Dave just sat there for a long moment, a dumbfounded look on his face, as he read the new system message. "A stick," he muttered, the word dripping with sarcasm. "I was rewarded with a stick to the face for my trouble, but I guess it's better than nothing." He picked up the stick to identify it, his expression still incredulous, his hands now also coated in the Groul's foul-smelling drool.

  System Message: Plain Stick. Use it to smack things or build things.

  Dave stared at the stick, then back at the system message, then back at the stick. He was now covered in the sticky, burning substance, and it was starting to itch. It was, indeed, a very plain stick. About four feet long, relatively straight, with a few knobby bits and some rough bark. It didn't even have any cool carvings or glowing runes.

  "Well, this is just great," Dave said to himself, his voice thick with disgust. "I'm in a magical world, I have access to 'the fundamental forces of reality,' and my first treasure is... firewood, and I'm covered in alien slime." He sighed, the sound heavy with irony and a growing sense of irritation. "Okay, universe, you're really killing me here."

  Despite his sarcasm, Dave couldn't deny a tiny spark of... something. It wasn't excitement, exactly, but a kind of grim determination. He was alive (sort of), he was in a new world, and he had a stick. It wasn't much, but it was a start. Even if he was covered in what felt like super-glue mixed with acid.

  He stood up, the throbbing in his head slowly subsiding, though the itching and burning from the Groul's drool was intensifying. He looked around. The Groul was still perched in the tree, its yellow eyes watching him with what Dave hoped was mild curiosity rather than predatory hunger. The sun was beginning to set, casting long, eerie shadows that danced and twisted around the strange, amethyst-leafed trees.

  Dave took a deep breath, the alien air filling his lungs. It still smelled like ozone and something sweet, like exotic blossoms and damp earth, though the underlying odor of the Groul's drool was making him gag slightly. He gripped the stick a little tighter, the sticky substance adhering to his hand.

  "Alright, stick," he said, addressing the piece of wood as if it were a loyal companion. "Let's go find some adventure. And maybe something less slimy. And maybe a river to wash this crap off."

  With that, Dave set off, his eyes scanning the strange landscape. He had three main objectives: find people, find a place to sleep, and, perhaps most urgently, find a source of water to clean himself off. The burning sensation on his skin was becoming increasingly distracting.

  The forest was eerily silent, save for the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant, unidentifiable roars of unseen creatures. The amethyst trees towered over him, their alien foliage casting a dim, purple light on the forest floor. Dave walked for what felt like hours, the sun dipping lower in the sky, painting the alien landscape in increasingly surreal hues.

  Just as despair began to set in, he spotted a faint light in the distance. Hope flickered in his chest. As he drew closer, the light resolved itself into a small campfire, and the smell of woodsmoke mingled with the sweet, alien scent of the forest.

  As Dave approached the campfire, he could hear voices. They were speaking in a language he didn't recognize, but thanks to the "Language" skill on his character sheet, he could understand them perfectly.

  Three figures sat around the fire. Two were tall and slender, with pointed ears and an otherworldly grace. They wore simple tunics and carried themselves with an air of quiet dignity. The third figure was shorter and stockier, with a beard that reached his chest and a gruff demeanor. He was dressed in sturdy leather armor and had a large axe strapped to his back.

  As Dave stepped into the firelight, the three figures turned to face him. Their expressions ranged from surprise to suspicion. The two slender figures tensed, their hands moving towards the hilts of their elegant-looking swords. The stocky one remained still, his hand resting on his axe, his eyes narrowed and watchful.

  "Who goes there?" the stocky one growled, his voice rough and deep, a distinct Scottish lilt to his words.

  Dave, seeing the hostile body language, immediately put his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Whoa, hold on a minute," he said, his voice placating. "I'm not looking for trouble. Just... passing through." He dropped the stick he'd been holding, the plain piece of wood falling to the ground with a soft thud. The three travelers eyed him warily.

  "I'm Dave," he continued, hoping to defuse the situation with some straightforward explanation. "From... Earth. I'm, uh, lost. And, to be honest, I could really use some help. And somewhere to wash," he added, grimacing. "I seem to have gotten myself covered in some kind of alien drool. It's unpleasant. It's even gotten into my... unmentionables."

  Dave noticed their slight ease at his mention at being lost, and they saw him drop his only weapon and put up the universal sign for surrender. "Guess some things are the same in every universe," Dave thought to himself.

  The two elf-like humanoids, after a moment of tense silence, slowly put their hands down, away from their weapons, and slid them back into their sheaths. The dwarf-like creature, however, remained still for a moment longer, his hand still resting on the handle of his axe. Finally, with a loud huff, he seemed to relax, though his eyes still held a hint of suspicion. "I am Borin," he rumbled, his voice rough but not entirely unfriendly, the Scottish accent thick and pronounced.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  One of the slender figures, a female with long, flowing silver hair, stepped forward. Her movements were fluid and graceful, like a willow swaying in the breeze. Her eyes, the color of a clear summer sky, regarded Dave with a mixture of curiosity and caution. "I am Elara," she said, her voice melodic and soothing, each word enunciated with care and precision, "and this is my brother, Lorien."

  The other elf-like figure, a male with equally striking features and hair like spun moonlight, inclined his head in acknowledgement. His expression was more reserved than his sister's, but there was a hint of warmth in his eyes as he studied Dave. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, stranger," he said, his voice a smooth, resonant tenor, his tone formal and polite.

  Dave nodded in greeting to each of them as they mentioned their names. "A pleasure," he said, though the itch on his skin was making it hard to focus on pleasantries. "So, about that spot to wash up at..." He didn't want to be rude, but he wanted to get the point across that he really needed a wash. "Any chance there's a stream or a lake nearby? This stuff is starting to, uh, really get under my skin."

  Elara's brow furrowed slightly in concern. "You seem to be in some distress. That does not sound pleasant at all. We would be glad to help you find a suitable place to clean yourself. There is a stream not far from here," she offered, her voice filled with a gentle empathy. "My brother and I can take you there."

  Borin, the dwarf, grunted in agreement. "Aye, follow us. It's not too far, and we canna' leave a traveler in such a state. Ye'd attract all sorts o' nasty creatures with that stink on ye." Despite the gruffness of his words, there was a hint of amusement in his eyes, and a subtle nod of his head indicated he was serious about helping.

  Dave outwardly sighed as some of the tension left his body, making him feel more relaxed than he had in the last few hours. Dave usually did not get along with other humans but they weren’t human.

  They're elves, Dave thought to himself, a wave of recognition washing over him. Not like the ones in those cheesy fantasy movies, with the pointy ears and the bad wigs. These guys… they're like the real deal. Elegant, graceful, with this whole ethereal vibe going on. He couldn't help but compare them to the elves he'd read about in books - the wise, ancient beings of Tolkien, the fierce warriors of other fantasy epics, the aloof and sometimes cruel fae of Celtic legends. These elves seemed to embody some of those traits, yet they also had a unique quality, a quiet self-assuredness that was both intriguing and a little intimidating.

  Then there was Borin. Dave eyed the dwarf, taking in his stocky build, his thick beard, and the way he carried himself with a sort of gruff confidence. He was a dwarf, alright, straight out of fantasy. Not the garden gnome variety, but a proper, axe-wielding, mountain-dwelling dwarf.

  He's just like the ones from those fantasy books, Dave mused, a small smile playing on his lips. He'd always been fascinated by dwarves in fiction - their craftsmanship, their loyalty, their love of ale and battle. Borin seemed to tick all the boxes. He had that same earthy, no-nonsense vibe, the kind of guy who'd be a reliable friend in a pinch, but also someone you wouldn't want to cross.

  As Elara and Lorien led Dave away from the campfire, his mind raced with a kind of child-like intrigue. He was brimming with questions, his curiosity about this strange new world bubbling to the surface. He glanced back at Borin, who was bringing up the rear, his hand still resting on his axe.

  "So, uh, where exactly is this place?" Dave asked, trying to sound casual, though he was anything but. "I mean, I'm pretty sure I'm not in Kansas anymore."

  Lorien turned his head slightly, his silver hair catching the firelight. His expression was thoughtful, his brow furrowed in a way that suggested he was choosing his words carefully. "You are in Aeridor," he said, his voice smooth and resonant. "It is a realm within the Twilight Lands, a place of ancient forests, hidden valleys, and forgotten magic."

  Dave's eyes widened slightly. "Okay," he said, "now I have even more questions."

  Elara laughed, the sound like the chiming of delicate bells, clear and bright and full of an almost musical quality. "I am sure you do, stranger," she said, her voice warm and amused. "But perhaps we should stay on the topic at hand for now. The stream is not far, and I imagine you are eager to be rid of that... substance."

  Dave nodded. "Yeah, you have no idea," he said, scratching at his arm, where the burning sensation was intensifying. "Lead the way. And thanks. I appreciate it."

  "We aim to help those in need," Elara replied, her tone sincere and without a hint of arrogance.

  As they walked, Dave couldn't help but steal glances at his companions. Elara moved with an almost ethereal grace, her long silver hair flowing behind her like a waterfall of moonlight. Lorien, for his part, had a quiet intensity about him, a sense of contained power that was both fascinating and a little intimidating. Even Borin, with his gruff exterior and his rough-hewn features, had a certain solidity and dependability that Dave found strangely comforting.

  They soon reached the stream, and Dave gratefully plunged his hands into the cool, clear water. It was like a balm on his burning skin, and he sighed in relief as the itching and stinging began to subside. He washed his face and arms, scrubbing vigorously to remove the last traces of the foul-smelling drool.

  When he was done, he stood up and leaned over the bank to look at his reflection in the water. His eyes widened in surprise. The grime and sweat of his journey had been washed away, revealing a face that was... different.

  He'd definitely lost weight. His cheekbones were more pronounced, his jawline sharper. There was a newfound leanness to his frame, a subtle shift in his proportions that spoke of toned muscle rather than flabby softness. His hair, which he'd always thought of as a dull brown, was now a deep, lustrous black. It was like looking at a more refined version of himself, a version where the edges had been sharpened, the lines more clearly defined. Even his eyes seemed brighter, more intense. He was, without a doubt, more handsome than he'd ever been. It was as if his features had been... ironed out, perfected.

  Feeling much better than he had before, Dave walked back to the group, a genuine smile on his face. "Thanks," he said, his voice filled with sincere gratitude. "I really appreciate you helping me out. That stuff was really starting to get to me." He made a mental note to talk to the system later, since it had said ""tingling"" not ""stinging"" and he wanted to get some clarification. Then he remembered what Lorien had said. "So, Aeridor, huh? And the Twilight Lands? What can you tell me about this place?"