You wake up in a forest meadow. The sun is shining, and the air is so fresh it feels like you were the first to breathe it. Around you, birds chirp in excitement and the arboreal cacophony of movement and life is so much more than you have ever been witness to. What is your name, adventurer?

  I started up to a sitting position in confusion. “What? Where am I?”

  You are in a forest meadow.

  “The fuck am I doing in a forest meadow? How did I get here?” I looked around, trying to figure out who was talking to me.

  You woke up here. Pay attention.

  I saw no one nearby and stood up. I didn’t know whether to run or get ready to fight with the nervous energy. But the meadow was beautiful, with tall grass and flowers, butterflies flitting fucking everywhere. I see a log a few feet away and check behind it. I scratched the short hair on my head, glaring around me. “Where are you hiding?” I mutter.

  I’m not. Where I am doesn’t matter.

  The voice seems to come from multiple directions and none at the same time. I am not cool with any of this. “What do you mean? It doesn’t matter? I’m in a meadow and I have no idea where the fuck I am or who you are. How did I get here…and how do I get back to the asphalt and smog? The place where I can get an order of chili cheese fries and a beer?”

  Listen. You’re in a meadow. The rest of it doesn’t matter at the moment.

  “Okay, asshole, what does matter? What do you need from me?” I spin around, still thinking I might pinpoint where this voice was coming from.

  What is your name?

  “Fuck! Fine. It’s Finneg…. Call me Finn, Finn Walsh. You know what? Just call me Finn,” I said. “Is that all you needed from me? Can I go home now?”

  Welcome Finn! Now that we have that out of the way, please choose a class. Your choices are: assassin, knight, mage, fighter, thief, necromancer.

  I was flabbergasted. What the fuck was going on? I’ve never had a dream this vivid. The ground felt real. The stubble on my face itched and the goddamned sun was too bright. So it wasn’t a dream. I tried to calm myself and think. Those classes sounded like something from a tabletop game. One of the multitude of RPGs that were out there, the ones my little brother Sean absolutely loved. What a nerd. What type of character did Sean play as in those things? I couldn’t remember, and it pissed me off. I was about to freak out when I remembered. Something to do with magic, and only one of those choices sounded anything like magic. “Mage. I pick mage if I have to pick anything.”

  Congratulations Finn, you are a mage. Let’s roll your stats. There was a pause as the voice did something. I started looking around the meadow for a weapon, a stick, anything. Before I got too far, the voice began speaking again.

  Okay, Finn. Your stats are: strength 15, stamina 12, endurance 13, dexterity 20, intelligence 20, wisdom 20, charisma 15. Do you have questions or wish to re-roll?

  This was a lot of information, and I was having a hard time following. It was definitely something my brother would follow. He was always telling me about the games he played and his adventures. I didn’t care, but as nerdy as he was, he was still my little brother. So I let him talk as much as he wanted while I did whatever. I was thinking I should have paid more attention. “Could you explain these stats to me? I’m not familiar with this stuff.”

  Of course, Finn the mage. Though why you wouldn’t know already is beyond me. The strength stat deals with how much you can carry, how much you can lift, and how hard you can hit things. You lucked out. Most mages do not have this much strength. As it has little to do with the primary skill set of a mage, most opt to roll the excess points over the minimum needed into intelligence or wisdom.

  My mind whirled with the implications of this. It was straightforward, and I should have realized it. If I was stronger than I needed to be, “What’s the minimum strength for a human?”

  A human’s minimum strength is about 8. Would you like to roll the extra into another stat?

  Eight. I was more than twice as strong as a regular human. I think. That could be handy if it was unusual enough. “No, I think I will keep the points there,” I said, “So stamina would deal with how long I could sustain physical effort?”

  Mostly. But it also sustains mental effort. Stamina is an important stat for magic and non-magic users both. Stamina is not to be confused with Endurance, which deals with your health points, environmental resistances, among other things.

  Oh god. I should have listened, like really listened to my brother.

  Dexterity affects your ability to move, your speed, how quiet you can be, among other things. Your dexterity would make you an excellent assassin or thief. It helps you as a mage, as you can get the jump on enemies and it also affects how fast you cast spells. As it is, your spells will cast immediately.

  “Okay, that makes sense,” I muttered. I still didn’t know what was really going on, but for the moment, I could put that on the back burner. I sat down on the log, listening.

  Your intelligence of 20 is an excellent starting point for a mage and helps determine how many mana points you currently have. It also determines what spells you can learn, how many you can learn, how many spells you can have active at a time, and what level of spells you can learn.

  “Wait, so the stat has nothing to do with my actual intelligence?” I asked. This seemed more and more like a game. But it didn’t explain how I got here.

  Yes and no, Fin the mage. Your intelligence stat will affect a certain way your mind works, such as how much information you can encode into your memory and your working memory. The higher the stat, the more you will remember. But you will not be necessarily smarter. Puzzles won’t get any easier the higher the stat goes. It is not the same as an intelligence quotient.

  Bummer, I’m not the smartest guy at my college. It would be nice not to struggle with some of my classes. But if I could remember more… maybe I could impress that girl that sat next to me in Intro to Political Theory. Maybe get her number for study sessions and possibly a date. The voice continuing its lecture rudely interrupted my thoughts of romance.

  Wisdom is the other stat that affects how much mana you have. But it determines how good certain skills are. For example, your tracking skill is fairly high and you should be able to follow a mouse through a forest without issue.

  This surprised me. My dad, an avid outdoorsman, had taught me and my brother how to track animals through most terrain. My brother hated killing animals, and would usually miss any shot he took. I didn’t. I agreed with Dad that it was important to do our part to keep the deer populations in check. Because people had wantonly killed predators over a century ago.

  A wave of sadness hit me, like it always did when I thought of those days. And like I always do, I shook it off. That wasn’t important right now. I took a breath. “I was good at tracking before this. Does that have any bearing on this skill?”

  Sadly, no, Finn the mage. If your wisdom was low, you wouldn’t see the tracks. So you are lucky not to have to deal with that.

  I silently agreed. That would really fucking frustrate me. And I already was frustrated with my situation and the lack of explanation on how I got here.

  And finally, Fin the mage, let’s talk about charisma. This stat affects how others view you and what you say. For example, if you were to say some nasty words to someone, as you already have to me, then with your charisma of 15, they would think you were edgy and cool and likely not be offended. Your ability to persuade people depends on this stat. Would you like to know what spells you have?

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  “Yes, and how to cast them,” I replied.

  You are starting out with a variety of spells: firebolt, ice shard, chain lightning, shadow walker, and mind read. You have a level 2 ability to craft spells, which allows a slight chance to enchant an item with a current spell. Of the 7 types of magic, you are level one in all other than mental and enchanting, which are level 2. To cast your spells, you need only to speak or think the words connected to the spell and aim at your target. Would you like to know your skills?

  “No shit?” I said and made a finger gun with my hand at a tree on the edge of the meadow, the last question ignored. “Firebolt, bitch!” A small arrow of flame shoots from my finger and hits the tree. I look at the tree in shock as the flames lick the tree from the point of impact. The flames go out while I watch, leaving a charred mark.

  The tree takes minor damage from your attack, which it ignores. As trees do.

  I can do magic. But I refrained from testing any other spell out. There were other things to figure out. Like where I was supposed to go, what I was supposed to do, and most importantly, how I was supposed to get home? I looked around me, “Okay phantom voice, where am I supposed to go? Is there a village nearby?”

  Finn the mage wonders where there might be a village, yet without a map or directions he does not know.

  “Oh my god, you’re the narrator for this shitshow? Can you tell me or not?”

  Finn the mage, rages at the universe because of his lack of knowledge. He hears a rustle in the forest behind him.

  “Oh shit,” I said. I heard a rustle. I turned toward the noise, making my finger gun to burn the thing before I got hurt. Whatever it was, it moved closer. My hand shook from clenching it, looking for the target. With the lack of major damage from my firebolt spell on the tree, I was unsure if it would do much to any creature.

  A man in leather armor with bits of metal studding it stepped out from behind a tree. He looked like he had been a frat boy, but still had great hair. I instantly disliked him. He raised his hands to about chest level, palms out in the universal gesture for ‘I come in peace.’

  He smirked and said, “Don’t attack me. Please.” He stopped about six feet from me.

  “Who the fuck are you, and what do you want?” I asked, not lowering my hand.

  He chuckled and stepped closer. “I’m just curious about who I found all alone out here in the forest.”

  I didn’t like him. I was then sure he was a creep who wanted to rape or kill me. But hey, I needed information. “I’m a mage, so don’t try anything. I have no clue how I got here.”

  He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t take another step. “A mage, eh? And you don’t know how you got here. How cute.”

  I really did not like this guy’s attitude. And calling me cute? Fuck no. “Nothing cute about it, friend. Who… the fuck… are you?” I really wanted that info, but fuck.

  He laughed, putting his hands down. “I’m not your friend. Yet,” he said with a smile. “My name’s Xander. And I am the leader of a band of mercenaries. The Steel Falcon Group.” He bowed. He actually bowed.

  I put my hand down, thinking this might not end in a fight. “Great. So, Xander, maybe you could tell me how to get to the nearest town?”

  The mercenary leader crossed his arms and looked me up and down. Like I was a piece of meat and he was thinking about eating me. “Hmm… depends on what you have to offer me.” He looked me in the eye, yet again with that raised eyebrow.

  I have no idea what kind of inventory I have, but I put my hand in my pocket and feel a few thick coins, about the size of quarters, only thicker. I really didn’t want to be scammed and…I cast my mind reading spell on him.

  His eyes widened as I read his mind. “What the hell are you doing?”

  In my head, I saw a village not too far from here. Like a map opening up before my eyes, I saw a general route from here to there. I pulled out a coin and tossed it to him, the coin a golden blur that he caught reflexively. “Thanks, Xander. You take it easy!” I angled away from him, monitoring him for aggressive movements.

  He looked at the coin in his hand and laughed, shaking his head ruefully. “I’ll see you around, mage.”

  “Sure, you can buy me a drink!” I felt heady, like I had won that exchange.

  Xander chuckled and bowed to me again. “A drink, huh? I’ll remember for our upcoming date!”

  As he turned to leave, I realized I had misread him. He wasn’t being a creep. He had been hitting on me. “Fuck me,” I muttered under my breath. Though I wasn’t into other guys, I took it as a compliment. I walked on towards the village, hoping I could find someone that could tell me how to get home. And maybe a drink.

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  The village was just that: a village. Wide dirt paths, bordering on being roads, wound through the wood buildings. Ranging from small one-room huts to a three-story building that had a sign with the picture of a pig chasing a young woman. Despite the semi-primitive look of the place, it was bustling with people moving among stalls with all kinds of goods. I saw fruits and bread, knives, and even a sketch artist. I couldn’t see everything as I joined the crowd, for it was a crowd, and I carefully made my way through the village towards the large building with the odd sign. As I got closer, I noticed the village was bigger than I first thought. I looked down a side street as wide as the one I was on. It went on for about a football field before it forked or turned, preventing me from seeing the end. An old man bumped into me, grumbling about outsiders.

  The three-story building was obviously some sort of inn. The noise from the street prevented me from clearly hearing the sounds of a stringed instrument, somewhere between a mandolin and a harp, coming from inside the open door. People wandered in and out of the place, as I stood there just looking.

  “Move it!” yelled a man behind me and I walked up to and into a noisy, smelly room. The smell was somewhere between the post-game locker room and a pig barn. Parts of the place seemed well lit, but there were dark corners with shadowy figures. Kind of like that scene from that movie trilogy my nerd of a brother loves. I had given him the box set for Christmas, the one that came with a ring, and fell asleep while he made me watch it.

  That scene… no, I wasn’t looking for adventures. I wanted to figure out where I was and how I got here. After a drink.

  The bar was dark and polished. Some of the straw on the floor seemed to bunch up at the base, likely from many feet kicking it. I waited for the balding man behind the bar to notice me, watching the waitresses, or barmaids, move through the crowded tables, grabbing drinks and food from the bar and bringing back gold. It was like just about any other bar or restaurant I had ever worked in. Stress and efficiency.

  “Er, what are you having?” the man said, somewhat harried. He wore a stained apron on his front, with fresh grease stains and spilled drinks. An odd contrast to the waitresses’ clean aprons.

  “How much for a drink?” I hoped it wasn’t too much. I only had a few coins left.

  “Depending on what you want, ale is two and wine is four. The stronger stuff is six, and we don’t do the fancy drinks during the lunch rush, so don’t worry about that.” He looked at me expectantly.

  I pulled two of the gold coins out of my pocket. “An ale then.” Wouldn’t worry about whether I got ripped off until later. Two solid gold coins were worth a lot at home. The man smiled and drew a large mug, maybe 20 ounces (591-ish milliliters for the non-freedom unit users), from a barrel behind the bar.

  He plopped it down in front of me. “Anything else, stranger?”

  I thought for a moment. Based on the cost of the ale, I didn’t think I could afford lunch…and I needed money until I figured out how to get home. “Do you know of anyone needing some work done around here? I could use the money.”

  “Looking for work, eh? Well,” he looked at me thoughtfully, “you have the air of someone looking for adventure. Yesterday, one of my regulars told me about some trouble up north at the Hollowbrook farm. The Hollowbrooks have been working that land for more generations than I can remember. At any rate, Gam said to me that there are wolves attacking the farm up there, big ones, and the Hollowbrooks were offering good money to deal with them. I’d check with them, unless you want to spell one of my girls for a bit!” He laughed at the last bit as if it was the funniest thing in the world. I smiled politely.

  “How far north is this farm?” I asked.

  “Oh, bout 3 miles. Couple hours walk for someone like you.” He leaned up against the bar, “speaking of walking, you look like you’ve been on the road awhile. Any interesting things out there?”

  I took a sip of the beer. Cool and bitter. Not strong at all, not like the IPAs I was used to. “That’s refreshing. Yeah, I ran into a mercenary in the forest. Said he was in charge of a band of mercenaries or something.”

  The bartender raised an eyebrow, clearly interested in the news. “A mercenary band, eh? Must have been some morning! I wonder what they were doing in the forest. Which direction did you say you came from?”

  “The east,” I replied. “I have no idea what they are up to, but I didn’t know if this guy was going to kill me, hit on me, or recruit me.”

  The bartender laughed at that, clearly amused at my earlier predicament. “Sounds like a classic mercenary, always looking for their next job or next fling. Or their next victim. Or some combination.” He wandered off, chuckling, to talk with a man on the far end of the bar who looked somewhat official, sort of like a cop.

  I stood there and drank my ale. It really was decent. I don’t know if it was 2 gold decent or not. But it helped to have something. My stomach wasn’t grumbling and I could focus on what I was dealing with. Taking stock of what I had, I checked my pockets while I sipped. Five coins. Probably not enough to buy supplies or rent a room. The clothes I was wearing were different, though my pants seemed normal enough for denim. Most men wore what looked like jeans, but hand made. I had what I would call a poncho, thick and warm, with a pouch in front. When I had some privacy, I would take a closer look at it. I had no weapons that I could tell, which sucked. But it felt like I had some bottles of some liquid in some inner pouches. And to my shock, I realized I was wearing a backpack. How I had not noticed that, I’ll never know.

  My ale finished, I set the mug down, waved to the bartender, and headed back out into the world. I felt somewhat refreshed and ready for the two hours walk to the farm. I stopped at a stall and asked a man with a crazed look in his eyes which way was north and checked the sun. He tried to sell me what appeared to be explosives, but I was already on my way. I was heading out on a fucking adventure.