Damon walked a few steps behind his companions as they pushed their way through green shrubbery. He had chosen this vantage point because Fiora was clawing a rather wide and violent path, so it was better to stay out of her reach. Damon also hung back because he wanted to enjoy that experience. He wasn't trapped in a dungeon dodging mutt mindslayers. Nor was he surrounded by a billion murderous flowers or stumbling through a grey land populated by tentacled rats that would have given HP Lovecraft nightmares. This land had flora and fauna galore, and he had even heard a bird sing. It may have been devoured after that, but it had let out a burst of song. This wood could almost be a part of Battle Ground Lake State Park in Washington State, where he had camped with his father many times. The only difference was that there weren't any nearby mountains. The air was fresh except for the occasional pocket that smelled a lot like BO. He performed a ninja sniff of his underarm area to be certain he wasn't somehow creating that smell.

  He did occasionally peek at Fiora's top number:

  Metal Health: 116

  It was red now, and he guessed that meant that she was angry. Or it turned that colour because of her exertion. Her numbers had gone back to the highest number he'd seen, which meant she'd recovered from the Deathcrush Tentacled Rat Demon.

  He side-eyed Kim to see her numbers hadn't changed, though the colour was green. So she was healthy and in a good mood. His own numbers were the most interesting to him after that top-off from the recent Notes of Power:

  Metal Health: 11

  Kind: Human

  Type: Class 2 Mage, Shadowcaster

  Metal Skill: Class 2 Shredder, Power Chord Prince

  Metal Mana: 1019

  Proclivity: Lightbearer

  Special Ability: Rainbow Vision

  He had hit the next level, though it took twice as much Metal Mana as it had for Kim. So, clearly, becoming a powerful mage was going to be a long process. He didn't know what Shadowcaster meant, other than it sounded cool. But he couldn't manipulate his shadows like Jack of Shadows—he had tried. When he looked past the main numbers, he saw a new spell entry called Enter Sandman. It clearly would put his enemies to sleep, but there was no manual he could conjure up. He would just have to try it and hope for the best.

  But now he was a Power Chord Prince under Metal skill. Which meant he was a better guitarist. And when he pictured the strings on the Screaming Eagle Staff two appeared so, he could now make power chords. Life was always better with power chords.

  "The land of Hair is mendaciously horrible," Fiora said as she uprooted and tossed away another brush. Perhaps her parents had used branches as corporal punishment, and she was now getting her revenge. "In this land, hair is everything. And they are totally judgmental about the locks of other creatures, living and dead." She ran a hand through her mullet, which Damon couldn't imagine anyone criticizing. Such a dark green colour! The perfect business in the front and party in the back! Fiora murdered another brush, then she looked up. "The Mullet King McCann rules them. In his presence, you will always feel your hair is inadequate. Even Darbyshire and Latimer, his Metal Ball minstrels, have hair that would make rock gods weep with jealousy."

  Kim dodged a slender tree Fiora had cut in half. "That turtle mentioned that Dio might be able to send us home."

  "Don't place your hope in Dio. Our mighty overlord rarely leaves his keep. It is said that all he does is write songs."

  "He's a musician?" Damon asked.

  "He is," Fiora said. "Blayre once turned himself invisible and teleported to Rainbow Island. There he entered the Sacred Heart keep, tiptoed past the Hellish Hounds and Rock Wolves and stole a copy of a song Dio was working on. Blayre was pleased with that feat and would fill my ears with descriptions of his bravery. He believed that finishing the song would invest him with massive Heavy Metal Shuffle and Metal Mana. More than his father had ever had. But he couldn't make the song sound good."

  "What was the song?" Damon asked. He empathized with Blayre because he had many half-written songs. Endings were hard. And the middles. But the worst was the beginnings.

  "'Something Wicked This Way Comes'," Fiora said.

  "That's an impressive title," Kim said. "Can you sing some of it for us?"

  "I do not sing. But I have a mind like a heavy metal trap. The lyrics were:

  On a dark road

  In a forest strong

  There was darkness and fog.

  And an evil long."

  "Those lyrics are horrid," Kim said. "What is an evil long?"

  "The words were placeholders," Fiora cut a small tree in half with her claws. "The tune is what mattered."

  "Oh, like 'Scrambled Eggs'," Damon said.

  "Why are you trying to make me hungry?" Fiora asked.

  "When John Lennon, a famous minstrel in our world, was writing the song 'Yesterday' he first called it 'Scrambled Eggs', because that fit the tune."

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  "I'm still hungry and no wiser," Fiora said.

  Damon decided he liked the lyrics to this 'Something Wicked' song. If he moved a few of them around, it could be improved. He could picture the dark road. The strong forest. The long evil. A part of his brain was moving his fingers along the staff, tapping and trying to figure out the chording. "Was there a chorus?"

  "Yes," Fiora said. "It's:

  Something Wicked This Way Comes,

  Something evil better run.

  Something Wicked this way comes.

  Something evil better run."

  "Oh, he couldn't find another rhyme for run," Damon said. But there was something to work with there.

  "You weren't done telling us about Dio," Kim said. "Does he ever come down to earth… I mean to Metaloria?"

  "No. But whoever wins the Battle of the Bards at Hammersmith rise up into his presence."

  "How do you win that battle?" Kim asked. "Is there stabbing involved?"

  "It's much worse," Fiora replied. "It's a minstrel festival. And the winners get to see Dio, ask him for a blessing and printed band shirts to sell and then they tour the land, reaping endless amounts of gold and dung."

  Dung? Before Damon could ask another question, Fiora smacked the final bush out of the way. "Now, feast your eyes on Poison."

  It was a small town composed of rough wooden buildings and rough-rutted roads. Every moving wagon had a collection of potatoes in the back. And driving those wagons were broad-shouldered men and broad-shouldered women, wearing rough blue-jean like garments and studded bracelets. The most impressive thing about them was their hair. Male or female, big or small, red-haired or dark-haired or blonde, they each had long, flowing and perfect hair. Even if their trousers and thick shirts were splattered with mud, their hair was perfectly coiffed. This could have been a setting and extras for an 80s music video.

  "It's amazing!" Kim said. She ran a hand through her somewhat disheveled hair. Damon held himself back from plucking a few leaves and twigs from her curls. His own hair had grown out to an unmanageable length. We wondered if it would get as long as Iron Maiden's in the 80s. Without a mirror, it was very hard to tell what he looked like.

  "It's a fluffy land," Fiora said. "Full of fluffy minded people."

  They trudged past a very large potato field. A few of the farmer types were busy working in the distance. No one paid them any attention, so he assumed that meant dragonspawn were a familiar sight. The trio soon tramped into the town proper.

  "Hades bells!" Damon said, happy that he was learning to curse Metalorian style. He had spotted a sign on the closest building. "This is amazing!"

  "What's amazing?" Kim asked.

  "That business!" He pointed. "It's Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap."

  "Ugh," Fiora said. "It's probably elves."

  "We should go inside," Damon said. "And… and see what they sell. I mean, it's my favorite AC/DC song, so maybe it will be my favorite store."

  Fiora huffed. "We don't want to see, hire, or be in the presence of any elves or their dirty deeds. We are not going in."

  She led them straight past the building. Try as he might, Damon couldn't see through the windows, for they were covered with a thick black layer of coal dust. He swallowed his sadness. The next street brought another surge of hope to his heart.

  "Are we going to a pub?" Damon asked, looking at a hesitant two-story building—hesitant because the collection of cheap wood and thin timbers looked like they might collapse. But it had a sign that had the words Up The Irons alongside a branded image of a goblet. "There could be adventurers there who would help us."

  "How many pubs have you been in?" Fiora asked.

  "In the real world?" Damon paused for a long time as if he were counting in his head. "None. I mean, I've been to the bar. A pub is British, right? But in role-playing games, I've been to over a thousand pubs. It's a magnificent place to start an adventure. All the best fighters and magicians are there."

  "And," Fiora said. "In those imaginary pubs, the patrons are helpful?"

  "Yes, very helpful," he said. "And there are halflings and dwarves and—"

  "No one will help us," Fiora interrupted. "The pubs serve potato wine. Have you ever had potato wine?"

  Damon shook his head. Kim also shook her head.

  "It's like drinking the urine of a potato," Fiora explained. She added a slight slurping noise to help them understand the concept. "Now let that thought settle in your brainpan. And then imagine twenty people of different types, including stinky elves, drinking potato wine in a dark cellar-like place for hours on end. And remember, not all of them get up to go to the bathroom. So, do you want to go to the pub now?"

  "Uh," Damon replied. "Not really."

  "Good." Fiora clapped her hands. "Because we're going to the library."

  "A town like this has a library?" Kim asked. Damon found the excitement in her voice intriguing. Maybe she'd want to hear about his collection of hardcovers at home. All the classics from Tolkien to Brooks to Guy Gavriel Kay.

  "Yes, there are libraries." Fiora let out a long exhalation. "I really wonder about the world you come from."

  A trumpet sounded, and the Poisonites stumbled away from the street with great haste. Fiora put out a hand to stop him and Kim from taking one more step and pulled them against the nearest wall.

  "Pull your hoods up," she hissed.

  They did so as a group of horsemen came around the corner of the street. There were twelve of them, in black leather armor and green flowing cloaks. The riders' long flowing hair put everyone in the town to shame. All of them were blonde and perfect, with swords slung over their backs and with bows in their hands, demanding respect. They were shockingly beautiful and eye-catching.

  The song 'Round and Round' by Ratt echoed round and around them as if they broadcast the song itself. Their ears were long and pointed.

  "Those are elves," he whispered. He wanted to jump out and touch them.

  "They're Hair Metal Elves."

  "You told me they were ugly," Damon said.

  "They are," she replied.

  "These are not ugly elves." Kim took a step towards them only to be pulled back by Fiora.

  "They are ugly inside," she whispered. "And I hate them almost as much as war pigs. Now shut your mouths or, by the metal gods, I will pull out your tongues."

  The formation went by, staring proudly ahead. One looked at Damon, and he could only meet those glowing ice-blue eyes for a moment before looking down.

  And then, they were gone down the road and away.

  "Who were they?" Kim asked.

  "They are Mullet King McCann's muscle. They travel around in bands, and… and they look that way. It's horrible." The poisonites stumbled freely about now that the elves had passed. "Let's hope we never see them again."

  "Oh, I wouldn't' mind that," Kim answered. But Fiora was already moving.

  The trio tromped along a wooden sidewalk for another two blocks until a large stone building was revealed. Cut into the imposing stone wall were the words: The Great Archives of Hair. The library stood alone on the street, as if no one dared to build near it. It had barred windows and a tower in each corner, which suggested it had been built to put down any riots or invading armies. Maybe books were that important in this world, Damon thought.

  Fiora stepped up to a door so thick even a battering ram wouldn't knock it down. He knew that when she opened it, it would be like opening a doorway to heaven.

  Fiora reached out and pushed. The door didn't open.

  Instead, a large green ear appeared above the doorknob. Beside it grew one angry eye. And next to them both was a mouth. A song played in the background that Damon nearly recognized. His father would be upset that he didn't know it.

  "This is The Great Archives of Hair," the mouth said. "A place of pure Metal knowledge. Better and richer than the libraries of Jovi, Warrantia, and Twistysista. Are you willing to risk your lives for the knowledge contained within?"

  "I hate Metaloria," Kim said in reply. Damon found that he partly agreed.