Johnathan decided to just go to the nearest town that wasn't Maasuitia Tidofiru—while his conductor avatar lounged in the cab, his locomotive body effortlessly glided over already placed rails. The SYSTEM helpfully projected **[NEAREST OTHER SETTLEMENT: PENIDAREN—30 MILES SOUTHWEST]** in brass-knuckle letters that dissolved into steam halfway across the marsh. His Dark Elf-Giant form smirked, adjusting his conductor's cap with unnecessary flourish. "Penidaren it is," he announced to the empty cab, as if the boiler itself might argue.
The journey was smooth—unnaturally so, given his new hybridized demonic enhancements. He simply went in the already laid track direction. It was a relatively shorter trip than the one to Maasuitia Tidofiru was—which took him sox hours (even if he wasn't going full speed)—Penidaren was only an eighteen minute trip at full speed.
His conductor avatar leaned back in the cab with the practiced ease of a man who'd spent years pretending to operate machinery he *was*, steam venting from his elongated ears in a lazy spiral that perfectly mimicked the locomotive's exhaust. Outside, Penidaren's silhouette emerged through the post-marsh fog—a haphazard collection of slate rooftops and lopsided chimneys clinging to the hillside like drunken soldiers.
The Penidaren stationmaster's wig nearly combusted when the demon-gilded locomotive screeched to a halt, its brass fixtures gleaming with unnatural sheen. A towering figure in conductor's regalia leaned from the cab, tusks glinting. "Hello there." He greeted with all the subtlety of a freight train through a dollhouse.
The stationmaster's clipboard clattered to the platform as Johnathan's SYSTEM cheerfully projected **[LOCAL POPULATION: CONFUSED+INTIMIDATED]** in molten brass letters above the man's balding head. Steam curled from the Dark Elf-Giant's elongated ears with theatrical precision as he adjusted his conductor's cap—an unnecessary flourish that sent his rivet tattoos pulsing down his forearms like a synchronized light show.
"Mind the gap," Johnathan purred, tusks gleaming as he gestured to the nonexistent space between platform and train with conductor-gloved hands. The Penidaren stationmaster—wig now thoroughly askew—stared slack-jawed at the towering Dark Elf-Giant currently *phasing* half his torso through the cab window without opening it.
Behind him, the locomotive belched a plume of steam that momentarily formed the kanji for *"Ticket prices negotiable."* The stationmaster blinked—first at the floating characters, then at Johnathan's conductor avatar looming over him with a grin that split his face like a well-oiled coupling rod. "Rates vary," Johnathan announced, hiding the fact that he didn't know this world's currency by dramatically flipping open a pocket watch that definitely didn't tell time. "Perishable goods? Double. Undead Cargo? Triple. Prophecies about *'the sacred chosen one'*? Instant ejection."
A woman clutching a basket of suspiciously squirming mushrooms was the first to muster courage. "Sir Conductor," she rasped, "what price to ride your... magnificent steel steed?" Her eyes flicked between Johnathan's gleaming tusks and the locomotive's demon-stitched boiler plates, which pulsed faintly with the rhythm of a heartbeat that definitely wasn't human. The SYSTEM obligingly flashed **[FARE IN CURRENCY OF TRAHINER CALCULATION: INITIATED]** above her head, overlaying her face with floating arithmetic symbols that dissolved into steam when she sneezed.
Johnathan's conductor avatar leaned forward, steam curling from his ears like an overzealous tea kettle. "Depends," he said, tapping his chin with a six-fingered hand that left tiny brass fingerprints on his skin. "You carrying anything that screams in the night? Sentient potatoes? Unpaid emotional baggage?"
The woman blinked as the SYSTEM projected **[TRANSLATION: NO, YES, ABSOLUTELY]** in glowing rail-signal red above her basket. "Ah—standard fare then," Johnathan declared, snapping fingers that sparked like flint on steel. "Two Trahiners, please."
Safe to say, he also had so much fun being taller than all of them, the tallest there was what appeared to be a Reptile Folk at about seven feet tall. His conductor avatar towered over them all at ten foot even—steam curling from his elongated Dark Elf ears with theatrical flair—as he surveyed the Penidaren townsfolk like a particularly smug parade float.
"An Elf Hybrid?" One whispered.
"Away from a forest?" Another continued.
"Away from the tunnel!" Johnathan's conductor-themed avatar corrected, steam puffing from his elongated ears with theatrical timing—his tusks glinting under Penidaren's dim station lights as townsfolk recoiled from the sheer *wrongness* of a Dark Elf-Giant-Orckin hybrid casually lounging against a demon-stitched locomotive. Rivet tattoos pulsed down his forearms whenever he gestured, syncing perfectly with the Jubilee Class' pistons in a way that *should* have been impossible.
The stationmaster—wig now permanently fused to his forehead from sheer panic—finally found his voice. "Where does your train go to?"
"Why, anywhere within reason of course!"
Johnathan leaned further out the cab window, steam curling from his ears as the stationmaster instinctively leaned away—his wig now an independent lifeform clinging desperately to his scalp. The Dark Elf-Giant conductor gestured grandly toward the locomotive's smoking stack, where sparks arranged themselves into floating kanji that briefly read *"Terms & Conditions Apply"* before dissolving into ash.
"Payment's flexible," Johnathan continued, plucking a glowing rivet from his own cheek and flipping it like a coin. It landed on the platform with a *clang* that sounded suspiciously like "maybe."
I mean, his main body was the train, his front car could create food, and he didn't have any one he had to send money to so he didn't even really need money. He was really only doing this incase he did one day need money and to look less suspicious.
But bartering was a bit better, it didn't require math.
A merchant clutching a crate of what smelled very similarly to a baby Sessile Oak was the first to step forward. "I'll trade you this crate of *highly valuable* Caldonian-Arborian Whisper-Zasso," he declared with the practiced desperation of a man who knew his product was actually just tree sap in fancy bottles.
Johnathan's conductor avatar leaned down—his elongated tusks nearly skewering the merchant's hat—and inhaled deeply. It smelled...
Familiar.
Johnathan's Dark-Elf-Giant-Orckin nostrils flared as the scent of fermented regret and dubious marketing claims wafted up from the merchant's crate. The SYSTEM flickered above the bottles: **[CALDONIAN-ARBORIAN WHISPER-ZASSO: 80% TREE SAP, 20% HOPE, 100% QUESTIONABLE]**,before dissolving into steam-pixel laughter.
The merchant, mistaking Johnathan's silence for intrigue, pressed forward with the enthusiasm of a man who'd gambled his last copper on snake oil. "This Whisper-Zasso grants *visions*," he proclaimed, shaking a bottle where sediment swirled like a drunk prophet's predictions. "One sip, and you'll see the future! Or at least *a* future. Possibly a goat's. Results vary."
Johnathan's conductor avatar stroked his chin—an unnecessary gesture that sent rivet tattoos slithering down his neck like animated sutures. "Fascinating," he lied, steam curling from his ears in lazy spirals. "And what, pray tell, does *this* future goat foresee?" He plucked the bottle, squinting at a label that read *"Bottled Destiny™"* in peeling gilt letters.
The merchant blinked. "Uh. Grass?"
"*Groundbreaking.*" Johnathan snapped his fingers—a spark igniting the air as the SYSTEM projected **[NEGOTIATION: INITIATED]** in molten rail-signal runes. "Tell you what. You hand over this crate of *questionable clairvoyance*, and I'll grant you passage to..." His locomotive body's whistle screeched, cutting him off mid-sentence as the SYSTEM helpfully displayed **[DESTINATION: NEAREST SETTLEMENT WITH A PUB: DAUREISU]**.
The merchant's hopeful expression faltered as Johnathan's conductor avatar loomed closer, steam venting from his ears in rhythmic puffs like a living train whistle. "Let's discuss *flexible* payment," Johnathan purred, tapping the crate with a six-fingered hand that left tiny brass dents in the wood. The SYSTEM flickered above them: **[BARTER MODE: ACTIVE. WARNING: CONTAINS 70% HORSEPUCKERY]**.
"Three bottles," the merchant countered, clutching his cloak like a shield, "for a one-way trip to Daureisu!" His voice cracked mid-sentence as Johnathan's locomotive body emitted a steam-whistle laugh that shook loose tiles from the station roof. The SYSTEM projected **[COUNTEROFFER: PATHETIC]** in glowing brake-shoe letters that singed the merchant's eyebrows.
Johnathan's conductor avatar leaned forward, his elongated tusks casting ominous shadows across the merchant's face. "Five bottles," he countered, plucking a rivet from his own forearm and rolling it between fingers that hissed like overheating pistons.
"Four Bottles."
"Hmmmm... It's a deal."
The merchant's grin faltered as Johnathan's conductor avatar snatched four bottles of Whisper-Zasso with one hand—his other hand shooting out to grab the merchant's wrist before he could flee. With a theatrical flourish, Johnathan's elongated tusks gleamed under Penidaren's flickering station lights as he whispered, "Mind the gap," and *yanked* the bewildered man onto the locomotive's steps. The SYSTEM flashed **[BARTER: SUCCESSFUL]** in glowing brake-shoe letters that momentarily set the merchant's sleeve on fire.
"Now then, who's next to Daureisu or Maasuitia Tidofiru?" Johnathan announced with conductorly theatrics, steam puffing from his elongated ears in perfect sync with the Jubilee's smokestack. The Penidaren townsfolk gawked at the towering Dark Elf-Giant hybrid whose rivet tattoos pulsed in time with the locomotive's pistons—none suspecting the train's whistle was actually his own throaty chuckle. A system prompt flickered: **[DECEPTION: 99.9% EFFECTIVE]** before dissolving into steam shaped like a winking ticket inspector.
Two dozen more fools boarded purely out of morbid curiosity, elbowing past the Whisper-Zasso merchant who was already regretting his life choices. "Does this train serve refreshments?" asked the scholarly-looking Reptile Folk clutching what appeared to be a now non cursed sandwich.
"Why of course we do!"
Johnathan's conductor avatar swept an arm toward his dining car with exaggerated flourish—his elongated Dark Elf ears venting steam in perfect sync with the locomotive's smokestack, rivet tattoos pulsing down his forearm like animated railroad spikes. The reptilefolk scholar blinked at the sudden buffet table materializing behind him, piled with suspiciously sentient-looking sandwiches and drinks that bubbled with SYSTEM-assisted *pizzazz*. One sandwich winked.
"Complimentary *haute cuisine*," Johnathan purred, adjusting his conductor's cap at a jaunty angle that made his tusks glint ominously. The crowd oohed and aahed—completely missing how his "haute cuisine" was just Track Gorger jerky reshaped via **[DEMONIC CULINARY RECONFIGURATION]** into dainty finger foods.
The SYSTEM projected *"Bon Appétit!"* in flickering brake-light glyphs as the two dozen curiosity-seekers shuffled into the dining car—each passenger pausing mid-step when the floorboards purred like a contented demon beneath their feet. The Reptile Folk scholar's sandwich suddenly developed legs and leapt into a bowl of suspiciously self-stirring soup. "Gourmet," Johnathan announced, steam curling from his elongated ears with an audible *toot* as he gestured to the buffet table, where Track Gorger jerky had reconfigured itself into delicate hors d'oeuvres that whimpered when stabbed with toothpicks.