I write an Isekai about communist revolution until an anime is made out of it

And We're Off

I woke one morning to find that, past all the appropriate politeness, the powers that be had finally grown tired of me prancing through the streets mocking everything about them and were giving me the proverbial boot.

Sylia (I finally got the princess's name remembered) had insisted on assembling a party for my little journey, and so there I was pacing around one of Morgenhiem's outlying plazas, drinking in the crisp morning air while I waited for my D&D adventuring party to show up. Even if I wanted to wait sitting down, the benches were all awful; they have a word for it which, until proven otherwise, I will translate to English as "defensive architecture" (or, in layman's terms, anti-homeless-person benches). 

The fact that it's one word for that honestly isn't a good sign; seems like these people really do need a bit of communist revolution.

I had spent the past day out equipping myself for this with proper clothes to replace the T-shirt I had been summoned in, as well as all manner of fancy trinkets and travelling gear. The most important part, though, had to be ordered by mail, and had just arrived that morning without so much as the signature of their makers. 

Firearms, as a basic concept, were actually available before I showed up from the handful of isolated incidents of alchemists coming up with gunpowder and gunsmiths coming up with guns, which was fortunate for me because it meant that those same people could actually make my own armament of choice. I had ordered a bolt-action rifle (complete with a scope and match grade ammunition), a full-fledged tommygun, which I had to avoid calling a tommygun to get anyone to make one for me, and, since I figured I should have a sidearm, a single-action revolver. That morning marked the first time I had actually fired a gun in-person, and as exciting as the concept of blasting someone's head through admittedly was, most of the novelty had worn off by the time Sylia had dragged me from the range for this meeting.

Still waiting; these people really need their beauty sleep, I guess. 

I still think I'd be better-off leaving with just the two of us, and now that I mention it Sylia might've just done this to avoid being stuck alone with me.

Hold on, is that - it is, it fucking is, even in a world inhabited by things like dragons something that stupid stands out like a sore thumb. "It" was a woman with bright red hair, scantily-clad in plate armor, wearing high-heels and carrying a scythe. For a brief moment, I held out the hope that this person had nothing to do with me, but that hope was dashed when she saw me and began walking in my direction.

Holy shit, maybe this is all just something someone wrote after all.

She introduced herself (in complete formal sincerity) to Sylia, complete with a long-winded title which I was too bewildered by her choice of equipment to pay attention to. While I was busy contemplating whether or not that getup was actually a costume or a joke, she turned to me.

"You are the offworlder I've heard so much about? Don't get in my way and we'll be fine."

My understanding of Welemish was still lackluster at best, but the meaning of that statement carried through to me just fine. It was actually kind of relieving to meet someone who was hopefully even more of an asshole than I was, especially since the rest of my D&D group showed themselves to be sane by comparison. We had ourselves a wizard, a sorcerer (which, as far as I understood, was basically just a foreign definition of wizard), a cleric, some seven-foot-tall gigachad who could do yo-yo tricks with a greatsword, and a "ranger" who was supposed to actually be familiar with where we were going.

Speaking of which, where exactly were we going? It was up on a mountain border to the northeast of Morgenheim, and was the location of  my supposed first step towards the "sword of legend", and nobody would tell any more than that, to the point where it started to seem like they didn't know either. 

Best I could figure, it was either home to some monastic order who would train me to swing a magic stick, or some ruin I would have to recover some clue or fragment of the magic stick from.

In any case, I expected to find out soon enough. The party and I left at noon in three carriages drawn by giant lizards. All the rest of "the gang" was probably off doing D&D character development or something in their two carriages, while I secured the last one for myself. I had planned to spend the journey jotting down letters and notes and diagrams to give out whenever the caravan stopped for a break, but I didn't manage to write much of anything down because I found myself spending most of my time looking out the windows.

Elgea was a wildly interesting place to look at, even from afar, not just because it was an actual full-fledged fantasy world, but even more-so because of how nothing artificial seemed to "fit" with anything else. 

The best way I can think to describe the clusterfuck I saw would have to be as the product of someone playing a city builder bloated with mods. Individual villages - even individual houses - varied wildly in architectural design; I distinctly recall seeing a thatch-roofed cobblestone hut, a log cabin, something which looked like an ancient Roman villa, and another structure which looked more like a mosque than a house, all side-by-side along the same street in the same town. The farmlands we passed were possibly even more of a mess; all manner of different crops were grown in all manner of different ways, few of which I recognized.  We even passed some lord's magic firing range, and a bridge where the guards on one side carried swords and spears, while the guards on the other side carried not merely a different coat of arms, but guns as well. 

At the very least, Elgea's bizarre habits made it an amusing countryside to look at.