Some time back, I posted a story about a fantasy role-playing character I had been working on. I dropped that story because of the brouhaha surrounding the parent company of the Dungeons & Dragons^®. If you’re interested in what’s going on with the hobby, I’ll leave it to you to investigate.

The main characters and plotline, however, never really left me alone. Katra Alterian, one of the main characters, is a modern young woman who finds herself in a magical world she had only ever imagined. She lands near the camp of a young scalawag named Sam, who saves her from whatever fate might befall her in such a strange land.

Confusion

Katra Alterian clawed her way to consciousness one painful realization at a time. She remembered entering a cave with her cousins and being amazed by the crystal structures. She vaguely recollected turning to Dreyah to say something about the formations… then she was here. Shivering, nude, under a blanket that smelled so alien to her she could not describe the odor.

The air held that same quality, something much deeper than just a cook fire and food from a strange land. It smelled wrong and felt different in her lungs and her body. Not quite like the difference between one house and another, it was much more visceral than that. Subtle energy coursed through her as she breathed. And while the ground felt stable enough, her weight against it was all wrong. It didn’t press against her side like she was used to. The sound of flowing water nearby was the only thing that seemed vaguely familiar.

It must have been dark, as no light made it to her eyes through her closed eyelids, although a flickering reddish hue teased her retinas. Katra slightly raised an eyelid to see the flickering light of a small campfire. However, the scent was unusual, like wood, but different. To one side of the fire, a tiny figure that looked… human? stirred something in what sounded like a metal pot that rested on the glowing coals.

Without turning towards her, the figure said something in a soft voice that she could not understand. She ignored the voice, feigning unconsciousness. Trying to figure out not only what had happened, but where she was, Katra took deep breaths as she her muscles quivered. So, she did what she always did when frightened; she prayed to whatever gods of luck and fortune ruled this strange land.

This time, however, something answered her prayers.

“Ah, one of my Astral Changelings. I wondered when you would appear in my realm.”

“Wh…?”

“You are on the continent of Adaran, child,” the voice said, as if the girl hadn’t spoken. “Call me Ty’riah.”

Katra had no words. She lay by the crackling fire, skin prickling, breath catching in her throat.

The figure by the fire muttered more sounds she couldn’t understand.

“You are mine until you find a way home. You must learn to use my gifts. I will grant you this blessing, to understand and speak the languages of this land as you understood and spoke the languages of your Realm.”

Through her closed eyelids, the firelight flared. Not much, but enough that she noticed.

###

“Look, I know you’re awake, ain’t no use pretending,” Sam said to the girl he’d found less than a turn before. For all that she was as slight of stature as he, she must have weighed a stone or two more than he did—and for an elf, that was a lot. She didn’t look nearly as heavy as she felt. Ah well, he’d get to the bottom of her story before long.

“I have some wièaso stewing in the pot here if you’re hungry.”

Glancing sideways, he saw her sit up and tried to get the image of the moving tattoo on her lower back out of his mind as she pulled the blanket close around her.

“It smells…” she said, trailing off as if she had no words.

She had the strangest accent Sam had ever heard in his young life. And living in the underbelly of Port Freehaven, he had heard more strange accents than most lads his age.

Handing her a bowl and a curved wooden stick, he said, “it’s wièaso meat mixed with some herbs and root vegetables, it should make you feel better.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, a crimson glow lighting her neck and cheeks. “Do you… Um, have you a change of clothing, perchance?”

He turned from the fire and looked at her, eyes narrowing.

“Where you from?” he asked abruptly, his curiosity about her origins getting the better of him.

###

Katra tilted her head to one side, parsing the phrase in her mind. She was sure he was asking her place of origin, but the words seemed… lacking something.

“D-D-Denver.” She shivering as a gust of damp, chill air blew through the camp.

“Dan-ver, huh?” He drawled it as if it were a foreign word he had not pronounced before. “Never heard of it,” the little man said, turning back to the fire. He scattered the coals as they danced into low flames in the breeze.

“It … it’s the Mile-High city.”

“Look, lady. I can’t understand a word of that.”

Katra stared at the man.

How could she explain to this ignorant little nub of a, a—man? She felt her ire rise, and the tattoo of the die she got several years ago flared to life. She yelped as a jolt of not-quite pain radiated from the base of her spine. It shot down her legs and left a dull throb in her skull.

“Gratitude, young lady,” the voice of Ty’riah said, “this man is one of my followers and here to help you.”

“Are you okay?” Sam asked, concern shading his features as he stepped across the fire ring to keep her from falling as she arched back.

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“Um, well,” Katra blushed, “thinking ill of my rescuer.” She looked up at him, a shy smile on her lips. “My name is Katra, by the way. Katra Alterian.”

“Sam,” he said, sticking out his hand, “ain’t got no last name, but some of my former mates called me ‘Sly Sam,’ Good to meet ya, Katra.”

“N-nice to m-meet you, too, um, Sam,” she said, looking at his hand, then back up to his face, clutching the blanket closer around her.

“Clothes, yeah,” the young man said, turning to rummage through a knapsack on his right.

From his pack, Sam produced a pair of patched, well-worn leather trews and a threadbare homespun tunic.

“Hope these fit. Sorry, only gots the one pair o’ boots.” He shrugged and handed Katra the clothing.

“Thank you.” A hand snaked out from beneath the blanket, snatching the shirt and trousers from him. She stared at him, eyebrow lifted, until he turned his back.

Katra relaxed after donning the clothes. She didn’t feel so exposed.

“You can turn around now,” she said.

“So,” he looked at her through narrowed eyes, “where’d you say you were from, again?”

“I’m not sure you’d believe me if I told you,” she said.

“Try me.” Suspicion clouded his gaze.

“Okay,” Katra took a deep breath. “According to your goddess, um, Ty’riah?” she pronounced the name carefully, looking at Sam with a questioning look. At his nod, she continued, “She called me her ‘Astral Changeling’ and cleric. My homeworld is called Earth.”

The look on his face confused her. He didn’t look like he believed her, but he didn’t disbelieve her either.

“I can’t deny what you say is true,” he said. “I know I checked every inch of this area, for a good fifty paces around before settin’ up this camp. Yet, here you are, appeared outta nowhere, weighing more than a normal elf should, with the strangest doggone accent I ever done heard. Alls I can do is take your word for it.”

“Half-elf.” Katra put her hands to her ear-tips.

Sam looked at her as if she were daft.

“Half-elf?”

“Aye.” Katra didn’t know how she knew that.

“So, how’d you get here?”

“I… I don’t know,” said Katra, staring into the glowing coals, hair falling over her shoulders to hide her face.

“We’ll puzzle it out, don’t worry.”

“‘We?’”

“Aye. If’n what you said is true, then Ty’riah is testin’ me as much as you.”

The next day, Katra trailed Sam west. They followed a river he called the “Dragonspine” toward a city he called “Morganskeep.”