Chương 6: Chapter 5

The notification did not bring joy. Corin ducked once more, slower this time, and was immediately rewarded with a part of his shoulder blade being introduced to the outside world. His left arm went slack as he hit the ground, bleeding profusely, and he pushed himself upright with his one good arm. Shit shit shit shit sh- Another burst of leaves fluttered around him as the griffin banked hard and turned back on him, Corin frantically shaking the bag all the while.

Get OUT shit shit shit OUT DEAR GOD PLEASE TERMITES OUT Three termites fell from the bag in quick succession, and Corin very quickly learned that they were still very much alive - and perhaps more alarmingly, they were still very much pissed. Corin was now, rather than facing a deadly griffin alone, facing a deadly griffin and three angry termites.

He couldn't risk finding out the bag was weight-based rather than slot-based, and therefore threw out every other low-level creature he could muster at once, turning the clearing into something of a gladiatorial arena. Soon, two dart frogs, a salamander, and a hornet were all rapidly re-introduced to the world, and though all were thoroughly confused, they all shared one common, unifying emotion: goddamn fury.

Corin had hoped for some kind of bloody free-for-all, but was instead witness to a rare moment of cross-species unity, all seemingly perfectly willing to put aside their differences to get revenge on their captor. A globule of fire came first as the salamander's opening shot, and Corin's clumsy dodge left him sprawling backwards, leaving him easy pickings for the rest of the critters.

He was once more bathed in darkness, as the griffin swooped again just as he fell across the ground, two termites being flung into oblivion in the process. Rapidly flailing his hammer at the critters' oncoming approach, he heard the griffin above screech and come directly at him once more. He held up the bag as fast as he could, watching half a ton of pure muscle and rage bearing down on him while wondering if the whole life-flashing-before-eyes thing could be sped up to encompass a third of a second.

Instead, he was greeted by a curious sight: absolutely nothing at all, aside from the'acquired!' notification pinging in the back of his mind. His world was now sans-griffin, which he was certainly grateful for, though it was not-sans the rest of his attackers - a realization emphasized the moment the hornet's stinger plunged into his chest. He swiped at it as it retracted, a shot of adrenaline from the poisonous sting helping his strike land clean.

This still left him with more creatures to deal with, a problem he decided to solve by turning and running. This proved to be not particularly effective, as the hornet's poison left him moving at a decidedly elderly pace. This fact was soon reinforced by the reintroduction of one of the termite's pincers into his ankle, causing him to reach down and strike the bastard as hard as he could, obliterating its body but leaving its pincers firmly lodged inside his ankle nevertheless.

A frantic struggle followed, him flailing at his various assailants in ineffectual haste as two dartfrogs launched their namesakes at him, needle-thin quills burying into his skin and adding to the poisonous concoction already brewing in his blood. He managed to smoosh one of them by stomping on it, almost slipping on the subsequent mess.

The few remaining creatures came at him regardless, and he very, very barely managed to kill most of them and force the final one into his waiting bag, thankfully still with room to spare after the griffin's entry. Corin breathed heavily over the devastation, noting the poison spreading and clouding his vision, and began limping back towards the city. He'd somehow survived - though perhaps for not much longer - and now had near-indescribable wealth floating right in his hands.

It was with that thought that he propelled himself forwards, step by heavy step, towards his respite. An errant bat harried his journey at one point, but it finally relented and flew away after he'd sufficiently-swung his hammer at it enough times. Arriving at the city outskirts, his vision began to cloud over completely until it felt like he was wading through a thick fog. He made for the Guild infirmary, blurting out 'Antidote' (or some semblance of the word) to the first cleric he could see.

He'd vaguely remembered being told it was 50 copper coins, but after he passed out on the cleric's table thereafter, he'd apparently been given the potion sans pre-payment, something evidenced by the fact that he currently wasn't dead.

He rapidly came to his senses and profusely apologized for drooling (and also for nearly dying) on the cleric's table, then prostrated himself further on explaining that he did not, in fact, have 50 copper coins, but that he hoped 33 copper coins and two termite pincers - no, three termite pincers, once he'd pulled the extra one from his ankle - would suffice.

The cleric sighed in apparent reply, inquiring if he'd like his various other injuries attended to as Corin instead stumbled out broke but alive; and hopefully infinitely less broke soon. Thereafter he made for the Guild's menagerie, keenly aware that everything in his bag would come out very much alive, and very much pissed off. This doubled their value, but also infinitely increased their threat.

Originally he'd hoped to keep the Bag of Holding trick a secret, but he figured he'd have to at least reveal it to the beastkeeper, since he'd need appropriate cages for his haul. You needed a damn big cage for a griffin, after all. He wondered how much they'd pay for a real, live griffin: 20, 30 gold? More? The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. Whatever the amount, it'd be enough to shut Lionel the Loanshark up.

He entered the menagerie cautiously, keenly aware that he looked like he'd been chewed up and spit out several times over, but placed his Bag of Holding on the beastkeeper's table nevertheless. The man looked up at him, accompanied by a grunt and a raise of an eyebrow. Farris, according to the crooked nameplate nailed to the table's edge.

"I have a deposit to make," Corin said, feeling a wave of excitement and pride hit him.

"Three direboars, four griffin eggs - and an entire griffin." Farris glanced around Corin, as if he were looking for the listed creatures on his person.

"Oh, and one termite," Corin added as an afterthought. The man sighed.

"Please get out - actually, no, please get help," Farris said sincerely, causing Corin to briefly falter.

"No, no you see, they're in my Bag of Holding," Corin said, holding it up as if it were sufficient explanation.

"They're all in here." Farris looked down at the bag, then back up at Corin.

"That newfangled thingamajig?" he asked suspiciously, more accusation than question.

"Those things don't take live anything."

"Oh, they do," Corin replied, "just not for much longer. I can show you. Please." Farris stared at him for some time, then gave an almost imperceptible shrug.

"I'll humor ye." He slowly stood up and unlocked a heavy door behind him, pushing it open and beckoning Corin through it. He duly followed, leading him through some twisting corridors before walking out the back towards the menagerie's holding cages. Rows of iron and reinforced wood stretched in either direction, the air thick with the smell of musk. He pointed at a huge, open cage.

"Big enough for a griffin," Farris said, grinning ever so slightly.

"Now please, I'm waitin'." Corin nodded, stepping up to the giant cage and inspecting it closely. He figured he could put it in without even opening the gate. He could just fit the bag between the rungs and pour the griffin out directly. He took a deep breath, envisioning all the myriad of ways this could go wrong, then felt a wave of something wash over him. Fear? Regret? Hope? No, something different, something under the surface of everything: the feeling of change. He blinked, looking back at Farris.

"Did you feel something?" Farris tilted his head, slightly annoyed.

"This part of your scam?"

"So nothing, right?" Corin said, more to reassure himself than anything.

"Good, good."

"Still waiting for your griffin, kid," Farris said, growing more and more impatient.

"Of course, one griffin, coming right up," Corin replied, steeling himself and gripping the Bag of Holding intently. He carefully glided it between the rungs of the cage, then willed it: Griffin out. Griffin. Out. There was no griffin, nor out. GRIFFIN. OUT. Silence. Corin shook the bag a few times, then glanced back at the beastkeeper awkwardly.

"Sorry, it doesn't usually take this long, I promise," Corin said, shaking the flaccid bag with more vigor and velocity, but after several moments the world still lacked any semblance of griffin. Griffin out! Direboar out! Griffin egg out!! Still, no out. Farris had his arms decidedly crossed, expression rapidly souring.

"Kid, I'm gonna have to ask you to leave-" COPPER COIN OUT! A single errant copper coin rolled out of the bag, arcing elegantly before it hit the ground, spun a few times, and settled tails-side up. Corin met Farris's gaze, who immediately gestured to the exit.

"OUT." Corin left the menagerie in a daze, still entirely unsure if this was reality at all, or some kind of dart frog and hornet poison-induced hallucination. He'd seen the griffin go into the bag. Same with everything else. He'd released the other creatures - clearly it worked. So why the fuck were they gone now? Turns usually only happen once every week; how could this have changed so quickly? But there are unscheduled Turns too, right? Turns that suddenly change one single thing.

They're rare, but not impossible. Corin thought back to that sensation, right before he tried to release the griffin. The sensation of change. Had the world Turned just as he was about to release it? Had I missed wealth by mere seconds? But the copper coin. Not everything was removed. Only the living things... but then why the eggs? Corin thought for a moment. Of-fucking-course, they're still technically living things. Corin let out a deep, heavy sigh. Of course.

That had to have been it: the world had Turned outside of schedule, and fixed the one thing that would've made him rich, mere seconds before it did. He couldn't help but think it was personal. He was now heavily in debt, without literally a copper to his name. Well, one copper, technically, if he'd been willing to fish it out of that cage, but he figured he'd shamed himself enough for one day.

All he had was his chipped hammer, his Bag of Holding, and the one ability in the world that could supposedly read what came next - though he understood precious little of any of it. The one thing he did understand, however, was that a loanshark doesn't stop once it's smelled blood. Corin gripped his Bag of Holding, his face breaking into something between a smile and a grimace. Best get to work, then.