Misfits of Carnt

3 - Toddler Axe Throwing Competitions and Other Hazards of Babysitting

A Tavern, Who Knows

Petra fell into what could only be described as a Dr. Who time tunnel, except that she was being pulled from end to end across an impossible distance. For a moment, she could feel herself in the basement of her high school, and her body felt like it stretched through a wormhole to a distant land. She had heard on a podcast with Neil deGrasse Tyson about a process called spaghettification where, if a person falls into a black hole, the front part of their body will stretch out longer than the back as they are ripped apart by the gravitational forces. The journey from one world to the next felt like she imagined falling into a black hole would feel, except without the pain.

Once the weird feeling had passed, she looked at her limbs. There was nothing wrong with her hands, if nothing wrong meant that they were smaller than usual and hairy on top. She realized there was something else odd about her body. She felt her breasts. They were about two sizes too big, and for that matter, she was wearing some medieval tunic and cloak. She even had daggers stashed away in just about every location where a person could conceal them. That's when she noticed the worst part.

She was barefoot and had large, hairy feet with gnarly toenails.

That's when a giant warrior with a broad chest and biceps that would rival an eighties action hero began to cry.

"Mama! Mama!" he wailed. Petra knew in that instant that even though the man was the size of a truck and had a battle axe slung over his shoulder that could probably fell a tree with one swipe, somewhere within that beefy man was her son.

"Jonathan!" she yelled, then realized that she was in a tavern at a renaissance festival.

There was a long wooden table with mugs of ale, goblets of mead, legs of mutton, and other remnants of an epic feast. She stumbled her way onto the tabletop and sent a brass tray of pork products flying off. She pushed past the other befuddled patrons to the beast of a man crying his eyes out.

She made it to the guy and realized that she was about half his size, maybe less. She reached for the warrior and held him. She whispered, "Mama's here! Mama's right here!"

The man said, in a deep voice, "Hug-a-mama. Hug-a-mama."

'Hug-a-mama' was what Jonathan would say to her when he wanted a hug. Somehow, he also knew that it was her. The cries of the man calmed to sniffles and a quivering lip. It stopped entirely as she held him and hummed Country Roads . It was a song her mom would always sing to her – back when she was a halfway decent mom, that is.

She looked at her body once again and realized that she was a hobbit-like creature. A freaking hobbit, as if she had jumped right into the body of Samwise's hot hobbit wife from The Lord of the Rings . She looked up from the gargantuan barbarian who had become her son and noticed the others at the table staring at her. One was a woman with raven black hair and blue eyes like cracked crystal. She had a headdress and a blue and gold staff with a sun symbol at the top. Next to cult leader woman was a Black man with shining armor like Sir Lancelot's duds from some bad Arthurian movie Petra had seen as a kid. On the side of the table she had been on, there was an elf in red wizard robes and a dwarf with a crossbow slung over his back.

"I don't think I've ever seen this spell in DnD Beyond," the dwarf said.

"Urkel?" Petra asked.

"My name's Tim," the dwarf responded.

The elf snorted and, between mouthfuls of mutton, said, "Hah! Like Tiny Tim? Dude—you're a dwarf!"

That accounted for 'Baking' Aiden. That left Lancelot and Guinevere. She didn't have to think too hard to see who had jumped into the bodies of that power couple.

"I'm a chick!" the priestess yelled, as she fondled herself. "Holy crap! I'm a chick."

"Oh, my god!" Lancelot exclaimed. "How do you deal with that thing down there? It's getting in the way no matter which way I sit."

Lancelot shifted and attempted to find a comfortable position.

"Where's Mr. Jackson?" Petra asked, and Tim seemed to already be two steps ahead of her.

"Maybe he died in the wormhole or jumped into that pig carcass." The dwarf pointed to the porker on a tray of vegetables with an apple in its mouth.

The elf went for a rack of ribs next. "Dude. These king days have wicked food."

"Don't you mean medieval?" Tim said. "Where do you think we are? I'm guessing Dungeons and Dragons, Forgotten Realms."

"Whoa!" Jack said, as he reached into his robe. "I have a va—"

Sissy slapped his hand with her gauntleted wrist. "Don't you touch that!"

"What? It's part of my body."

"That's not your body!"

"So, whose bodies are these?" Petra asked.

Tim continued to muse, "This could be a tavern in Waterdeep, but is it before or after the fall of the gods?"

"Did you ever see Game of Thrones ?" Aiden said. "This is like Game of Thrones ."

Jonathan found a plate of potatoes. In the spirit of his favorite dinner time activity, he mashed the food. He smeared it everywhere, between shouts of laughter.

"Would everyone just shut up for a moment?" Petra yelled. Surprisingly, the group quieted down and gave her their full attention. "Look, we know Mr. Jackson cast some sort of spell."

"Like Harry Potter?" Jack asked.

"Yeah, like Harry Potter," Petra said, in the deadpan voice she only used for the dumbest of questions, and Jack grinned at the rest of the group like he got a gold medal. "The point is that whatever it was that got us here can probably get us back."

"What if we don't want to go back?" Tim said.

"Are you kidding me?!" Sissy pointed at her shiny metal crotch. "I can't live with one of these! It's sweaty and gross!"

"I'm just saying," Tim retorted, "we really are here. Don't you see? This is our one chance for an adventure of a lifetime. There might even be a princess that needs saving. We can—"

"I don't know what private hell back home you are avoiding," Petra snapped, "but I have a three-year-old trapped in Conan the Barbarian's body, and unlike the Incredible Hulk, he only gets angry at two things – missing his nap and not getting a snack! And there is a naptime coming up."

"I wasn't saying we stay here forever, just have a look around," Tim said, and shied away.

"Since we don't even know how we got here or how to get back," Petra said, "I think you'll get your wish. But we will just look around. We are not going to save any princesses, fight any highway bandits, defeat any evil wizards, and we will run the hell away from any ogres. Got it?! Reality check—each of us is carrying deadly weapons, and I don't think you know how to use a crossbow."

"How hard could it be?" Tim pulled the weapon from his back and promptly shot himself in the foot. He cried out in pain and clutched the wound. Petra swept ale and food off the table and cleared a spot while Jack and Aiden lifted the dwarf up.

Tim gripped his leg and howled.

"Oh, my god," Sissy yelled. "He's bleeding! I can't stand the sight of blood."

The woman in Lancelot's body hid behind the halfling. Petra yanked herself away and ran to stop Aiden, who pulled out the bolt. Tim winced and attempted to stanch the wound, which was now bleeding profusely.

"Don't do that," Petra slapped the bloody projectile away. "You never pull it out! Now it might never stop bleeding."

"You mean I'm going to die?" the dwarf bellowed. "I'm too young to die! I haven't even kissed a girl yet."

"There are better things in life than kissing a girl," Petra said. "Trust me. I've tried it."

"Whoa—" Jack said. "You kissed a girl?"

Sissy smacked him.

"What?"

"I know what you were thinking!" Sissy said.

"How do you know what I was thinking?"

Their exchange was interrupted by a resonant male voice. "Milords! Miladies!" A portly innkeeper with a thick red beard and a cockney accent came from the kitchen. "Can I help you with anything?"

They stepped in front of their wounded companion, and Petra responded, "Nothing, we were just talking about the days of yore."

"Yeah, dude, those yore days were pretty sweet," Aiden added.

Tim hissed in pain, and Petra put her hand over his mouth.

"Methought I heard the sound of a man shrieking as if wounded in battle," the innkeeper said.

"Nope. Nothing like that here. Just singing and drinking mead," Petra said.

"I'm wounded!" Tim yelled.

"Do you want to go to a medieval hospital?!" Petra whisper-yelled into his ear. "They have leeches! Leeches!"

The innkeeper glanced around the group attempting to hide their wounded companion and inspected the scene. He looked at the wound, then at the blood on his table, frowned, and then asked, "Begging your pardon, but why doesn't Lady Ameria perform a healing spell?"

Petra looked at her own halfling body and then at the woman inhabited by Jack. The lady wore a golden headdress that could only be described as fitting someone with a 24-hour hard-on for the sun. Her staff had the same symbol. It looked kind of like the Days Inn logo if the hotel chain were a cult. The blue robe also had enough golden stitching to put a 70's rock star to shame. In contrast, Petra's halfling body was wearing light chain armor, a green cloak, and had enough weapons and lockpicks stashed away to rob a bank. If anyone would be expected to cast a healing spell, it would be Jack.

"Lady America," Petra said, while grabbing Jack's hand.

"It's 'Ameria'," the innkeeper said. "There's no c."

"Whatever," Petra said. "What I'm saying is that she's had too much to drink and couldn't cast any healing spell right now. Isn't that right, Lady America?"

Jack stared blankly at the rest of them, and Petra nodded toward him. After a moment of his vacant expression, she jabbed him in the stomach. "Oh, yeah," Jack said. "I forgot I was a chick."

He then put on an act that sounded like a Monty Python cast member doing a woman's voice. "Oh, yes, tsk, tsk, this lady hath drunk too much. Maybe I can get some tea and crumpets."

"What the hell are you doing?" Petra said. "Use your normal voice! Do I sound like Petra now? No, I'm a freaking hobbit!"

"Oh, yeah," Jack said. "I do sound like a chick."

"Maybe I should fetch you all some energy bean brew," the innkeeper said. "Where is that serving wench? She better not be sleeping on the job again, or I'll have her out on the street!"

The innkeeper tromped out of the room. Before they could figure out what to do next, Jack said to Tim, "Bro, I think I can do this healing spell because I haven't had anything to drink!"

Petra rolled her eyes and said, "It was a lie to get him out of the room."

"No, seriously, I really think I can cast this spell. It's, like, in the back of my head. You know, like learning the choreography for Guys and Dolls when you were a kid because you were obsessed with it, and then figuring maybe you could bust it out during an audition even though you haven’t done it in ages...I mean, that is...if one were to audition. Football practice conflicts with rehearsal hours, so I wouldn't know. But it's kind of like that," Jack said.

Petra responded, "Maybe it's better if you show us, but if you start disrobing, I will cut you."

Jack tore off Tim’s footgear, grabbed a water pitcher from the table, and poured it over the wound.

Tim hissed and said, "Do you know how filthy the water was back in the Middle Ages?! They dumped their sewage in the street."

"Trust me, bro," Jack said, and the body he was inhabiting must have had a set of pipes because when he began to sing, it was angelic. "Waters cleanse, the sun shares its bounty, the pain washes away, away."

While he sang, the wound on Tim's foot healed. The skin wove itself together, and the blood drained away with the water. The process was so complete that there wasn't even a scar. It was like nothing had happened at all. Even Tim was shocked by the spellcasting and reached out to touch his own foot where the wound had been.

They all looked at each other, and Sissy said, "Babe, where did you learn to do that?"

"I don't know. It's like riding a bicycle. You can't explain how to do it. You just do it," Jack said.

Before they could tease the thought out further, the innkeeper burst back into the room.

However, instead of bringing a tray of energy bean brew, he was surrounded by a group of guards. They all had the same crest that was on the head of her son's axe. It was an ancient tree with a dragon and lion intertwined on its trunk. Petra realized that she had not been paying close attention to her son, and he had climbed to the top of a hutch that held all the dishes. The large, muscly man that her son inhabited croaked, "I need help! I need help!"

"You see," the innkeeper told the captain of the guard. "They've cast a feeblemind enchantment on our lord."

"Help! Help!" the burly man cried.

"Mommy is coming," Petra said, then realized that the cabinet was at least three times her height.

"Stop right there," the captain of the guard said in the Queen's English. He ordered one of his men to push Petra aside and help their liege.

The man went to the crying barbarian tucked away on the top of the cabinet and said, "Milord Lovantus. Allow me to assist!"

The guard reached for Jonathan, but her kid yelled, "No! No! Momma do it! Momma do it!"

The flailing of a three-year-old's tantrum in the body of a man who probably wrestled bulls into submission when gathering meat for the roast was a little more than the guard was prepared to handle. Jonathan whipped his hands in defiance and smacked the unwitting soldier upside the head. The force of the blow sent him toward the fireplace, and his face smashed into an ornamental rock that jutted at just the right angle. The guard rubbed his broken nose.

Jonathan cried, and Petra jumped to the cabinet and scrambled her way to the top. The captain of the guard got red-faced and yelled, "Sorcery! Sorcery! Kill the witch before she can poison our lord any further!"

The men pulled out their swords and inched their way towards Jack. He looked back and forth at the approaching threat and said, "What did I do?!"

"Return our Lord to his right state of mind, and I promise swift deaths for you and all of your friends," the captain of the guard snarled.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You know full well, witch. We know your true master is the necromancer."

One of the guards whispered to another, "Told you so! Can't trust them magic users. You owe me an evening of ale."

"Not all wizards are evil," the other soldier said. "Just the other day, I met a fine fellow who offered to turn a piece of lead into gold, he did. I gave him a gold piece, and he gave me a lump of lead the size of my fist! It will turn into gold any day now, just you watch—"

"Shut up, you two!" the captain of the guard hissed, then turned back to Jack. "Relinquish our lord or face our steel."

The captain placed his sword against Jack's neck. The stress and fear of the situation triggered a response in each of them, allowing the innate skills of their possessed forms to take over. Sissy was the first to move. She pulled a gleaming blade with a bejeweled golden hilt from her scabbard. Quicker than she could even consider what to do with it, she knocked the captain's weapon out of his hand.

Tim pulled a smaller mini crossbow loaded with two bolts and fired in quick succession, pinning the sword arms of two of the guards to the wall. Petra jumped from the cabinet with daggers in hand and sunk the blades into the shoulders of two others. Finally, Aiden spread his fingers out and sang Fuel by Metallica. Fire leaped from the fireplace and surged through his fingers toward the rest of the soldiers and the innkeeper. They scurried from the room to avoid being scorched.

The captain of the guard glanced around at his fallen comrades and backed away.

Jonathan found the giant battle axe strapped to his back and was able to get it loose. He threw it up in the air, and it crashed to the ground, causing wood splinters to fly everywhere. He squealed with delight, jumped down to the floor and tossed the axe again. It landed a little too close to the captain's feet, and the man turned and ran from the room.

Jonathan giggled as he grabbed the weapon again, but Petra cut him off, "No, baby, we don't play with that."

"Mine!" Jonathan pouted, as his mom tried to pull the axe from the floor. It was too heavy for her little halfling hands. Sissy saw her struggling and helped her lift it. Jonathan yanked it away and put it on the harness on his back. Petra decided to take the moment as a win.

Tim was shocked. "Did we just do that! How'd we do that!"

Tim loaded another crossbow bolt and almost nailed his other foot to the floor in the process.

"Dude, you are thinking about it too much. It's like Jack told us. You just go with the flow," Aiden said, and the fire flared up with a wave of his hand as he hummed Fade to Black .

“How’s that work with Metallica?” Jacks said.

Aiden shrugged. “I dunno, some French song came to mind, but Metallica seemed cooler.”

“That’s what it was with me! It was like I knew the song—”

"Come on," Petra said. "We should go before they get backup."

"Go where?" Jack asked. "We don't even know where we are."

"We are going to get to know a dungeon pretty quickly if we can't figure out how to reverse Mr. Jackson's spell," Petra said. "Now, come on!"

They gathered what supplies they could readily carry and scurried out a door in the back of the room.

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