Baxter felt as if he’d vomit.
He fell to his knees, clammy hands unable to grip his beloved cart, and gripped his stomach. The amulet he’d been trying to sell clambered to the ground with a loud clink. Marketplace murmurs were replaced by silence, cold cobblestone replaced by luxurious panels. Baxter breathed heavily, as if acclimating his lungs to the abrupt transition. The magic was just too sudden, too unexpected.
At last, he looked up, dazed and frantic. Four pairs of feet came into view, all attached to some very intimidating looking individuals. Why, he dared even believe that one such pair belonged to the good King Kale of Aerosia!
His heart rate dropped almost instantaneously, suddenly realizing just how awkward things were. Ripped mercilessly from a sale or not, he was still kneeling by a king looking absolutely garish.
He stood up sheepishly and cleared his throat, determined to salvage the moment. “Evening, gentlemen.” Baxter addressed the men, breathing heavily as he brushed off his coat. “Milord,” he said with a sweeping bow. His eyes watered slightly, his stomach still churned, and his head continued to throb, but he’d be damned before he made a fool of himself when… teleported… for whatever reason. It was always possible he was merely having a bad dream, though. He was hoping greatly for that solution.