Franza has a Tense Lunch

Franza was delighted to find Belthor before they had to do too much looking.

“Hey there! I got you a pizza.”

The elf’s eyes were unnaturally wide. This was not the reaction (or the applause) that the dog had been looking for. They tilted their head some. “You okay there?”

“I just went through something.”

“Something?”

“I think I almost just got murdered. Maybe?”

They didn’t understand how a person could almost be murdered and not be entirely certain about whether or not it had happened.

Maybe I misheard?

“Did you say murdered?”

“Yeah, or ‘something.’” He said the word ‘something’ very strangely that time. “I don’t know. There were so many quotation marks. And it was like I could them. Does that make any sense?”

“Oh, well uh, sure.” They nodded along, not wanting to push the topic if Belthor was too uncomfortable. A few steps later their curiosity got the better of them, and they had to ask. “What’s a quotation mark?”

The elf’s blank expression turned to Franza, changed to disbelief, and then fell to the ground. “Never mind. Let’s just get the hell out of here.”

“Great! I’m starving.”

They hoped that some food and light conversation would get the whole part in a better mood. Unfortunately, Irolt was still in a bad place when they returned, and things felt even worse.

For a long time, none of them said anything. It was just the sounds of chewing and swallowing until Franza just couldn’t take it anymore. They had to talk about something — anything. “Interesting place, isn’t it?”

The question had been aimed mostly at Belthor, who looked like he was trying to stare into the soul of his pizza. After another torturous minute of silence, it was Irolt who reluctantly answered. “I wouldn’t know.”

Franza felt a bit guilty then. They probably wouldn’t have been in the best mood either if they’d just had to sit and wait outside the town. They did not, however, feel so bad that they would endure their expensive meal in silence. So they tried again with another topic, to make the half-dwarf feel more included.

“Hey Belthor, why don’t you tell Irolt about how you were almost maybe murdered?”

The question sparked a reaction, though Irolt’s tone was far more aggressive than would have been appreciated. “Murdered? Who almost murdered you?”

“Well, I was looking for food…”

The story that Belthor launched into was not the thrill-based entertainment they’d been hoping to enjoy their lunch with. It churned their stomach a little, in fact.

“Well, someone should do something about all that,” said Irolt flatly. No one else knew what to say. Especially Franza.

“Like...us?” They offered up finally, not because they wanted to go to the creepy food store, but because they felt the need to keep the conversation going.

“It sounds like someone should help,” Irolt said again. “But I’m not even allowed in the city,” Irolt pointed out.

“So, we should just leave?” They asked hopefully.

Irolt frowned, his furrowed brow furrowing all the more. “You said the owner of the store quote unquote died? And those people seemed trapped?”

“Yeah, but what do we actually get if we go and help?” Franza asked.

Irolt glared at them. “There are people trapped inside.”

“People who might be willing to give us a reward,” Belthor explained.

Something good could still really turn this day around for me.

“I like rewards.”

“And helping people,” Irolt added in a way that didn’t make it sound much like a question.

“Oh, yeah. That too.”

Irolt sighed and shook his head. “Unfortunately, there’s not a lot that I can do from outside the city.”

“And I’d just as soon not return,” Belthor added.

“So… onto the next town?” Franza pushed.

“We should tell someone at the very least. The guard, maybe?” Irolt asked. “I don’t want to take the law into my own hands here, but we can’t let those people die in there. And Belthor did say he’d help.”

Belthor was quiet on the matter.

“But we can’t send him in alone,” the dog prompted.

“Right.”

“And you’re not even allowed in the town.”

“I’m not even allowed in the town,” Irolt repeated. He looked over to Belthor. “I guess this is your quest. Are you okay with turning it over to the guard?”

The elf looked so relieved by the prospect. “It’s for the best.”

Franza scarfed down the rest of their pizza happily, their conscious clear and their worries about having to see the store now laid to rest.

I knew I was cut out to be a hero.