After dusting himself off, pinching himself repeatedly, and screaming in frustration, Stephen had walked to the gates of Hopedale and joined the throngs of people making their way into the city. Beyond the diversity you’d see in any large city on Earth, he saw elves, dwarves, and halflings. He noticed a few half-orcs, which told him this must be an earlier edition of the game world, as they had removed them in later editions. A few of the people he saw looked like stereotypical adventurers, right off the cover of a module, but the majority of people looked like medieval commoners going about their daily business.
If this is what insanity is like, I might as well enjoy it, he thought. The ‘concept’ of his thesis remained in his mind, but it was no longer energized the way it had been when he triggered it and appeared in this world. It felt like it was drained.
The guards at the gate eyed him, taking in his exotic jeans and t-shirt, then nodded in greeting. Finally, a little respect, Stephen thought to himself. The spicy, exotic smell of the crowd dissipated as it split up and people went different ways after entering. Remembering the Hopedale map that came with a module, Stephen walked forward into the agricultural market.
Dozens of stalls ringed the plaza, and vendors shouted at passers-by in a variety of languages. None of the languages were familiar to Stephen. He approached one of the stalls at random, which had an assortment of unrecognizable fruits and vegetables in baskets. The vendor was human with an African look about her. She gave a small bow to Stephen, then said something he didn’t understand. She tried three or four other languages, then looked frustrated at his continued lack of comprehension.
Stephen asked, “What are these things you’re selling? How much are they?” She looked at him blankly. He noticed signs above her stand, but the writing was alien and there weren’t even any numbers. After studying the boards, he noticed that it had had lines which looked like they were tallies, and he guessed they were in place of Arabic numerals.
Rather than four lines, crossed by a fifth line, the tally marks seemed to be in groups of seven. The vendor said something else to him in an annoyed tone of voice.
Reaching into his pocket, Stephen pulled out some change and showed it to her. With a sniff, she picked out a quarter and took it. She handed him three small pieces of fruit, then waved him away. “I guess that’s what I’m buying, then,” he said, earning himself a look of annoyance from her.
Munching on the fruit, he moved along the streets as he remembered them from high school gaming sessions. Some characters were carved in the stone at corners, but the language was totally different from English, and he couldn’t connect them to the street names that had been on the map he used years ago.
He wondered if this was a lucid dream like people talk about. He’d never had one, but it was completely different from any dreams he could remember. His every sense told him he was actually here.
The adventurers’ guild was where he expected it to be. When he approached, a guard at the door greeted him, tried to talk to him, then waved him away when they weren’t able to interact.
He continued walking and made his way to The Bloody Bugbear, which was where the characters in his gaming group had operated out of. He found an inn and tavern near the expected location, but couldn’t make sense of the signage.
Entering the tavern, Stephen was surprised at how dank it was. When they gamed, the tavern had a lively, party atmosphere with a jolly innkeeper and friendly patrons. Instead, Stephen saw a variety of races morosely drinking on rustic furniture and a suspicious looking barkeep. A few of the blurry eyed patrons glanced at Stephen, then returned to their drinking.
Walking up to the bar, Stephen cheerfully said, “A beer to wet my whistle and a room for the next week, my good man!” The barkeep looked back blankly, then responded in an alien language. When this didn’t get any response, he tried a couple of others then shrugged at the grad student, giving up.
Stephen made a gesture, pantomiming drinking, then leaned his head to the side on his hands, as if they were a pillow. The barkeep nodded his understanding and held out a hand. Stephen pulled out what he had in his pockets, which amounted to a set of keys, $2.74 in change, his wallet, and his cell phone. The barkeep waved away the change and examined the keys curiously. Stephen took a twenty dollar bill out of his wallet and offered it to the innkeeper, who examined it, then pushed it back with a shake of his head. He pushed the keys back towards Stephen as well.
The man started to reach for Stephen’s wallet, but the graduate student shook his head and put that back in his pocket. Holding up his phone, he turned it on, and the innkeeper grunted in surprise as it lit up. Stephen scrolled between screens as the innkeeper watched him operate it. The innkeeper nodded and held out his hand, which Stephen deposited the phone into and accepted a carved, wooden vessel filled with ale and a heavy, crude key with an insignia carved into it.
Over the next few hours, he drank excessively, annoying the other patrons as he kept talking in a language none of them could understand. The barkeep kept playing with the phone and at some point figured out how to turn the volume up and started making noises with it. Stephen staggered towards the back of the tavern, and the barkeep pointed down a hallway. Moving along it, he eventually found a room that had an insignia on the door that matched the key, he let himself in, relieved himself in the chamber pot and collapsed into the dirty bed.
***
Waking with a start, a meaty, sweaty hand covered his mouth and strong hands were roughly pulling his pants open and trying to pull them off of him. Stephen started to struggle and tried to push the hands that covered his mouth away, but other hands pinned his arms down and the person covering his mouth started punching him in the face repeatedly until he stopped struggling.
A light came on, and he saw three large figures going through and collecting his things. They stripped all his clothes off, then demanded something from him. “I don’t speak your language,” Stephen responded sullenly. “I don’t understand what you’re asking.”
A hard object hit his head and everything went black again.
***
Waking up in pain from a combination of a hangover and a head injury, Stephen pulled a blanket around himself and made his way down to the taproom. When he entered, the innkeeper immediately began angrily berating him, holding up the now dark phone.
“Yeah, it’s out of power because you were playing with it all night,” Stephen said sourly. “I was attacked and robbed in my room. Get the guards.”
The innkeeper gave a response that sounded annoyed, then held out his hand again, an angry expression on his face.
Stephen gestured at his lack of clothing, then held his head towards the man, showing the wound. The innkeeper said something else in an angry tone of voice and, pulling a club out from behind the bar, started advancing on Stephen.
With a yelp, the grad student lost his grip on the blanket and began backing away from the aggressive innkeeper. A few of the drunks eyed the naked, flabby student retreating. The innkeeper kept making angry demands and advancing.
Holding his palms forward in supplication, Stephen pantomimed wiping tables, washing dishes, and carrying drinking. The inn keep sourly shook his head and held out his hand. Stephen gestured again at his naked body and waved his hand towards his room. He and the innkeeper examined it and confirmed none of his possessions remained.
***
In rough, local clothes, Stephen collected dishes from tables, carried food and drinks to patrons, and did whatever tasks the innkeeper set him to. He had been moved to an unoccupied stall in the stable and his skin was marked by the many bites he had received each night from insects, mice, and other vermin.
His first night there, he had tried to sneak off and was caught by the innkeeper, who had anticipated his attempt at departure. After being beaten, he hadn’t attempted escape again. The various wounds from his robbery and the beating were slow to heal. He had been fed leftovers from patrons’ meals. The innkeeper first picked out what could be resold to other patrons, then allowed Stephen to pick out what he wanted before the rest was offered as slop for pigs.
He had tried to interact with some of the locals and learn their language, but each time he tried, the patrons would jeer at him, and he’d inevitably receive a cuff on the head from the innkeeper. He’d eventually stopped trying and sullenly went about his duties. This was worse than graduate student life, and he hoped if this was some sort of mental illness that it ended soon.
The fantasy world wasn’t what he’d imagined.
One night, after Stephen had been working at the tavern for ten days, a man came in wearing colorful robes and asked him something.
In his most obsequious tone of voice which he’d learned sometimes avoided problems, Stephen said, “Let me get the innkeeper for you,” and started to turn away. He’d sometimes found he’d get smacked for not responding, then other times he’d get smacked for responding in a language the patrons didn’t understand, and had been doing his best since not to antagonize anyone.
The robed man grabbed his arm before he moved away and asked him something else. Smiling in an attempt to defuse the situation, Stephen shook his head and softly said, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” He held up his hands and tried to escape the grip and back away.
The robed man pointed at the ground, indicating for Stephen to stay after he let him go. He took a chicken’s tongue out of a pouch, then began chanting and gesturing. He started to put the chicken’s tongue into his own mouth, and it vanished. Stephen watched him cautiously.
“Now then,” said the man in perfect English. “What language was that you were speaking? I’ve never heard it before.”
“You speak English?” asked Stephen in confusion. “Please, you’ve got to help me! I was robbed, and the innkeeper has taken me prisoner.”
The man chuckled. “English, is it? I don’t actually speak it. I just cast a spell that lets me communicate with you.”
“Ah, ‘comprehend languages’?” asked Stephen.
“Yes,” said the man, surprised. “You’ve studied magic?”
“No, I just remember the spell from when we used to play Domains of Danger,” answered the graduate student.
“Domains of Danger?” said the wizard. “I can’t say I’ve ever heard of that. Is it a place, a spell, or a thing?”
“It’s a game,” explained Stephen. “Where the players have adventures here. In their imagination. But I don’t like it in person. I want to go back home.”
“I don’t know anything about all that,” said the wizard cautiously. “But I teach at the Hopedale Wizard’s Guild. There’s a group devoted to obscure languages, and we’d be willing to pay you to come and let us learn English from you. We’d pay your master if you’re a slave.”
“I’m not a slave!” said Stephen. “I’m a prisoner. I traded my cell phone to the innkeeper for a room and drinks when I first arrived. I was robbed in his room, then he abused me and forced me to work for him ever since.”
“Well,” said the wizard kindly, “let’s see if we can get to the bottom of this.” He waved the innkeeper over. “I’m Harim, by the way. Pleasure to meet you.”
“I’m Stephen Crawford,” said the graduate student. “I’ve never been more glad to meet anyone in my entire life.”
The innkeeper came over and started talking to Harim. He started to raise his hand to Stephen at one point, but the wizard talked him down. After they’d talked for a few minutes, Harim said, “Well, he’s angry that you traded him a magical device that stopped working.”
“It ran out of power,” said Stephen in exasperation. “No cell phone runs forever, I don’t have any way to charge it, and I don’t have anything else to given him. I was robbed in his room.”
“Yes,” said Harim. “I suspect he directed the thieves to your room, but you aren’t going to be able to prove that. He’s said you can go with me if I pay your debt, which he figures is three silver pieces. I’m willing to pay, but you have to come with me to the Wizard’s Guild and stay until we’ve learned your English.”
“Gladly,” Stephen agreed.
“He wants to know why a noble wasn’t guarded better?” Harim added.
“A noble? I’m not a noble,” said Stephen.
“But you’re so fat!” exclaimed the wizard.
“I’m not that fat,” Stephen said, sullenly. “And I’ve been losing a lot of weight while he’s been starving me.”’
“Well, I’ll pay the man then. Don’t expect to be pampered at the Wizard’s Guild, but I expect it’ll be more comfortable than your life here,” Harim said.
