Prepped and ready, as much as I could be, I stepped through the portal heavily laden with gear. It was a weird sensation passing through the shimmering surface. Exiting, on the other hand, was more unpleasant than just an odd, passing sensation. No burning or soul rending. So, that’s a plus.

I fell, face planting into the ground. That was the unpleasant bit. As I dropped I couldn’t help but note the hewn stone rushing toward me. Greyish in color and cool on my face, if rather hard and uninviting to my head in general. The sudden meeting of face to floor was one I could have gone without. Not at all like landing in a mountain of pillows or ball pit.

Inadvertently, I shivered at the errant thought of ball pits. They always freaked me out as a child; bottomless, with nightmarish creatures. As an adult they were slightly more creepy. I came to realize that they did, in fact, have a finite physical depth. Unlike that revelation, the other factor proved to be too true. These filth pits were the disgusting breeding ground for a plethora of things from the lilliputian snot factories that frequented them.

Groaning, I was forced to unburden myself from the oversized gym bag and hiking pack before sitting up. Though I was theoretically prepared for a zombie apocalypse, I had perhaps not considered practicality; needing to actually run, climb, fall, or anything else. Slow moving walker types, that is what I expected.

Stepping, or falling, through a portal that deposited me more than a couple feet above a hard surface had clearly not been part of the plan. Could have been worse. Water would have been worse. Lava would have been much worse. Thankfully, the floor was not lava.

My head hurt. Fortunately my eyes adjusted to the dim light rather quickly. As the world stopped spinning, the scene around me resolved to one I could begin focusing on. Comprehension would come later. Torches flickered on the walls, casting a warm amber glow across the fallen bodies. Four, no... five, of them. Two in dull grey robes with masks covering their faces, two in more vibrant hues, and one in dented plate mail.

It took a moment for my brain to get into gear. “Armor? … Bodies?!” I sat up faster than I should have, vision still swimming more than I would like - which was none at all, for the record. The only thing I picked up was my suitcase sized grimoire, clutching it as an overweight club-shield. If I had a character sheet, it would not list a proficiency with clubs, shields, or improvised club-shields.

There was blood on the ground. I couldn’t really gauge which bodies it belonged to or if it was a collective macabre redecoration effort. So much blood. A group effort, for sure. Academically I knew bodies had a lot of blood in them, but seeing it strewn about like this was a different matter altogether.

I had not landed in an inky red pool, so there is that. If I had a luck stat it would have to be at least above-average.

Armored guy blinked at me. I blinked at him. We shared a moment of mutually dazed anxious curiosity, blinking at one another across the room.

Our tender moment was broken as a roar shook me to my core. The sheer volume and concussion of it reverberated in my bones. If you have ever heard a lion roar, it was like that. Possibly more bass, probably more volume, and it felt like it came from immediately behind me. I had never been so close to such a roar.

Slowly, I turned to look over my shoulder at what I hoped was just empty space behind me. No such luck. Critical failure on the part of my luck. I saw a reddish humanoid chest at eye level. Quickly looking up, the gaze of a rather pissed off looking reddish bull’s head atop the humanoid torso met mine. Horns and all. Unlike the lions I have encountered at a distance, there was nothing between angry-bullheaded-thing and myself.

We too shared a moment, if slightly more brief than the one with the armored guy. Not a tender moment.

The massive weapon held above him quickly registered in my addled brain. There was not a single conscious thought going through my head in that instant. None. Not one. Zero thoughts. Muted crickets.

I spun to face it, finally thinking, “Minotaur?!”

Maybe I had been trying to block his weapon. Maybe I was only trying to spin around to face the damned creature. Not sure really. The grimoire was the only thing in my grasp. Not hope; that dream was in another castle. So, it was that grimoire that hit the beast, right in its kisser.

“Do minotaurs kiss?” I thought, the instant before I smacked the large man-bull-thing in the snout like a naughty puppy. With a very large book that weighed as much as a small child. Unintentionally. Which I would never do to a dog.

I couldn’t accurately describe what happened next. There was an explosion - that much I am certain of. I was thrown across the room and knocked unconscious. So, you know, no real need to worry about anything for a bit.

*****

There was muffled yelling, like someone trying to shout at me while I was under water. It didn’t feel like drowning. It didn’t feel particularly good either. Determined to go back to sleep I rolled over, groaning in pain. It was not a school day and I wanted to hibernate.

A warm, comforting sensation washed over me. I heard faint chanting. It was rhythmic and soothing, as much as some Slavic offshoot language could be anyway. Was that Russian?

That feeling of relief was rapidly replaced by burning and itching. A million fire ants were crawling and biting all over me. I couldn’t open my eyes, nor could I move to rid myself of the pests.

More not-quite-Russian muttering. Insistent this time. Strong hands grabbed my wrists and legs, pinning me down. A tepid, vile viscous fluid was forced into my mouth and slid down my throat. Well, I can confirm that torture definitively sucks.

Blissful unconsciousness took me again.

*****

I woke to a brisk breeze in a large, well appointed bedroom with multiple outside doors standing open. Curtains fluttered on briny winds. Loud gulls called to one another somewhere nearby. The bed was larger than any other I have ever seen. Every detail was pulled from some fantasy fairytale and I would be its storybook princess.

Momentary discomfort caused the world to spin briefly as I scooched into a sitting position. The air was even more cool now on my bare chest, which really helped clear the cobwebs around my brain.

A girl stepped through one of the doors and stared at me, mouth agape. Like I wasn’t supposed to be here. Perhaps this was her bed?

“Hello?”

With a start, she hustled to a door across the room. Not quite running, but moving much faster than a walk. More of a jog with a soft ‘j’, with decorum. She spoke briefly in that Slavic sounding language just outside the door before her quick, soft footsteps pitter pattered away. Boots on stone approached. More than a couple of them.

Running her few words through my head repeatedly, I couldn’t place them. The words didn’t register among the twenty-odd languages I spoke fluently or the dozens of others I had passing familiarity with.

I was about to hop out of the bed and realized, much to my dismay, that I am not wearing any clothes. Being bare chested and chilly was one thing, but fully nude?

Now I was staring at four hardened looking men entering the room, each holding a halberd. Their weapons and posture weren’t aggressive per se, but the weapons weren’t just for show. Maybe the halberds are for show, but the swords on their hips aren’t. I am not about to gamble with those odds anyway.

“Fine, maybe I’ll stay in bed,” I said, crossing my arms with a harrumph - not at all princess-like. I looked around to see where my clothes were, remembering my grimoire and bags. They weren’t anywhere to be seen. “Gents, you wouldn’t perhaps know where my belongings are, would you?”

They stood there, unresponsive, content to stare me into submission. Well, modesty was not something I particularly gave any fucks about. Culturally it was important in some places I’ve visited, but more often than not people just didn’t care so long as you didn’t take a stroll to a market in the buff, drunk. Not that I would be speaking from experience.

Throwing the blankets back in a huff garnered a reaction from the guards. Each of them took a step back into a readied posture, but nothing further. They didn’t advance, so I took that as a good sign that I could get out of bed without being impaled.

It took more than a couple scoots, and a roll, to reach the side of the bed, which was lower to the ground than anticipated. Only once I stood up did I realize how short these guards were. Each of them was at shoulder level or much lower, and I am definitely shy of two meters.

Walking toward the open doors I shrugged while watching them as they watched me. Aside from turning their whole bodies to follow, they didn’t move to intercept. More solid signs that they weren’t going to skewer me. Thumbs up from my instincts, for what they are worth.

I stepped out to a long partially covered balcony overlooking a picturesque seaside town plucked out of ancient Italy. Multi-story buildings stepped down toward an active harbor. Looking to the sides, and directly below, it was easy to guess that I was in some sort of castle or fort at the top of the city. Closer to the top than the bottom as well. Definitely too high up to Rapunzel my way down, not that I had the hair for it. At least twenty stories between the balcony and courtyard below.

The view was overwhelmingly beautiful. A gust chilled me, reigning in my daydreaming. I didn’t know where I was, but I was alive and comfortable, if a bit naked. Mostly positives so far. I could feel the air on my scalp… On my scalp? Feeling the top of my head I realized that my hair was gone - all of it. I was completely bald from head to toe and had no eyebrows. Great.

The guards were vigilant, never taking their eyes off me as I walked about the room. I opened various chests hoping to find something to wear, to no avail. They were all empty so far. Finally, in one large armoire I found clothes, in the last place I looked. As is often the case, it could be that one did not continue a search once something was found. Not my clothes, but these looked to have been placed here intentionally for me.

Some undergarments looked comfortable but all proved to be far too snug. I tried on a couple pairs of pants, sans underpants, but they too weren’t big enough. The only things that actually fit were some deep red robes, which barely went below my knees. Oh well, nothing to be done about it for the moment.

The robe was made of a material that was comfortable even without smallclothes, so that’s what I went with. Multiple pairs of boots, slippers, and sandals didn’t fit either. Barefoot and commando with a crimson moo-moo. Excellent.

The upside to a lot of these little details is that I am damned near certain that the portal didn’t just drop me off down the road from my house or something. No, I was definitely not in Kansas anymore. Not that I lived in Kansas.

An entire troop of booted footsteps thumped along outside the room. The guards snapped to attention as the same armored guy from before walked in, a significant entourage in tow. His armor was no longer beat to hell either. Definitely someone important then.

Accompanying him were four well geared guards and more than a half dozen dudes in robes of varying colors. Dudes who, as a group, were composed of men and women. All of them were short. Again, not tiny or anything, but the tallest was easily a head and a half shorter than me.

Important armored guy said a bunch of things to or at me. None of it made sense. A few times he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth after saying something, which seemed odd. It was distinctive and repetitive enough to mean something.

For long minutes I said nothing. He spoke to some of the people in robes, each of whom tried speaking in a variety of languages. None of them fit anything I knew or have heard before. A few times I furrowed my brow while trying to understand them. Nothing.

Armored guy spoke again, probably a single sentence, and then clucked. It sounded like a question, so I shrugged, “Huh? I don’t know what the hell you’re saying. Not even a little bit.”

Something I said, or did, earned me a round of ahhh’s and ohh’s from the robed guys.

“I’m guessing you don’t understand me either,” I sighed.

The oldest robe guy stepped forward, “Huh?” He said something else and clucked his tongue. Definitely getting the inquisitive vibe from his stresses and intonations.

I shook my head and shrugged again, “Huh?”, receiving... more wisened sounds of understanding. Well, ‘huh’ was nearly universal and shrugging might be as well.

Time to change tactics here. I pulled at my clothing, “Robe.” I repeated this a couple times.

They looked at one another, clearly confused. The robed guys all conferred with one another. So, I slowly approached them. The guards were rather tense, hands reaching for weapons. Not wanting to cause an inter-dimensional incident, I stopped and put my hands up, taking a step back. Without hesitation the four elite looking guards immediately placed themselves in front of their leader and drew their weapons. The other four guards flanked them, shielding the robed dudes.

“Fuck!” I yelled as I immediately dropped to my knees and placed my hands behind my head. The only thing I could do further is literally prostrate myself, which worked in most cultures to show obsequiousness or capitulation.

Leader guy raised his voice, admonishing the guards if I had to guess, and stepped in front of them. The guards all eased a bit and sheathed their weapons. He looked me in the eye, said something in a calm tone, then raised his head once sharply.

“Stand?”

He raised an eyebrow and repeated himself. Ever so slowly I stood, placing my hands at my sides.

I tried the same thing again a couple times, “Robe.” The group in robes conferred and the eldest of them stepped toward me again.

He mirrored my motion, tugging on his clothing and said, “Robe,” rolling the R sound with a distinctive trill. I nodded eagerly. He did the same thing again, but this time said a single word in their language a couple times.

It definitely sounded Slavic, but also was distinctly not. Nothing close to any of the words for clothing, apparel, robe, or anything else of the sort that I knew. I couldn’t connect it to anything resembling indo-european languages. Their words were not derivative of anything I knew, and linguistics was my thing.

I tugged mine at the shoulder and repeated what he said, which sounded more than a little like ‘koolaid’ with an ‘s-k’ sound at the end, “Kool-aid-ssk.”

A lot of excited words were exchanged as they communicated amongst themselves, obviously pleased.

I looked to the leader and pointed at my chest as I said, “Sully.” He raised his eyebrow, so I repeated it a couple times.

Armored guy said something to him before he took a step forward and pointed at himself, “Ness-po-lan.” Then he nodded toward me and said, “Sooley.”

Fucking close enough! This was progress. His name sounded like ‘Ness-po-lan’ anyway. With a nod toward him I tested it out, “Ness-po-lan.”

He gave a hearty laugh and reached his hand out toward me as if he wanted to shake hands. I confidently, but slowly, reached mine out toward his. Before I could grasp his hand, he grasped my forearm. I responded in kind, clasping his wrist.

With a broad smile he pulled me forward with surprising strength and attempted to put his arm around my shoulder. Laughing again when he couldn’t do so, he put his hand high on my back and led me out of the room and down the hall.

The wide halls were adorned periodically with tapestries and paintings depicting various people, landscapes, and battles. Nespolan led me through the castle, he and the others taught me a couple new words as we walked. I had to stop once during the ten minute walk there. Couldn’t help it, I was winded. Whatever happened, it didn’t seem like I’d recovered fully.

He led me into a dining hall with a table large enough to seat at least forty people. With a barked command the people already present, servants if I had to guess, scurried out of the room. My host gestured to one of the chairs at the near end of the table. I pulled out the chair and sat. He took the much larger seat at the head of the table next to me then, I assume, ordered everyone to take seats.

None of the rooms felt small, but the furniture was definitely made for their size, not mine. It wasn’t quite the children’s table, but my knees wouldn’t fit under the table with my feet flat on the ground.

I looked at him and tapped on the large dining table a few times, “Table.”

“Lostak,” he responded with a knock on the hard wooden surface.

I nodded, “Table… lostak.”

As we sat there, I went through some more words with them. Nespolan seemed entertained by the process, for now at least. Chair, finger, eye, nose, mouth, and perhaps a dozen others were all I had gotten through by the time servants opened a pair doors.

I gasped when the first green skinned humanoid creature crossed the threshold, holding a plate of food. They were each shorter than my hosts,with mottled green skin. Upon first glance, I immediately thought they were orcs of some sort. Ripped straight out of a damned game or something. Large eyes, no discernable ears, and oversized lower canines that sat atop their upper lips.

As they got closer I saw distinct differences from my earlier assumptions. When my plate was placed before me I could see that it wasn’t skin, but small scales. Bipedal reptilian humanoids? Lizard-orcs? I was instantly fascinated and wanted to know more.

There was food to eat first and I was ravenous. I wasn’t sure how long I had been unconscious, or what exactly happened, but I was sure I’d figure all that out in time. For now, I felt safe overall and doubted they were fattening me like a pig before the slaughter.

Nespolan and his people were shorter than me, not like dwarves or halflings, just shorter - still human. They probably weren’t cannibals or anything like that. Not that size indicated cannibalism. I eyed the mess of food on my plate warily for only a moment, which smelled excellent, before digging in with gusto. Correction, refined gusto - I pointedly watched the others for etiquette cues.

As we ate I learned the words for plate, their two-tined fork utensil, knife, and some other things. Even if they weren’t all precise translations, plate or platter for example, it would be close enough while I learned. They were all happy to teach me new words too, like they were training a new pet.

This was going to take time, there was no way around it. Nouns were going to be fairly easy, but learning everything it would take to be fluent and literate in their language would be the challenging part. Syntax, stress, intonation, prepositions, determiners, conjunctions, and all the rest of the fun stuff.

That was the unfortunate downside to the reality of this journey I set myself on when I crossed through that portal. This wasn’t a work of fiction, unfortunately. There was, quite possibly, no magical means for me to just snap my fingers to learn. It was going to take work. Months of studying and work.

Most of the group three and four languages I had learned had taken me two to five months, depending on how many hours I spent each day, what the setting was, et cetera. Being fully immersed with no other options other than learning it was a boon in my opinion.

Choosing not to learn their language was out of the question and there was no point in being upset about it. Whatever this world was, it was not a game.