CONTRARY to popular belief, there was only one Planeswalking Tavern. And contrary to even more belief, there was only one Peddler who ran the business.
In his opinion, what better business was there than to provide planeswalking services to those that needed them? Plus, with every world visited, a new trinket would be added to his growing repertoire of collector items, which he could easily barter for a handsome price.
Presently the Peddler paid the bartender a visit, got a drink, then retreated to a corner cubicle to have a word with himself regarding current business affairs. He worked through form after form and file after file, filling in this and double-checking that, balancing the accounts and making sure that all dealings were correctly recorded. It was painstaking work but the Peddler was a diligent man. He knew that successful business endeavours came at a cost, one which he was willing to pay.
Another man approached the cubicle and knocked on the marble separation to attract the Peddler’s attention. The owner of the place looked up from his papers, greeted the visiting man, then allowed the visitor to have a seat.
“Do you have my new card yet?” asked the Peddler, to which the visiting man said he didn’t.
A small rectangle of tough paper was passed over to the visitor, containing the business name and the name of the proprietor, Jéne E. Ilk, with additional details. The nickname ‘Genie’ stemmed from how his name was pronounced on the card minus the surname. The Peddler didn’t mind such verbal shenanigans, mostly because it was colourful and allowed people to bond with him.
The two men now went through the toils of the past month, checking and rechecking the consistency of the business documents before them, almost like their lives depended on it. Though they hounded after the accuracy of each piece of written data, they made it seem like it was the most calm and normal thing to do in the world.
At one point Jéne E. the Peddler looked at his pocket watch and commented how the next planeswalk would happen soon, and the visitor across the table answer in earnest.
“Brace yourself,” Jéne whispered. “This might be a bit rough.”
And his words rang true. There occurred a mighty jolt, causing some people to fall over and triggering the safety force fields that prevented glassware, furniture, and other delicate objects from shattering on the floor. The Tavern tilted to one side, titled to the other side, and gradually steadied itself in perfect balance.
“What world did we come to now?” asked the visitor.
“Five of them,” remarked the Peddler. “New Alara is still assimilating itself unto itself. There are a lot of treasures to be had here, but that doesn’t at all mean it’s a safe place to be.”
“We must be here for a reason,” said the visitor. “Do tell.”
“There they go,” the Peddler said, referring to a large group of adventurers that passed the corridor outside the bar. “May Mercy look after their souls.”
“How long will we be staying here?”
Jéne was far too tired to dance the ballet of questions and answers so he gave one final response to the query before retiring to his room. The visitor understood his situation and pursued the matter no more.
>Continued in part 2
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