Out of all the people in the tavern, the one I picked is the barkeep's assistant. He stands taller and his build is better, probably acclaimed from being the barkeep's assistant. I pointed at him and the swordsman called the lad.
With a platter on his arms, he walked to us. "Yes?" he asked in a deep voice.
"We have a request for you," the swordsman said.
"This is a tavern, not a whorehouse. Pay your vices elsewhere. So how can I help you?"
"Forgive my blunt words lad, but I'm only requesting you to sit with that boy over there. Would that be acceptable?"
The assistant looked at me and retched in disgust. If I were him, which I will be, I'd be disgusted with myself too. I reek of sweat and the hanging smell of rotten moss. Mud seeps between my toes, my clothes, and hair. My face is charred black with ash that smells like charcoal.
The swordsman placed two silver coins and handed it to the assistant. The boy groaned and stuffed the coins in his pocket. He motioned me to sit aside and sat as close to the edge of the stall. I didn't see what happened but somewhere along the way, a gust of wind hit the boy beside me. The wind diverged and some hit me with strange magical energy. It flowed into my system and invigorated me from within.
"What was that?" I asked. My hands are filled with life, ready to send sparks in the air.
"A minor hex Old Haafgar taught me. Look at boy."
His eyes were empty and dazed. Drool drips from his mouth and his shoulders were relaxed as if he were paralyzed.
"Do what you need to and do it fast. I'm no mage and my hexes don't last long."
I gathered all my loins and mustered the will to jump at the lad's body. In an instant, my body jolted with primordial energy emanating from within. Lightning coursed through my veins and it compelled me to jump at the lad and disappear within. There was darkness and then there was light. The world turned upside down and vision shifted to the side. Everything seemed smaller and brighter. The swordsman was there, his mouth agape and eyes filled with wonder.
"By Lothal's beard, it's true."
It is true. I stretched over my hand and they changed. They're longer and sturdier. My hair flows beyond my shoulders and my nose is quite evident in my line of sight. I stood over the stall and saw how taller I am. Another thing I noticed is that I felt cleaner and hunger disappeared like the mist.
"I'm- I'm different,"
"Do you remember me, boy?"
I nodded my head.
---
I never stayed long in the assistant's body for long. The barkeep wanted him to take care of his other customers. I'm preoccupied with the swordsman and there's no way I will do the job of another. I dispossessed the assistant's body in the latrine and went with the swordsman on his way to his lodge.
"Name's Carim," the swordsman said. "Named after the boiling desert in the south. Your name?"
My name in my past life wasn't that significant. Joe. Regular Joe James Johnson. I'm in another world! It's a new start that needs a new name. "Jon," I said. Wait. No. That sounds boring too. But it was too late. Carim already heard it.
"Like a dog's name?"
"A dog's name?" Who the hell names their dogs Jon? These barbarians do.
"Jon, derived from Hon. Dog in the old Farandil Elves language."
"So my name's Jon then."
This got me thinking. Can I possess animals too? I shudder at that thought. Being covered in fur and mud all day could get so... disgusting. Which is ironic, since I'm drenched in mud too.
Carim lead me to the lodge he's been staying with the other mercenaries. It's a meager lodge that's wide enough to house ten people. As of now, there are only three residents of the place. Proudspire Hold is in a perilous situation right now and it would take a fool to stay here. Carim says aye. He is a fool but a fool that found a person of great power.
Carim opened the door and he was welcomed with the three other people inside. One was probably a caretaker of the place, a gruff man with a leader apron on his chest. This suggests that other than being the caretaker, he's also a blacksmith. On the fireplace was a lad no older than 20. A rapier hangs on his hips and three steel daggers lined the opposite. He's stoking the far while taking bites of cheese in his platter.
The last one approached us and gave Carim a tight embrace. "Carim! Back already?" The man has a similar stature like Carim but way beefier. "Who's this boy?"
"Jon, a friend."
"Jon? Like a dog?"
"Hmmm..." Carim grunted. "Jon. Old Haafgar. Haafgar. Jon."
So this was the old Haafgar he was talking about. He doesn't look old though. He's actually in his prime with those bulging muscles of his.
"I know what you're thinking laddy. Old is no title, it be my name my ma gave me."
While Carim and Haafgar talked about the war and their remaining wares, Carim pointed at a door where I could take a bath.