Dirty Rotten Magic

I had been traveling for several hours, following a wandering stream whose bubbling water sang a gentle melody as it cut through the quiet wilderness. I had kept a cautious pace, avoiding any sign of animal life by sprinting at the first whiff of danger. Now, as the day waned and the sun began its slow descent, I found myself accompanied by the soft murmur of the stream and the rustling chorus of the surrounding woods—a spectacle that made me wonder why I hadn't sought this kind of serenity more often in my previous life. But I knew the answer: I had grown up in the poverty-stricken, grimy heart of the city, where chances to escape into the countryside were as rare as a stolen car that wasn't promptly snatched away.

The thrill of the journey had slowly diminished, replaced by a growing hunger, exhaustion, and a sense of discouragement. Just as my spirits were flagging, I stumbled upon the first clear sign of civilization. Rounding a bend in the stream, I discovered a vast, lush grassy meadow leading up to a sturdy wooden stockade. The stockade, tall and imposing, seemed to shelter a bustling village of a few hundred houses. From my vantage point, I could see that most roofs were thatched, with wooden constructions accenting their exteriors. Chimneys puffed out cheerful plumes of smoke, which mingled with the dusty haze of the dimming light, evoking the comforting aroma of burning wood and distant hearth fires.

In the wide-open field, several cows grazed lazily among a scattering of stubby, snow-white sheep, all nibbling the waving, golden grass. Wildflowers dotted the meadow in splashes of vibrant color, and I observed that the entire village was encircled by the forest—a verdant barrier that had been carefully pruned back from the stockade walls. Atop the stockade, long wooden poles sharpened to a point and coated in tar hinted at defensive measures, while a few raised platforms sparked my curiosity about their purpose. It was a scene straight out of a fantasy film—a far cry from the modern city I had hoped to find, but at least it was civilization. A lone guard stood at the gate, leaning casually on his spear and idly chewing on a blade of grass.

Climbing the stony bank of the stream with cautious determination, I approached the village entrance. I could feel the guard's eyes tracking my every move, his gaze intensifying as I neared. As I drew closer, one of the cows ambled toward me and nuzzled me with its broad, damp nose. The cow lifted its tail, and I winced as a yellow, viscous stream of liquid splattered onto the path, temporarily blocking my way. I waited patiently for the creature to finish its strange ritual before sidestepping the slick patch, my boots squelching in the mud.

With a clearer view now, I studied the guard more closely. His face bore an expression of open curiosity beneath a slightly slack jaw, his dark eyes twinkling with unspoken questions. When I finally reached him, he regarded me with uncertainty but did not brandish his spear. Taking that as a good omen, I offered him a jovial greeting just as he spoke.

"What in all blazes are you?" he asked, his tone gruff yet intrigued. Before I could answer, he added, "You're even taller than those elven folk, but you've got no pointy ears."

I looked down at him; though he was only about ten inches shorter than me, we shared a similar slim, muscular build and dark brown hair—clear evidence that we were both human. I chuckled and replied, "The last time I looked, I was still human."

His body language remained reserved, so I pressed, "Is it only my height that makes you think I'm not human?"

"You're right there," he conceded with a return smile. "Bloody hell, I've never seen a man as tall as you. You'll even tower above those elven folks. But Daisy seems to like you, so you must be okay. You can enter the village, but remember not to cause any trouble."

I raised an eyebrow in surprise. "You trust the opinion of a cow?"

"Well, of course," he said matter-of-factly. "She's got one of the best detector spells money can buy in these parts. It's her high opinion of you that lets you in." His tone was earnest, and though his statement was absurd, I saw no signs of deception in his steady gaze. Perhaps it was a foreign culture where such beliefs held sway—just like the subtle differences in body language among ethnic groups in Detroit.

"Go in, lad. You might want to get some decent clothes, as you're looking a bit rough around the edges," he advised pleasantly.

"Yes, I have had a bit of a rough time as of late," I admitted, gesturing to my shredded hoodie. "Do you know where there's a shop to trade with?"

"It's just off the central green," he replied. "You'll find it next to the inn where you can stay for the night."

I nodded, passing him by and entering through a smaller door set into the gate. Stepping inside the village, I was immediately struck by scenes reminiscent of the storybook villages from my childhood—quaint wooden houses with thatched roofs, bustling streets where people tended animals and small kitchen gardens, and children playing in the dirt and grass under watchful eyes. Everyone was armed—swords, large daggers, even spears carried as walking aids—making me wonder how often these people faced attacks.

As I strolled along the dirt and gravel path, I became acutely aware of how my towering height set me apart. Every adult here was around five feet tall, and I easily dwarfed them. For the first time, I regretted my recent growth spurt, knowing that blending into a crowd—a skill I once relied on to slip away from trouble—would now be impossible. Perhaps people in other towns or villages were taller, I mused.

Under the watchful scrutiny of curious villagers, I made my way to the village center—a green square dominated by a majestic oak tree. Its broad branches stretched out to provide a cool, welcoming shade over the grass, and its ancient limbs touched the ground, heavy with wisdom and age. Several sheep grazed nearby, but no cows—Daisy was notably absent. I couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of a magical, guard-approved cow.

The inn was easy to spot—a large sign painted with a vibrant tree swung gently in the wind, and through the door I could see the warm glow of activity. The courtyard echoed with the soft sounds of horses and distant murmurs of conversation. Flanking the square were two buildings: one bearing a sign embossed with a hammer and weapons on a white background, and another adorned with a sprig of herbs and an enigmatic symbol against a black backdrop, with books visible through a glass window. My heart leapt at the prospect of knowledge—the kind of wisdom that might help me make sense of this strange, wondrous world.

But first, I needed money—desperately. The currency here was surely different from the dollar I once knew, and I hoped that my recent adventures with those horned rabbits would prove valuable. I made my way to what appeared to be a general store. As I pushed open the door, a small bell chimed from above, announcing my entrance. Inside, the store was crammed with an assortment of items: general household goods, barrels overflowing with dried food, and pots and pans that hung from the ceiling in a disorganized symphony of clanging promises.

From the back of the building, a woman about my age emerged through an open door. She was a foot shorter than me, with hazel-blond hair tied back in a braided ponytail that framed her kind face. Dressed in a simple tunic and skirt, cinched at the waist with a leather belt and covered in a crisp white apron, she exuded an old-world charm that made me momentarily forget my rugged state. I couldn't help but admire her, and as my gaze met hers, a shared look of wonder flickered between us—until my head, in my clumsy state, collided with one of the dangling pots.

"Ouch," I exclaimed, ducking to avoid another falling pot and thankful that no knives were suspended overhead. My clumsiness shattered the spell of that enchanting moment, and the girl's soft chuckle eased my embarrassment. Rubbing my head, I offered a sheepish smile.

"Your fault for being so darn tall," she teased gently. "Are you an elf? I don't think so, because you haven't got the ears."

"I'm definitely a man. Just a tall one," I replied with a charming grin.

Her response was warm, her posture arching ever so slightly as she toyed with a stray braid—a gesture that suggested she was interested. Meeting her eyes, I smiled more broadly, eliciting a blush and a playful twirl of her hair. After a pause that stretched in sweet anticipation, I broke the silence. "I'm here to trade!"

"Oh, trade is it?" she asked with a slight pout.

"For now," I continued, "I've had a bit of trouble in the wilderness, but I've got some rabbits for sale." I opened my magical book and selected a horned rabbit from my inventory, watching as it materialized in my hand. Her eyes widened, but she showed no surprise—clearly, everyone here was familiar with such wonders.

Examining the rabbit resting on the table between us, she inquired, "You must have been deep in the forest to find a horned rabbit like this. How many do you have?"

"Twenty-one of these critters," I replied, producing a neat pile of freshly dispatched, fur-covered bunnies. They still looked as fresh as if they had just been picked up—some even radiated a slight, reassuring warmth.

"I can give you a quarter of a copper for each rabbit's fur and meat, but the horn is of higher value—one copper each," she offered with a bright smile as she leaned in closer. I paused, frowning slightly, uncertain if this was a fair deal. With no frame of reference for the local currency, her words left me unsure.

Noticing my hesitation, she began to speak again, "Do you know how much it costs to stay at the inn for the night?"

Her question took me by surprise. "One copper coin for your own room with a meal," she explained. "A quarter of a copper if you only want to bed down in the common room, but you'll have to pay separately for food. Perhaps I could offer a better price for the horns—how does one and a quarter per horn sound?"

She nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and I mirrored her movement in a silent gesture of reassurance. "Can you do any better than that? I'm really at a loss here—it's been a bad day," I said softly.

She nodded after a thoughtful glance at my tattered clothing, then smiled and replied, "OK. The best I can do is one and three-quarters of a copper."

Grateful, I placed my hand gently on her wrist and murmured, "Thank you." She blushed deeper as she unlocked a solid wooden box fixed to the floor—a strongbox that promised security. After carefully counting out forty-two copper coins, she handed them to me. In that brief, electrifying moment as our hands touched, a notification appeared: two new skills had been added to my skill table.

"I'm going to see if there's accommodation at the inn," I announced, turning to leave. Pausing at the door, I called over my shoulder, "Maybe I'll see you later; that would be very nice."

With that, I stepped out onto the green square in the village center. The encounter had exceeded my expectations—the guard's absurd reliance on a magical cow, the genuine warmth of the shopkeeper, and the subtle, intriguing glances all left me curious about this new culture. It was reminiscent of navigating diverse ethnic groups back in Detroit, each with its own quirks and unspoken signals.

The inn was a short walk away, set against the backdrop of a dusky sky. I stopped briefly to admire the sunset—a dusty, golden-red horizon gradually dimming into deep blue, then finally surrendering to night. I realized with a start that none of the familiar constellations from Earth graced the sky; instead, two moons rose majestically over the horizon. I froze, mesmerized by the surreal spectacle, and wondered, "Where in the universe am I?"

After a long moment of silent awe at the twin moons, I sighed and stepped into the inn. It was time to make some more money. If this establishment was like most others that sold alcohol, surely there would be some form of gambling. I couldn't help but wonder if they knew how to play three-card-trick. In this strange new world, I hoped they weren't too familiar with the game.