“I’ll be there on their side / I’m losing by their side”

 

Isaac strolled down the cobblestone streets of Orynth, an easygoing half-smile painted on his face; for the first time in years, he felt free. There was no such thing as a true new beginning on Earth. One could pick up and move across cities, states, countries, oceans; could change careers, and names and even genders, but there could be no escaping rent and taxes and social security numbers. Nosy exes would still call, bills would need to be paid, and try as one might, change what one will, targeted ads knew all, they would always remember no matter who became what where and why. Along the bustling streets of the little trade hub, however, he was nobody. He had a jangling coin purse at his belt—which he religiously checked to ensure it wouldn't be stolen—and a body built for getting things done, and Isaac felt good. Good like telling the guy interviewing you to go fuck himself because he said some off-color remark, and marching out head held high, confident something better would come along anyway.

 

A certain powerfulness came with the feeling of being actually capable for a change. He hadn’t exactly accomplished much in the way of impressive feats, but wading through the open air market, finding the exact stall Sybil had described, and heckling a fair price for the little powder he’d been instructed to get—planar-dust, it was called—had felt like something straight out of one of the tabletop RPGs Isaac had played with his friends in undergrad. Really, once he’d gotten over the initial shock, just about everything had had that feeling to it. Between meeting an honest to god—or as Sybil might say, honest to void—witch, agreeing to join her on quest to locate and summon the woman she loved, being magically given a strong, attractive, comfortable and capable body, and hiking through strange woods into a town that looked as though it might be found in a concept art book, he felt as though he’d been given a chance to do something genuinely exciting and freeing. The world he found himself in was brimming with opportunity, and from what he could tell, the genuine article when it came to high adventure. Throw in a magically enhanced body that simply inhabiting felt like a weight off his shoulders and Isaac was starting to feel as though he really could do anything. 

 

That wasn’t to say things were perfect; some things still clung to his thoughts, the idea that things weren’t entirely the way they should be. And, to be fair, they weren’t. He was literally on a different planet, possibly even in some alternate universe; that wasn’t really something Isaac was equipped to really get into details on. If it weren’t for the fact that he was exceedingly glad to be out of the situation he had been in back on Earth, and for the fact that he found the situation he’d been thrust into quite exciting, it seemed doubtful that he’d be handling any of what had happened too well at all. And yet, the offness he felt seemed separate from anything to do with the way things were going with his home. It was a familiar wrongness, but one that had grown only more persistent through the day following his transformation. He’d always felt imperfect, incomplete; the changes seemed only to remind him that, while he was very much pleased with what had been done, there still seemed to be other things he’d prefer were different. 

 

Still, such thoughts were easy to ignore; there were far more pressing things, and far more exciting and positive things to consider. And it was those positives, not that vague, intangible negative that Isaac chose to focus on as he made his way across town, toward the local tavern he’d been directed toward. Sybil had given him a little extra money, in case he wound up needing to kill time, and, as luck would have it, the second errand Sybil had sent him on was currently one he’d need to wait for. The general store, which Sybil had asked Isaac to patronize in search of supplies for the journey ahead, was closed for the time being. The shopkeeper had stepped out, and until he returned Isaac would need something to do. And what better activity was there in a fantasy world than to hang out in a tavern and catch some of the local flair?

 

The Wandering Ox was the name of the place, not that anyone would know that by looking on the outside. No sign of any sort indicated such a name, though one little placard did hang off a post over the door depicting a flagon of ale, so, that was fairly indicative of what the purpose of the business was. From the outside it didn’t look like much, stone foundation meeting wooden walls and a plain-looking wooden roof, three stories in all, as well as a cellar—probably, anyway; it was Isaac’s understanding that cellars were fairly mandatory when it came to beer brewing, at least old world beer brewing.  The windows all around it were illuminated by oil lanterns, and a light din could be heard through the doorway. 

 

Pausing for a moment to consider just how interacting in such a place would actually go, Isaac shrugged, and crossed the road to enter, though not before a skinny-looking youth, whom Isaac now towered over, walked right into him. The little brat didn’t say a word, barely even taking note of Isaac’s own apology, then darting off to keep up with the group he’d been walking with. Realization striking him, Isaac’s hand shot to his belt, and, to both his surprise and relief, the coinpurse remained. Rolling his eyes, Isaac pressed on through the street, brushing past the crowd and through the doorway into the tavern. 

 

From the inside, it had that homey look of an old timey place to gather for food and drink and, presumably, revelry. The floors were an ash colored stone, which similarly traced up the walls before becoming a similar wood to that outside the many windows and lanterns kept the place well-lit, a warm fire burned in a central hearth, and the walls were decorated head to toe with all manner of trophies, paintings and odd fantasy baubles. The place was fairly quiet, with enough clientele to keep the establishment’s workers busy, but this was no rowdy drunken bar always between either a lively drinking song likely to turn into a disruptive fight, or a disruptive fight likely to turn into a rowdy drinking song. Seeing the bar itself was relatively unoccupied, Isaac slid onto one of the high benches encircling it, and waved down the bartender, or innkeeper, or whatever the proper way to say it was. 

 

He was a burly, slightly chubby man wearing an apron and a sleeveless shirt which showed off powerful arms, and all around had the look of a man who had once been quite handsome, but was now well past his prime. He was balding, with a neatly trimmed black goatee and hair just about everywhere. His smile was friendly though, and a lively spark danced in his eye as he approached. 

 

“A newcomer! What can I git fer ya, lass?” he bellowed in a friendly, eager voice, slightly gruff but as though it were always on the verge of breaking into hearty laughter—the sort where one would throw their head back and clutch their belly, perhaps slap their knee as well—that was hardly any concern of Isaac’s though. He was mostly focused on that last word.

 

“I’m sorry, what was that last part? Did you say lass?”

 

“Well yeah, s’what y’are, ain’tcha? Look like one, sound like one. S’pose I ain’t seen too many ladies o’ yer size an’ stature though. Ya don’t mean to tell me yer a fellah, do ya? Never seen a fellah so soft ‘round the cheeks, if ya catch my drift.” He winked, and Isaac found himself wondering for the briefest of moments whether or not this middle aged man was flirting with him. That quickly took backseat at the fact that, for whatever reason, being mistaken for a woman stirred some odd feelings within him. How many others had looked at Isaac and thought they were seeing a woman? 

 

And why did the prospect of being seen as one not really bother him whatsoever? It did make sense; the body he was in did look distinctly more feminine than his old one, even with the addition of size and impressive muscles. It was hardly an insult to call him feminine; he quite liked the way he looked, and if people saw him and thought ‘woman’, well, they were only playing with the hand they’d been dealt. It was actually somewhat exciting, which made sense. He liked the way his body looked; his body could easily be interpreted as a woman’s, especially given the form-hiding layers he wore, and therefore someone interpreting it that way felt like being genuinely seen more than anything. Besides, it seemed best to simply go with the flow. He was unfamiliar with the customs of the town; if someone saw him as a woman, it was best not to risk any confrontation by correcting them.

 

“Err, well yeah. You could call me a lass, I suppose, just well, where I come from that’s not a very polite word. I’m guessing it’s not the case here.” Isaac did his best to keep his face relaxed and amicable, if a little put off, lest he convey the fact that he was lying through his teeth.

 

It seemed to work, the bartender growing slightly red in the face, “Ah, my apologies. No offense intended.” 

 

“None taken. You get used to different customs when you travel a lot like I do.” That one wasn’t entirely a lie. There had been a fair share of traveling in Isaac’s day, though that was all limited to a different planet, as it turned out.

 

“That type, are ya? I’d ask where yer from, but I wouldn’t have a fuckin clue where it was. Ya’d think I’d be good at that sorta thing, workin’ at a tavern in a crossroads town like this’n, but no such luck. Got a name, la—err, miss?” He caught himself, wincing and seeming to hold his breath to see if the faux pas stuck.

 

“It’s Madelyn,” Isaac, or rather ‘Madelyn’ replied, taking no time to wonder how and why that particular name came so quickly and naturally. 

 

“Madelyn,” he said the name as though trying it on for the first time, feeling out each letter with his tongue as it rolled out of him. “Pretty name, definitely not one from ‘round here, though. Name’s Gord.” He gestured to himself, practically thumping his chest in the process. “Can I getcha anything, Madelyn?” 

 

“Just whatever you’ve got on tap—err, in the keg? Ale, please.” 

 

He raised an eyebrow in a mix of confusion and amusement, “You’re a queer one, ain’tcha Madelyn. Odd words you have, but foreign folk often do.” Without another word, he stepped away to grab the drink, returning moments later with a proper-looking flagon full of room temperature, foamed up beer which—in all likelihood—was a far cry from what could be expected back on Earth. It was taken gratefully all the same. “That’s gonna be five Dinn. Can pay now, or when yer done, your call.” 

 

“Oh right yeah,” Sybil’s coin purse was full of the odd coins which, thankfully, Sybil had explained the names and values of. It would be more than enough to cover such an expense. There was a problem though, it simply wasn’t there. A few more frantic pats to confirm, then a realization and a defeated, miserable sigh. “Some cutpurse got the jump on me. I was being so careful.”

 

To his credit, Gord didn’t seem immediately angered or insulted, instead rather sympathetic. “Ah, shit, that does happen ‘round here, yeah. Tell ya what? I’ve got a whole damn barrel full of pickles down in the cellar I’ve been meaning to bring up here. Problem is I’m not as strong as I used to be, can’t get the damn thing up here without feelin’ it fer the next who knows how many days. Help me move it, it’s on the house. 

 

“I can help you, but that’s the least of my worries. Sybil trusted me with her money. She already probably hates me for being here instead of who was supposed to come through, and despite that she’s been willing to help me. I was supposed to buy a few weeks worth of supplies with it for the road and now all of it’s gone and what if she doesn’t have any more money? What if I’ve ruined her chances of ever finding that girl she’s looking for and, god she’s gonna hate me for real now regardless of before. I can’t go back there, who knows what she’s capable of doing to me? And without her I’ve got nowhere to even—” 

 

“Whoa, whoa, slow down there lass, you’re saying a lot at once very quickly and I’m not sure I follow. Ya said Sybil? The witch, right? The one who lives in the woods a ways off?” Gord’s interruption was more than welcome; he was likely unfamiliar with the terms depression spiral or catastrophizing, but he certainly seemed to recognize them when they occurred. 

 

“Yeah, the witch. We have a bit of a complicated relationship. Long story short though is, instead of meeting the love of her life, she wound up stuck with me. And god, I’m such a fuckup.” The idea that all of this was some fun, fantasy adventure where everything would be fine and anything was possible seemed distant and naive. Of course things didn’t work that way, this wasn’t a game. And real life didn’t have an undo button when one lost all their money, along with the goodwill of their only lifeline. 

 

“Okay look, I don’t know much about whatever it is yer talkin’ ‘bout. But yer not the first to be scared shitless o’ Sybil. The woman practically tries to make herself look frightful. Plus she lives out in the woods alone, and practices all that old magic that folks are suspicious of. And the word witch has connotation to begin with, of course. Girl could work on her demeanor, too, hardly ever seen her happy to see just about anyone or anything. A bit of a temper on her, that’s for certain.” He paused, and took a long pull from a flagon of his own, which he’d been keeping behind the bar and out of sight. 

 

“I’m waiting for the but.” 

 

There was a slow, but solemn rumble of a chuckle. “Right, well. She’s all those things, but the girl’s had a rough life. She grew up ‘round here, but lotta folks seem to have forgotten what things used ta be like for her. She hasn’t got any people o’ her own. Family ran off when they discovered her doin’ old magic as a teen. Lost a lotta friends too, an’ the ones that stuck by her were forbade from seein’ her anyway. Had a mentor for a while, nice enough lady, but one day she up and left too. Something about some grave and important task which Sybil wasn’t ready to face, couldn’t even tell the girl herself. She’s been on her own since. And yeah, she can be mean sometimes, trust me, I buy herbs and the like from her when she’s in town, but she can be kind too. More importantly, she’s not cruel, not wicked. And, well, she’s lonely. If she trusted ya ‘nuff ta give ya that much money, she probably at the very least is a little fond of ya. And yeah, she’ll be mad. But as much as she wants to pretend otherwise, that witch of the woods wants people in her life. Somethin’ to think about there, eh Madelyn?”

 

Madelyn sighed. “Yeah, I suppose it is.”