Ian let out a weak groan as unforgiving consciousness crept up through his daze of sleep. It burned away his dreams and brought back all the worries and concerns sleep had let him avoid. Ian raised his hand to wipe down his face and pull off the remaining veil of sleep. Only to find a literal veil across his face. He should’ve been surprised, but a man could only feel so much shock in a single day.

The veil was light-weight but incredibly sticky, and it stubbornly clung to his fingers. The more he struggled to shake it off, the further he became entangled. It stretched, and expanded, but refused to tear. His mouth and nose were uncovered, but the upper half of his head was encased tightly in the stuff, effectively muting his hearing and blinding him. Two things that were unpleasant to wake up too.

It doesn’t much matter. If that woman wanted me dead, she wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble. She’d have just let Wolfenstein eat me, Ian reasoned.

He managed to poke a hole through the material over one eye and got a glimpse of his surroundings. His roving cyclopean vision settled onto the figure of the wolf first, then shifted about the camp in search of its owner. He found her sitting on a log across from him, a campfire blazed between them.

She was facing away with her attention drawn to something on the log beside her. He couldn’t see from his prone position what she was fidgeting with, but it did give him a minor advantage as she hadn’t noticed his stirring yet. The hood of her cloak was now thrown back, revealing long blonde hair. There were also protrusions on either side of her head, sticking out through the hair by three or four inches.

Are those… her ears? Nope. Still asleep. They must have me on some very good painkillers.

He thought about his earlier encounter with her and tried to reason if it was part of the dream or part of reality. While he didn’t think she was trying to kill him, he knew she had a weapon. If left him with the assumption he wasn’t safe.

He continued to pull at the webbing, careful not to move any more than he had to, lest he draw his captor’s attention. There was a faint growl at his feet. He froze, snapped his eye shut, and pretended to be asleep. Ian could sense the silver-red eyes of the predator boring into him. After a few quiet minutes had passed, he snuck another peek. The dog/wolf/beast (he still wasn’t quite sure what it was) had lain back down, so he worked at removing the sticky head-wrap once more.

“Leave it,” The soft voice he’d heard earlier said. Even muffled he made out the odd almost musical accent.

As the last vestige of sleep left him, he stopped abruptly. The realization he was using his broken arm left him stunned. He recovered from the surprise and pulled his left hand away to where he could see it. He flexed he wiggled his fingers, and moved his arm around, testing out the restored limb. He felt no mind-jarring pain or waves of nausea. Miraculously he could sense no trace of the break. The memory of a medicinal tasting drink forced down his throat and his sudden blackout flashed in his mind.

What on Earth did she give me? Ian wondered. He wasn’t sure that he could deal with the answer just yet, so he decided to start small.

“Where are we?” Ian asked.

“How could you not know where you are?” She asked, the furrow of her brow, and purse of her lips gave Ian the impression she though him simple. “Those wounds must’ve been worse than I thought,” She said, putting the stick she’d been using to stir the campfire, and made to move around the fire to examine him.

“I’m alright, I think,” Ian replied, holding up his hand to stop her, “What did you give me? And what is this stuff?” He asked as he pulled at the veil clinging to his face. His movements became agitated as the sticky gauze kept thwarting his attempts to remove it.

“I gave you a healing draught because you were wounded. On your face are strands harvested from the blessed Weeping Timber. You were fortunate enough to be near such a web when I found you. The Weeping Timber spider only weaves its web in the most ancient Ironwood trees. It can be used to heal fevers, soothe aches, and restore the mind. Though the spider’s bite is quite deadly, which usually prevents anyone from collecting the webbing. Again you were fortunate, this tree was unoccupied. I have never heard such unnerving laughter in my many years,” She replied, her face twisting up in discomfort as she remembered the sound. She shook off the memory, and continued, “As for where we are, we are in the Ironwood Forest south of Landorei.”

“Spider web!?” Ian asked incredulously while struggling with the webbing. The spider silk peeled off in thick tufts as he applied greater force. The knowledge that the veil came from a spider gave him the proper motivation to remove the stuff. He ignored the pain throbbing in his temples, and freed himself to get a proper look at her.

As he sat up, the warning growls from across the fire went unheeded. He’d ask about the dog-thing later. One step at a time. Ian, after a check on the dog, went into full detective mode assessing his rescuer. He scrutinized every aspect of her outward appearance: her face, clothes, hands, shoes, posture - no detail was overlooked.

Five feet tall give or take a few inches, light blonde hair in a sensible braid, unusual green eye color, most likely contacts, pale skin, pointed prosthetic ears. Can’t be older than twenty-three. She has a bow, but her hands aren’t calloused and her outfit is nearly immaculate. She either spent a lot of time cleaning herself up, or she hasn’t been out in the woods for very long. Maybe we’re close to civilization after all... Also, she has a W.O.U.S. (Wolf Of Unusual Size).

Finely tooled dark-brown leather covered her chest with the focal point being an emblem stamped into the right breast. The hem of the chest piece had chainmail links that glinted in the firelight. Her forearms were clad in bracers, and her feet in mid-calf length boots, made of the same dark leather. A snug dark green cloth covered where the leather didn’t, revealing the slender frame beneath. Topping it all off was a darker hunter green cloak draped over her shoulders.

His eyes drifted towards the bow at her side. It was breathtaking. Even his untrained eye could tell it was masterfully crafted. Ornate symbols blended with the grain in such a way that he found himself wondering if the wood was carved, or grown into the finished design. The weapon was pristine not a single scratch, or blemish anywhere along the polished wood, meaning it was likely for show. The same could be said of her costume, which had initially fooled him into thinking it was a proper set of leather armor.

Somebody loves their cosplay a little too much, Ian thought, followed by a realization, I’m at a renaissance fair.

As he formulated his theory, she was staring back at him with the same critical eye. She scanned over him in a slow appraising way until they made eye contact. Ian shifted his gaze away first, moving his eyes to her pointed ears. He resisted the urge to get up and touch them, to prove that they (and thus every other ridiculous detail of his day) were a farce.

She must have read his mind because her expression went from awkward concern to nervous defensiveness. Her hand gripped her bow as she got to her feet. Ian realized he was making her uncomfortable, and feigned a cough to look away. He decided to play along to ensure her cooperation, but he was going to have a serious word with her when they were out of the woods.

“Are you certain that you are alright, Gent?” She asked, this time with more concern in her tone. The tightening of her grip on her bow did not go unnoticed.

Ian thought her melodic, practiced tone was perfectly suited for her chosen role. Though her hold on the bow while he remained unarmed was unacceptable. He considered her unstable, to say the least, and he needed to diffuse this situation. Regardless of her mental health status, that giant dog of hers could tear him apart in an instant. His shoulders sagged, and he relaxed assuming a non-threatening posture. He remembered he had dropped his gun in the scuffle earlier, and looked for it. He needed to keep the conversation going until he could arm himself.

“I’m fine, thank you for your assistance, Miss…?” Ian’s voice trailed off as he waited for her to supply him with a name. He rose to his feet and was thankful that he did not experience further dizziness.

“Valethalassa Therrae, Second Ranger of the Fallen Kings,” She contributed helpfully.

“Okay, sure. And what are you doing out here all by yourself, Miss? Excuse me, Ranger Therrae? Shouldn’t you be, I dunno… be with the rest of your party? Getting ready to delve into a dungeon, or lay siege to a castle?” Ian immediately regretted using his dry sarcastic tone for that statement, as pure scorn came over her face.

“Well, perhaps the next time that I find a human drinking out of the Avaqueti Falmari Linquest I shall leave him to die for his troubles!” She replied tartly. Her furry companion rose and pressed against her leg. She gave him a scratch behind the ears and he stamped his leg on the ground in response. She let out a slow breath her eyes moved back to Ian. There was coldness to them now that hadn’t been there a few moments ago. Ian involuntarily gulped for being on the receiving end of such an icy stare.

“I’m sorry, you’re right. Thank you. My name is Ian McClintoc by the way, I’m a police detective. I work in D.C. Now, Landrays and Ava - Abra Kadabra Linguist?” Ian asked.

“Landorei, the elven capital city,” Valethalassa corrected, “and Avaqueti Falmari Linquest, though Forbidden Waters will do. You seem to be having trouble with the elven names. And this,” She gave the wolf at her side a gentle pat, “is Mal. My shadow wolf companion.”

Mal gave Ian a look, and unimpressed huff. Valethalassa gave him a final pat and the huge beast settled back on his haunches. The silver-red eyes still watched Ian’s every move with predatory hunger. She reached into her satchel and casually retrieved the missing handgun. Ian’s eyes went wide as she held it by the barrel, handling it the same way she might have done if it had been a pencil or a hairbrush.

Is she dense? Ian thought. He chose to ignore the fact that she’d called the dog a wolf. Even if Mal did look one hundred percent like a wolf he was sticking to her being delusional.

“Don’t point that at yourself. You could get hurt,” Ian said in a calm measured tone.

“Where are you from?” She asked, ignoring his warning.

“I already told you, I’m from the D.C. police department,” Ian said as he shifted subtly trying to get into a position to take her down before one of them got hurt. He continued speaking as he moved, “Listen, kid, this has been reeeal fun, but I need you to show me the way out of the woods now. The time for pretending is over, and I’m going to need my gun back,” He nodded to the weapon in her hands, “before someone gets hurt.”

“I am no child!” Valethalassa said with venom. Her body stiffened, and her mouth twisted in a scowl. “I am well over four hundred years of age, and I do not appreciate being spoken to with such disrespect, least of all by the man whose life I saved!

“You will tell me what you are doing here in the Ironwood Forest, and you will tell me now. If you do not, I will return you to the clearing where I found you. I am certain that the Water Nymph would be thrilled to see you again,” She heatedly spoke while waving Ian’s gun about, still holding it by the barrel.

Ian pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting the urge to snap back at her. He took a deep breath before speaking.

“Look lady,” Ian said, frustration creeping into his voice, “I got up this morning, drove to work, went out on a call with my partner-” he pushed aside the pang of guilt, “and fought with a guy, wearing what was probably a prototype of some very sophisticated mechanical armor, and then building collapsed on us. I woke up in a cave. I tried to find my way back into town to get this sorted out, but then there was the whole ordeal at Lake Whatits.

“Which brings us to now with you telling me that you are an elf, which is ridiculous!” Ian shouted as his anger bubbled over. “All I want to know is how to get back to D.C. and you refuse to tell me in favor of some stupid game! Are you pulling a prank? How does that make you feel, knowing that all you are doing is finding personal joy in another’s pain?” Ian abruptly stuck his hand out, prompting her to hand him his weapon.

Valethalassa watched him warily, and after a long silence, she had to accept that he was putting on no more of an act than she was. Her expression changed to one of pity as she pushed the gun into his hands. She saw the relief flood through him as he slipped the gun back into its holster.

“What does it do?” She asked, nodding at his hip, “was it the source of that awful thunderous noise that I heard earlier?” Her tone was genuinely inquisitive.

“My gun?” He asked, sure that he was misunderstanding something. He patted his side above the holster by way of confirmation.

“Gun?” She said the word like she was trying it out for the first time. It sounded so alien on her lips compared to her earlier musical tone.

“Yes, my gun. It’s a Walther PPQ M-two nine-millimeter if you really wanted to know, it’s a weapon,” Ian replied. He paused to judge her reaction, of which there was none.

No, this is not happening, she is not an elf. Ian shut that whole line of thought down and set it to gaining control of the situation.

“You are very puzzling,” Valethalassa said after a moment. “Your clothing, your speech, and even the manner in which you carry yourself. Not to mention that… gun. I am not familiar with a place called D.C., but if it does exist, then The Arcane Seer will know what you need to do in order to return there,” She nodded as though confirming to herself that she had made the right decision. Turning towards her lupine companion, she gave him another affectionate scratch behind the ears to rouse him. “Mal, please watch over the camp.”

Mal made a low growl before turning away. In an instant, his silhouette was lost in the shadows of the dense forest.

“I originally thought that this was your weapon,” Valethalassa said as she reached behind the log she’d been sitting on. She came back with the walking stick that Ian had crafted. “Ironwood is highly sought after by arms craftsmen because of its incredible durability and natural resistance to heat. Where did you purchase it?” She asked while offering it back to him.

“Well,” Ian said while setting the stick down and getting out his wallet, “I cut it off of a downed log and shaped it up with this,” He said producing the survival card and offering it to her.

Valethalassa eyed the strange card briefly before reaching out to touch it. As she made contact with the metal a light sparked, and a snapping shock followed, causing an intense burning on her fingertips. Startled, Ian fumbled with the card and dropped it on the ground, barely missing sending it into the campfire.

“Are you alright?” He asked nervously. He eyed the card warily until it was evident that nothing more was going to happen. “I didn’t know that was going to happen, I swear!”

“Ke’liva!” She cursed. “I am fine, only a minor burn.” Welts were forming where her fingers had touched the card. “What is that thing?”

“It’s a stainless-steel card. One of those gimmicky indestructible survival tools that everyone buys as stocking stuffers, but no one ever uses.”

She arched a brow at his description but did not respond. Instead, she reached for her satchel and got out a salve to apply to her fingers.

“It’s a pretty common thing that you can order online. A lot of them are marketed as survival gear that will help you should you get lost in the woods. You haven’t seen one before?”

“Online?” She asked. Again, the word came out weird as though she had never heard or spoken it before.

Ian reached down and retrieved the card. It did not shock him, spark, or burst into flames in his hands. He turned it over several times but found it to be the same piece of stainless steel that it had always been. He cautiously placed it back into its slot in his wallet and returned it to his pocket.

Does she not know what online means? You can’t go a day in this country without using the internet, or at least interacting with people who do. Unless… nope, he tossed the thought into a box, locked it, and then threw it over a cliff in his mind. Ian sat down hard, feeling the weight of the questions his mind asked.

“You know, the internet? The place where you can go and find anything? Where nearly every company in existence does its business?”

“The internet?” Valethalassa asked, cocking her head to one side with a look of further bewilderment.

“Yeah, it’s - well, never mind. Just never mind. Let’s get going to this city of yours so I can get home.”

“Tomorrow morning then, we’ll make our way to Landorei. We aren’t more than half a day’s walk, at least if you are up to the pace. Once we arrive The Arcane Seer will be able to determine exactly what should be done with you. Until then, get some rest. Mal is keeping watch for us tonight so you needn’t worry about the wildlife,” She said, leaning over behind the log again she reached into her pack and pulled out a bedroll. “I only have one bedroll I’m afraid, but it’s much too small for you anyway,” She said as she unrolled the bundle next to the fire, and laid down.

“No problem,” Ian mumbled.

As the fire died down, the exhaustion of the day crept back, and he felt the familiar tug of sleep on his eyelids. Ian found his jacket and balled it up then stuffed the make-shift pillow under his head. He laid there convincing himself that he was in a coma lying in a hospital bed, his mother at his side, and heavy drugs in his I.V. This was all his mind's way of coping with the trauma. The stories he’d read as a child, and the adventures that he’d played out in his many games of Delving and Demons, easily crafted the narrative. He half expected tomorrow they’d pick up a dwarf to round out the party, and then they’d head off on some grand adventure. Since this was all in his head, he didn’t see why that wouldn’t make for a fine day.