of him there. Unless.”

“Unless?”

“Unless he’s here now?”

“Yeah. Yeah he is. He’s here and he’s confused and none of this is making that any better.” Tears sting his vision and spill down his cheeks

“I’m…I’m sorry. I didn’t expect this. Everything I read suggested that bringing you to life would potentially give you a soul. Or raise you without one. Not, not just bring back someone who was lost.”

“Feel like we have that saying about not believing everything you read for a reason.” He replies helplessly.

A slight smile, “True. And being cutting edge with my research meant there weren’t a lot of reference points.”

“Look” Barclay wipes his eyes and stands, finds himself actually looking down at the doctor, who himself must be six feet tall. The new height is the first thing about this whole mess that doesn’t feel like a curse, “whatever you did, it didn’t go how you expected. I’m not some new creature, I’m just a normal guy in a fucked-up body. So I’m gonna let you go back to the drawing board and I’m gonna go home and give my friends the biggest fucking hug I can manage.”

“You can’t” Dr. Stern steps between him and the door, “They won’t recognize your new body, and they might be upset if they put together what happened. More to the point, grave robbing and desecration of a corpse are serious charges and I have no plans to be brought up on them.”

“That sounds like a you problem.” He ties the sheet around his waist. That’ll have to work for now.

Blue eyes narrow, “Mr. Cobb. Barclay” the doctor brings his hands to his sides but makes no move to get out of the way, “People fear what they don’t understand. Right now, I barely understand what’s going on with you. How do you think people in Kepler are going to react?”

“Doesn’t seem like I’m much safer here.” Barclay glowers at the pistol sitting on one of the tables.

Stern sighs, “Several of my predecessors died when the animals they brought back with electricity turned on them. I don’t plan on joining them. It would have been an absolute last resort; Barclay, years of my life have led to this moment, and I’m not going to discard them lightly. Or let them walk right into the path of an angry mob.”

Barclay steps around him, and fingers grab his arm.

“If your old self saw this self coming down the dark road toward him, what would he do?”

“....Probably panic and run inside. Lock the doors and windows so he couldn’t get in and hurt my or my friends.”

“Now imagine how one of your less gentle neighbors might react.”

“Fuck.” Barclay wraps his arms around himself. His next step lands wrong, his legs unsteady, and sits heavily down on the floor. When he looks up, the doctor is hurriedly making notes.

“So, what, is the plan to make me sleep down here? Because staying in a dungeon sounds fucking miserable.”

The doctor shakes his head, “No. Lord knows there’s plenty of space in the castle, and I have a room ready for you. Um, just give me a few minutes to get it heated.”

More than a few minutes later Stern returns, dust on his coat, and gingerly extends a hand. Barclay takes it, and allows himself to be led up into his new home.

He only manages a few hours of sleep before pain wakes him. Anywhere he’s been stitched hurts. When it gets to the point where he can no longer comfortably lay in bed, he groans and gets up in search of the guy responsible.

The only light and noise in the house is still from the direction of the lab. Inside he finds Stern diligently filling a notebook with words and diagrams. The doctor doesn’t see him right away, and he wonders if this is even a good idea. The guy brought him back as an experiment, seems shocked that Barclay is a person instead of an empty vessel. Maybe asking for help will just cement the idea that Barclay needs to stay here for his own good.

Then again.

In the lamplight of a less panicked mind, Joseph Stern doesn’t look quite like the confident, business-like doctor ready to order Barclay around like he’s nothing. There are dark circles under his eyes and his black hair is a mess from wind sneaking through the skylight. And when Barclay awoke, monstrous and afraid, Stern didn’t flinch from him.

“Uh, Doctor Stern?”

The man looks up, and Barclay pushes down the urge to haul him up to bed before he passes out at his desk.

“Do you have anything for the pain?”

“That depends on where it is.”

Barclay explains the situation, Stern’s expression tinged with disappointment by the end. It’s only as the doctor unlocks a drawer that Barclay understands the emotion is directed at himself instead of Barclay.

“It didn’t occur to me that your nerves would react that way, though it makes perfect sense. Here” He holds out a tin of bitter-smelling salve, “this should help numb the pain if you rub it around the stitches.”

“What is it?”

“A topical painkiller. I developed it when I was earning my degree. The number of my colleagues who thought it was fine to give patients who needed to work to keep a roof over their heads ingestible pain relief that made them groggy was shocking. I wanted my patients to have another option.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

The other man smiles, subtly steadying his swaying body against the lab table, “You’re my housemate, not my servant. Call me Joseph.”

It’s only the fact that those last three words sound as if they haven’t been spoken in a long, long time that Barclay doesn’t roll his eyes at the idea that a rich boy from the city won’t see him as a servant. Instead, he takes the tin, returns to his bed, and falls into a deep, if somewhat tingly, sleep.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Joseph wakes to the smell of coffee and toast and the patter of the rain on the windows. He’s glad he managed to crawl into bed last night instead of passing out at his desk again; it’s cozy here.

He and Barclay spent the last thirty-six hours in opposite states of energy; Joseph was unable to sleep, anxious to write down every observation and note from Barclay being resurrected. When the anxiety started to fade, a wave of pride would come and buoy him along as he imagined everyone who mocked him being forced to admit he was right. The source of his excitement, on the other hand, spent the entire time in such a sound sleep Joseph checked him twice with the stethoscope to make sure he was still alive, and left him some clothes once he was certain he was. His guess is that, among the many effects of being brought back, Barclay’s body registered the life-giving jolt as a massive expenditure of energy. Not to mention that panic can really take it out of a man. Joseph knows that much from experience.

The smell of frying meat mingles with the toast now. He should get up and have breakfast.

He should figure out who in the castle is even making breakfast.

Joseph hurries out of bed, tying his robe as he descends the stairs. In the kitchen, humming as he moves from stove to table and back again, is Barclay.

“What are you doing?”

“Making breakfast. I’m sure you’re the kinda guy who survives on coffee and thoughts or whatever, but some of us need actual food.” The knife he’s using on a potato finds his finger instead, nicking it, and he pulls back with a sigh, “I’m sure the bigger hands will be good for something, but right now they’re a pain to get used to.”

Joseph shakes the thoughts of what those hands could do from his sleep-addled head as Barclay ties a small bandage–he must have found them in the lab– around the cut. There’s also a fresh burn on the back of his left hand; he must have hit it on the oven.

“I’m sorry, I know the new body must be hard to adjust to. In my defense, I didn’t think you’d be cooking.”

The taller man pulls the percolator from the stove, looking at him warily “What did you think I’d be doing?”

“Recovering and gaining control of your body for the first few weeks. Frankly I’m proud of the fact my careful work means you’re up and moving so soon, and the apparent transferring of your muscle memory into a new body is intriguing.”

“Yeah, if you’re not the guy banging his head into things. Or dealing with how itchy a beard can be.”

“I can buy you a razor if you want it gone.”

Barclay studies his reflection in a hanging pot, running his hands over the beard that’s barely past stubble, “Nah. I like how it looks. Mine always came in patchy.” He moves sausages onto a plate, “guess I oughta thank you for picking a handsome face for me, even if you did put stitches on it.”

“You can blame the fox that ate his nose part way off for that.”

Barclay grimaces.

“Sorry. I’ve been rooting around graveyards and charnel houses for so long it’s sort of…skewed how I talk about these things.”

“I mean, it seems like its’ kinda your life’s work so I get it. But no surgery talk at the table.” He sets the sausages and toast on the wood, then a plate down in front of Joseph and one in front of himself. Joseph pours them each coffee and they eat in awkward but not unpleasant silence.

As they’re walking past the fireplace in the dining room, Barclay pauses to look at the chess problem Joseph laid out a month ago.

“Do you play?”

The other man nods, “Learned how when I first started working at the Lodge. We, uh, we could play sometime.”

“I wish, but there’s a reason that’s just been sitting there. My work comes first.”

“I thought that was done. Or are you just going to keep making more guys like me?”

“No” he meets Barclay’s gaze, tries not to feel guilty for the distrust he finds there, “I have so much to learn from you. I’ve re-written some of the core beliefs of science, and I need to put my findings in enough order to present them eventually. Then there’s the fact that the process of constructing you has massive ramifications for the field of surgery.”

“So is my job just to lay in that fucking lab all day?”

That had been his plan. The moment Barclay turned those brown eyes on him and told him his name, it all went up in smoke.

“I’ll need to ask you questions now and then. And if possible have you do a few physical tests; that serves a second purpose of making sure your motor function isn’t deteriorating or you’re not getting ill from some unforeseen side effect of all this. Other than that, well, my home is yours to make your own.”

They leave it at that, Joseph retreating to his lab and Barclay wandering back towards the kitchen.

It’s just after six when Joseph is comparing his notes to those of one Professor Cold. There were rumors he’d succeeded in restoring not one, but two, bodies; his twin sons had been killed in a carriage accident. Joseph sees the groundwork for such a feat in the notes, but the way Cold writes about his potential subjects has always bothered him. They were living, breathing men with hopes and ideas and he sees them as nothing more than projects.

Than specimens.

Joseph closes the book, sets his notes in order for the night, and returns to the main floor of the castle. Barclay is in a chair by the fire, a book of Virgil in his lap and his focus on the window that faces town.

“Barclay?”

“Mm?”

In his old life he knew how to be charming. Maybe it’s time to dust off that skill.

“I’d be honored if you’d join me for a game of chess and a cup of coffee.”

Barclay looks him over, firelight dancing along the line of his jaw.

“Honored, huh?”

He nods and offers his arm. Barclay smiles, amused, and stands to take it.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------

They’d been making progress over the last month, in more ways than one. Barclay’s skill and comfort with his new body improved, he grew more relaxed when Joseph asked him questions for his research, and his glances toward town are not nearly as melancholy. The reason for that last change is obvious.

“Okay, either a carriage splashed you or you decided to take a mudbath in the center of town.” Barclay helps Joseph out of his coat as the doctor pulls off his boots.”

“Not quite. There was a puddle in the cemetery that I swear was up to my knees.”

Barclay looks at him, eyebrows raised and lips quirked in a smile “Looking to replace me?”

“Never. But you were the reason for my visit.” Joseph straightens the black vest stretching across Barclay’s chest, “you were so worried you’d be forgotten. I needed to find your grave. Barclay, it’s so covered in flowers I nearly missed the inscription.”

“Oh.” Barclay looks lost and sad, as if Joseph had found him in the middle of the forest, miles from home.

Joseph takes his hands, “You’ll see your friends again. We’ll figure out a way to re-introduce you without setting off mass panic. I promise.”

Barclays mood had improved massively after that. Which is puzzlement, not panic, is what grips Joseph when he finds his friend crying at the kitchen table. When he asks what happened, Barclay points to a bundled rag. In it is a rabbit kit, eyes open and glassy.

“I, I found it a few others, they got stuck against the outside wall when that tree came down last night” Barclay sniffles, “I moved them so they could find food but that one I, I must have held him too hard, I, I didn’t mean to. I, what if I do it again, what if I can’t be gentle anymore, what if I, I hurt something else, or someone else?”

Joseph steps next to his chair, only for Barclay to hide his face in his waistcoat. He lets him cry–he hasn’t since that first night–and cautiously pets his hair.

“Wh-what if I’m too much of a monster?”

“Barclay, look at me.” Joseph gingerly cups his chin, pushes his shaggy auburn hair from his forehead so he can see his face, “you’re not a monster. You’re a wonder, and more than that you are gentle. And kind. This was just an accident, one we can learn from.”

Barclay sniffs, wiping under his eyes.

“A monster wouldn’t cry for a rabbit. Or be thoughtful enough to give it a shroud.”

That gets him a watery smile.

“Go rest for a bit. I’ll take care of everything.”

Barclay slowly gets to his feet. Joseph waits until he’s in the library, then gathers the sad bundle and slips down to his lab.

It’s fiddly, frustrating work, but it’s worth every second when shakes Barclay from his lap and shows him the rabbit, fur slightly on end but nose wiggling calmly, and asks if he’d like to help him choose the spot to set it free outside.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------

He’s getting better about not working to and past midnight, but after Barclay made a particularly delicious shepherds pie for lunch today, Joseph had passed out cold on couch the moved to be by the library fire (it’s more comfortable sitting side by side on it than in separate chairs) with his head on Barclay’s shoulder.

He’d awoken, now on top of his companion, to find it was four in the afternoon and he was behind on the monograph he’s writing on how to effectively reconnect eyes to the brain.

Barclay’s footsteps are just audible under the crash of the storm outside. Joseph isn’t surprised to see him in the doorway; electrical storms set him on edge. Neither of them can figure out if that’s some lingering effect of the experiment that brought him back to life or if the dislike of lightning is somehow stored in a particular body part. But when it happens, Barclay prefers to be wherever Joseph is.

“Anything I can help with?” Barclay sets a hand on the back of Joseph’s chair.

“Nothing comes to mind–no, wait, I think we have a few items on my initial checklist to cover.” He pulls out the stack of papers recording the various physical functions of Barclay’s body, “let’s see, the remaining one is, um, is…”

Barclay leans down, then blushes at the underlined words,“Figures you’d be that thorough.”

“We don’t have to test it. Now or ever.”

“What does testing my, uh, sexual functioning involve?”

“Seeing if you can achieve erection and release.”

Barclay’s blush deepens, “Yeah, about that. Kinda confirmed it myself.”

“In that case I’d just need to collect ejaculate. Just to see if you’re, um, able to reproduce like this.” The clinical language is his last hope of not admitting that part of his reason for wanting to know that is personal; his fantasies will be more accurate if he knows whether he could let Barclay come in him without fear.

Curiously, his more detached tone does nothing for Barclay’s reddening cheeks.

“We can do that. If, if you want. Hate to leave you with an unfinished checklist.” He says it so tenderly Joseph wants to cry.

“Okay. Please take off your clothes and go sit on the lab table.”

Barclay obeys, and as he does Joseph sees just how far down the blush goes.

“Should I…” Barclay gestures to his crotch. Joseph picked his cock out himself. He doesn’t remember it being so intimidating. Or so tempting.

“Let me.” He steps between Barclay’s legs, the closeness feeling safe than watching from a chair would be; if they did that, Barclay could see his face, might realize how hopelessly smitten Joseph is. Worse, Joseph might learn that Barclay enjoys being watched and ordered around by a seemingly in control Joseph, and then he’d really be screwed.

His fingers brush Barclay’s cock and the cook sighs and laughs, nervously, “Y’know, usually make a guy buy me dinner before he does that.”

“Does paying for our groceries count?”

“Guess soOH, oh” Barclay’s legs fall wider as Joseph begins stroking him, “yeah, yeah just like that.”

Joseph grips the edge of the table with his free hand. Focus, if he can just focus-

Barclay’s cock is fully hard, heavy in his hand, and when he runs his thumb over the head the other man bucks and moans. His head tips back and Joseph tries to focus on the scars, on what they mean, but all he can think about is dragging his tongue.

Barclay moans again, fucking into his hand, and Joseph’s vocal cords act without permission.

“That’s it, big guy, I want this to feel good. I want my perfect specimen to enjoy himself.”

Brown eyes snap open and the noise from those plush lips is a whimper.

“Do you like when I call you that?” He asks, hopeful at the prospect of something he didn’t know he wanted until a moment ago.

“Uh huh, Joseph, please-”

He squeezes the base of Barclay’s cock, letting his nails graze his balls, “That’s sir to you.”

Barclay grins, “Fuck yes it is. Sir. I, I like when you look at me like a project, like a puzzle, no one ever paid attention to me like that, like you, fuck, sir” his head tips forward and his lips find Joseph’s neck, mouthing and kissing at it and soaking his collar in the process.

“Messy” He scolds. Barclay whines, cock starting to slide more purposefully in his fist, but keeps up his barrage of kisses.

“Don’t care, sir, promise I’ll make it up to you, want you so bad, tired of waiting.”

“Waiting for what, big guy?”

“You” Barclay says weakly, moan spilling out of him as cum spurts between them. Joseph should be hurrying to catch it with something, but he doesn’t want to lose this moment, doesn’t want to stop feeling Barclay’s breath on his neck and arms around his shoulders.

He risks a kiss to his beautiful specimen’s forehead and gets a happy sigh in reply.

“Your turn, sir.”

“Barclay, we don’t need to, you’re probably tired and I should-”

His lower back slams into the table so abruptly he yelps.

“Maybe you didn’t hear me, sir” he growls, “I said it’s your turn to be stuck on this fucking table.”

Between the baritone rattling his bones and his terrified excitement at how easily Barclay turned the tide on him, he forgets the reason he hasn’t done this since his first year of university until Barclay rips away every scrap of clothing covering his crotch.

“I…I can explain”

“Don’t need to” Barclay’s eyes are wide and hungry as he takes in the slick folds, “saw the scars on your chest that time you got acid on your shirt and had to get it off in a hurry.”

“If it’s not to your taste we canFUCK, fuckingchrist” His back and head hit the table as Barclay wrenches his legs over his shoulders and drops to his knees.

“Oh it’s to my taste, sir, because I can do this from how fucking wet you are from just touching my dick” He shoves three fingers inside, fucking Joseph insistently and laughing as the heels of his shoes catch the cooks upper back.

“Lookit you” Barclay sounds like he’s drooling, “this why you made me so big, sir? Because you know just how fucking needy you are and you have to have something nice and thick in you before you can relax.”

“No, I mean yes, maybe, fuck” His hands thwack against the metal, “don’t make me think anymore, I can’t, I don’t want to.”

“Then don’t” Barclay purrs, warm lips ghosting over his dick, “just lay back and lemme give you everything you need. Don’t need to be a genius, just gotta let me use this” he curls his fingers “needy thing whenever I want. And let me do this, too” his lips close around Joseph’s dick and Joseph forgets every word that’s not a curse or a plea for more, his world becoming nothing other than Barclay’s face and fingers against him, his forearm trapping his hips so he can only writhe uselessly as Barclay takes what he wants.

Joseph digs his hands into Barclay’s hair, certain that if he doesn’t hold onto something his whole body will come apart from the force of his impending orgasm. As it is, when it hits his scream is embarrassingly high and broken, though Barclays only reaction to it is a groan.

As Barclay pulls back and stands, Joseph can see the slick on his beard, and moans when the cook licks his fingers with a blissful expression.

He lunges upward at the same second Barclay bends down, kiss reverberating through his entire being as his monster–no, his lover–holds him close. When they finally break, Barclay literally gasping for air, Joseph rests his hand on his beard and smiles as the other man rubs against his palm.

“You okay?” Barclay murmurs, fingers playing comfortingly along Joseph’s cheek.

“That’s an understatement. Even if a think you might have strained my hip flexor throwing my legs up like that.”

“Sorry” shame creeps across his face and Joseph will not stand for that.

“I don’t mind, big guy. Though maybe next time I’ll tie you down until we learn just how your strength plays out in the bedroom.”

“That means you’ll have to do all the work, sir.” The smile is back, honey-sweet and warm.

“I can handle that. I’m not afraid of hard work.”

Barclay chuckles and kisses him again, and Joseph sets aside his planning in favor of staying in his arms a little longer.

#taz amnesty #sternclay #agent stern/barclay #monster march #human/monster romance #mad scientist au #frankenstein au #trans agent stern

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scarlet-the-girl · 6 months

Text

The Friends You Make

Chapter 1: A Turned Page

Writer's Note: Until I can get an AO3 account, this is where I shall be posting this. Please enjoy.

5127

I stopped at a lovely little café today called the Sweet Surprise. It was run by a little foxkin named Lydia. She carried pepper and cheese rolls I think you would adore. They would’ve paired well with your summer blend of tea.

I miss you.

J. Stern

Joseph woke up in a cold sweat, not remembering where he was for a moment. That was happening more and more often these days, and it was starting to look like a bad omen. But nevertheless, Joseph had to get up and find another assignment.

He efficiently repacked his items into his backpack and dressed, making sure to style his black hair (neat and slicked back) and polish his curved ram’s horns before he stepped out of his room at the inn. He made sure to grab some of the provided breakfast before setting out on another long walk that day: coffee with plenty of milk in it for now and his thermos, along with a flaky pastry filled with sweet cream and peaches.

He checked his map one last time before heading down a dirt highway towards the closest village. It was shaping up to be another quiet walk, alone. In these times, Joseph had a lot of silence his mind could fill with any number of problems or ruminations.

This had been Joseph’s way of life, ever since he left home at 18 to find a purpose of his own. He’d joined the F.G.I (Fantasy Guild of Investigation) to help in the U.P. division, finding unexplained troubles in towns and villages and determining whether or not the troubles were of magical or mundane origin. If they were mundane, Joseph had the authority to handle the situation as he saw fit. If it was magical? Well, he kept the population as safe as he could, while contacting and waiting for magically inclined guild members to come and take care of it.

This lifestyle did not facilitate a plethora of friendships and relationships in Joseph’s life, or a home he could call his own. Why did Joseph live like this? A combination of many factors: A drive to succeed and better himself to the point of exhaustion at times, the fear of opening himself up to people without the complete reassurance that they wouldn’t use that against him one day, and a phantom he’d been hunting for ages now.

Though Joseph Stern did not know it, today would be start of a new chapter for him, forcing him out of his monotonous lifestyle, whether he liked it or not.

Many miles and hours later, Joseph arrived at his destination, Huntington. A relatively large, but quiet trade city that usually had many problems to solve, though the size of those varied. Joseph hadn’t been to this side of the continent yet in his travels and was eager to explore and learn what he could. If nothing else, it would be another place to rest and perhaps hear whispers about another village’s problems that he could go help with.

Joseph was also grateful to be in a relatively diverse city, so he wasn’t the only tiefling in town. He’d trained himself not to care about the gaping stares of others in more insular towns, but it was still nice not to need to put up as many defenses.

Though Joseph’s investigation of the city turned up nothing he could help with, he was pointed towards a message board that the other villages nearby used to get adventurer’s attention in the case of a crisis. On that well used message board was a fresh plea from someone in a nearby village:

To anyone dumb enough to walk these lands for adventure,

Something is threatening our town. Buildings keep getting ransacked, people are getting hurt and our guys can’t handle shit. So come to Kepler and help, but I can’t pay you nothing.

- Pidgeon

After the brief note was a list of directions to take someone to Kepler the quickest way. Joseph decided that this seemed vague enough to at least warrant a visit and some questions. But before leaving, he had to complete his own side quest. Though today would not bring any more results than the last 14 years.

It was the same in every village, town and city Joseph ever visited on his travels: go into each bakery, restaurant, and café he could find in the area, give them the description of a tall Bugbear with dark brown eyes and a gentle demeanor by the name of Barclay, and asked them if they’d ever seen him pass through town. The answer was always no. Joseph knew it would be. He rarely got his hopes up anymore, but it still stung nevertheless.

Luckily, he didn’t have time to linger as he headed off towards the village of Kepler. It wasn’t as far of a walk comparatively, and as he made his way into forests that seemed to surround Kepler, he found a warning sign staked by the road.

Warning: You are moving into a Natural Resonant Quiet Zone. Magical means of communication will have a higher Arcane Spell Failure Chance going out and into the NRQZ. Please be advised when preparing daily spells within the Monongahela Forest.

Joseph nodded, recognizing the warning. He’d heard about the magical properties of the Monongahela Forest and was excited to see what the woods and the village of Kepler would have to offer. It proved to be fascinating even from the path, as he witnesses a rabbit hopping into a hole on a log, and then that same rabbit hopping out of a different hole on a different log.

It only took a bit more walking for Joseph to find the sign announcing the entrance to Kepler and the quaint buildings that made it up. It was getting into early evening when Joseph arrived and everyone was making their way to their homes or an inn for supper. It seemed obvious to Joseph that this was a mostly human town, as he was granted the usual stares from the villagers; though they weren’t as alarmed or prolonged, which made Joseph a tiny bit more relaxed. But he understood the stares, even if he disliked them. There was never a wide variety of tall, blue tieflings wherever he went.

Not too far from the center of town was a beautiful wooden building surrounded by a lush garden. The sign read ‘Amnesty Lodge’ with a sign below adding ‘All are welcomed here’. Well, that was good enough for Joseph as he followed the wooden plank path up to the Lodge. Opening the massive double doors into the main lobby, Joseph had the strangest feeling of coming home. Joseph tried to give himself some credit, it was very homely decorated with a massive hearth in the center of the lobby and many people sitting around and chatting with one another. This also seemed to be where the non-humans gathered, as Joseph could spot a few different races immediately: a Fire Genasi, a Selkie, and Vampire, and that was just upon first glance.

Joseph made his way to the front desk, where an ethereal woman greeted him with a smile. Joseph decided to pay for a week to start and he found himself in a room perfectly suited to his needs: A well sized bed, private bathing chambers and a writing desk by the window. After unpacking his bag, he made his way to the lobby and towards the dining room. Dinner service was about to start soon and many of the residents and visitors were gathered already. Joseph took a quiet table near the back to observe the others.

After a time, a stew dinner was served with fried potatoes. The waiter, the Selkie, dropped his utensils as he passed him a dish. The Selkie apologized and rushed off to get another set, forgetting to grab the dropped ones. Joseph took the time to bend down and grab them himself, and he froze as he moved up, his eyes catching the underside of the table.

A carving, a very old carving read ‘Barclay’s Spot’.

#fanfic #taz amnesty #agent stern #agent stern/barclay #sternclay

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