Elric of 6th Street

In which Elric meets familiar strangers, and strives to solves the harmlessness epidemic.

Elric awoke to find himself in a world quite unlike any he recognized. Buildings—seemingly of brick, metal, and glass—stretch skyward. These were not the elegant sophisticated spires of Imrryr, possessing none of the majesty of the city of dreams. These buildings were squat, dirty.

No light shone through their windows. If that was because they were unoccupied, or their dwellers slumbered, Elric did not know.  It was impossible to tell if it were day or night. Perhaps this realm knew neither. 

Far above his head, attached to polls of iron, strange amber torches glowed, their light hidden behind domes of glass. Further afield, Elric saw more of these unusual lights moving rapidly. These seemingly attached to carriages, although what propelled them, the albino did not know. 

Elric wandered for some time, meeting no one upon his path until finally stumbling upon a settlement. Lining along the path, and abutting the buildings near him, tucked into doorways hidden from the elements under awnings were tent upon tent. An entire city it seemed, living atop another. 

“The fabled Tent City!” Elric exclaimed, having vaguely remembered reading something about this in the halcyon days of his youthful study. 

For the first time since venturing to this strange new world, Elric encountered another human being.

“Hark, I am Elric of Melniboné and I travel the multi-verse. Who are you good sir.” 

“The fuck you say?” the man replied. He sat on a rug of beige paper, peering up at Elric. At his feet sat a pot with a smattering of local coins and some green scraps of paper. Right away Elric recognized him for what he was. 

“I meant no offense dear Alchemist,” said Elric. “I only wish to know of what realm of the multiverse I travel.” 

The alchemist scratch his scraggly beard for a moment. “Austin man. Shit. You fucked up?” 

“No good sir. I have recently been replenished from the power of Stormbringer.”

“What’s that? Like Delta 8?”

“It is a rune sword that drinks the soul of all it vanquishes.” 

“Fuck.”

“Indeed, good sir.” Elric said, his mood already elevated to make such company. “You have the look of a worldly traveler. Do you care to be my Eternal Companion as I venture through this realm?”

“You got any money?”

“You shock me dear alchemist. Is it not your profession to turn lead to gold?” 

“You can never have too much money.” 

Elric considered this. He normally did not carry coin, preferring to live on trade, using his skills as a sell-sword merceneary in exchange for food, shelter and beautiful princesses. Then he realized: he had gold coins conveniently inside the liner of his belt. 

“Will this suffice?” Elric asked, proffering a coin.

The man snatched the coin from Elric’s hand. 

“You still have me at a disadvantage, sir. What is your name?”

“Whut? Oh, my name is Moonbum.” 

“Moonbum…” The name seemed familiar to Elric, but from where—or rightly, when—he did not know. “It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance. Now tell me of this world. Why do you people live here, like this, in such squalor?”

“This? We ain’t got nowhere else to go.”

“This is clearly a wealthy city, why haven’t the rulers of this land provided for you?”

“Oh well, there is a shelter, but it’s more dangerous than here.” 

Elric surveyed the sprawling array of tents. He doubted anything could be as dangerous as this local. Not only did the denizens of the City of Tents have the sharp eyes and stern faces of Dothrangian cut-throats, the tents themselves were an obvious fire hazard. 

“Surly something can be done friend Moonbum.”

“Go down to the capitol and kick Greg Abbott in the dick.”

“This Abbot of Gregs you speak of. Is he the ruler of this land?”

“Uh…sure.”

Elric’s hand tightened around the pommel of Stormbringer. “Then go to him we shall. And vengeance for your people’s plight we will have.” Elric paused, realizing he skipped a step. “Friend Moonbum, what are your people called.” The albino gestured to the rows of tents.

“Us? We ain’t got a name. We just dead-ass down and out.” 

“Then I, Elric VIII, 428th Emperor of Melniboné shall make right for the dead-ass down and out!”