Go to the capitol? You just arrived at the village and it already wants you to leave?

You shake your head. As tempting as having a new skill would be, you’ve just barely survived your journey through the forest. Giant spiders, green monsters, and horrendous beasts aside, you know little of the dangers of this world. You’d be better off if you could get some more information.

And besides, you still want to know just what happened to you to make you so trusting of Olsa. You recall Tyrin’s words last night. He seems to know what’s going on.

You get up and head downstairs, intent on finding out exactly what he meant when you’re suddenly assaulted by the delicious smell of food wafting in the air.

Stepping off the last step, you look around the inn for its source only to see a large bald man with a grizzled beard walk out of the back room carrying a pitcher in one hand and a plate that’s overflowing with food in the other.

His eyes meet yours and the man breaks out into a smile just as huge as he is.

“Mornin’.” He says, his voice a deep rumble. “Are ya hungry?”

You give the man a nod that somehow causes his grin to widen even further as he places the plate and mug on the nearby table next to some utensils.

“Was goin ta be eating that myself, but I can just whip up a second plate in the kitchen. Help yerself.” And with those words the man turns around and re-enters what you assume is the kitchen.

The clanging of pots and pans tells you you’re right as you take a seat at the table and stare hesitantly down at the heaping pile of food in front of you.

By the time the man returns you’ve already begun to put a significant dent into the delicious meal. You’d expected some kind of weird, otherworldly cuisine, or perhaps something rustic and wild, but what you got instead was something surprisingly close to the kind of breakfast you would have eaten back on Earth.

The man sits down and looks at you with a satisfied grin on his face as you savor each bite.

“Like it?” He asks. “Learned ta make that from another otherworlder like yerself a few years back. Figured ye’d be up for something familiar.”

You look up at the man’s expression and find yourself moved by the sincerity in his eyes.

“Thank you Mr. – ?”

“Thomus,” laughs the man, “Thomus Hearthflag. But ye can just call meh Tom.”

“Thank you Tom.”

“No worries. Breakfast is tha least I can do.”

You give Thomus a questioning look and the man shrugs.

“Look, my wife’s a good person, and she does what she does ta protect the town. I can’t say it’s always right, but I stand by her decisions. It’s what’s kept us alive this long.”

“But what did she do?” You ask as you lean forward in your chair.

“S’not my place to say.” Says the man as he takes a swig from his drink (you’d had a bit of your own and it was some kind of strong cider) before digging into his food. “Not that I really know much about it all anyways.”

The rest of the meal is spent in idle chatter as the two of you make small talk until you finish. It’s clear he doesn’t want to talk about the subject anymore and you’re getting the sense that it wouldn’t do you any good to push for more. Once done, and after Thomus waves away your offer to help with the dishes, you set off towards the town’s gatehouse where Thomus tells you Tyrin should be. Whether he wants to tell you what happened or not, you’re going to get your answers out of him.

Walking through town in the day gets you curious stares from the villagers. You look back at them just as curiously as you take in the rustic garments they wear, warily eyeing the weapons some of them seem to carry as you’re hand subconsciously goes to the sword on your waist.

Suddenly, you can’t help but freeze in your tracks as your eyes catch sight of three individuals that seem to belong to a movie. The first is a thick, stout bare-chested man with a long beard and a bulbous noise. He’s around four feet tall with thick, well-defined muscles and a large hammer strapped to his waist. Your mind in its dazed state helpfully supplies you with the word dwarf.

Next to him, is a small woman, even shorter than the … dwarf. Her hair is cut into a neat bob and she’s dressed in what appeared to be some kind of white religious attire. Again your mind supplies the only word that fits her description – hobbit.

Looking at the third of the trio, your eyes are drawn to the woman’s face. Her straight dark hair and sharp eyes seem to gracefully accentuate her high cheekbones and full lips perfectly. An elf. You’re eyes flicker to her ears in confirmation and you’re rewarded with the sight of her long ears ending in a pointed tip.

The woman glances over at you from the corner of her eyes as she continues to speak to her companions and you can see her lips curve slightly as she smirks at you.

You stare dumbly as the trio continues to walk down the road before they round a corner and are out of sight.

You knew you were in a different world for a while now. You’d fought goblins and wild animals, giant spiders and who knows what else, but it never truly sunk in until now. You’re not on earth anymore. You’re in some kind of Tolkien-esque world, with who knows what other kinds of creatures. You look down at your waist and stare at the sword at your hip. A sword. You’re wearing a sword.

You begin to chuckle, slowly at first, before you break out into a loud, hearty laugh. You’re wearing a goddamn sword in a world with Elves and Dwarves and Hobbits where you get stronger like a character in some kind of game!

You’re laughter continues for some time, empty and hollow and crazed even to your own ears, but you don’t care. You don’t care that people are staring at you as walk past, giving you a wide birth as you laugh insanely in the middle of the road. You don’t care that you’re making a scene, making a fool of yourself, it doesn’t really matter, everything is too surreal. You don’t know how long you continue to stand there laughing, but eventually your crazed outburst subsides.

You shake your head to clear your thoughts of elves and dwarves and hobbits and swords and you continue walking again with a goal in mind. Tyrin. He should be able to explain. He’ll be able to tell you just what the hell happened last night. Just what the hell you're supposed to do now.

Reaching the gate, you see a man standing on a raised platform next to the wall peering out into the distance as he absently munches on an apple. He’s wearing a brown leather cap and a gray tunic over an off-white shirt.

Hearing your approach, he looks back at you and waves with the hand holding the apple. “Heading out?” He asks.

“No,” you say, “I’m looking for Tyrin.”

“Mmmm, well,” says the man as he takes another bite of his apple and licks his lips before gesturing to a building to the left of the gate, “if he hasn’t left already he should be in the gatehouse there.”

You thank the man as you turn towards the gatehouse – really it’s nothing more than a small shack – and you approach it with determination. You’re going to get some answers.

Just as you’re about to knock on the door, it opens to reveal Tyrin who blinks at you in surprise.

“Oh, hey,” he says, shifting awkwardly on his feet, “hope you had a good rest.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, you’re expression saying more than any words could.”

He laughs awkwardly. “I guess you want to know what happened last night, huh?”

“Yes.” You say, nodding.

“And I don’t suppose you’re willing to just let it go?”

“No.” And at your response Tyrin let’s out a tired sigh.

“I figured as much. Well, come in then,” he says, gesturing for you to enter.

Walking into the gatehouse, you see that it’s little more than a small room with a rustic wooden desk and two chairs. The papers on the dark brown desk seem coarse and thick, not at all like the paper you’re used to back on earth, and instead of seeing any pens or pencils, you’re greeted with the sight of a quill and what you assume is a bottle of ink. It all looks old fashioned and if you didn’t know any better you’d think everything in the room belonged at a renaissance fair.

Tyrin walks past you and takes a seat behind the desk, gesturing for you to do the same.

“Well, I guess I should explain.” He says as he leans back. “The short answer is magic. It’s a spell called Charm. It makes whoever can’t overcome it act like a close friend to the caster. But you need to know that she only did it to protect the town. She had to know if you’d be a danger to us, to the villagers. We had to know what kind of person you were.”

You stare down at your lap as you think over his answer. Is that really an acceptable reason to use magic that messes with peoples’ minds?

“I apologize for what my mother did, but in our defense, you did look a bit crazed.” You look up and see Tyrin smiling to take the edge off his words. “In the end it could actually be a good thing she cast the magic.”

You give him a sharp look. “What do you mean?”

“From the crude look of those animal skins you were wearing, I’m going to assume you made them yourself?” You nod in confirmation and Tyrin lets out a laugh. “Then I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume you don’t have any money?”

You shake your head. “No, but what does that have to do with the spell?”

Tyrin gives you a deadpan look. “Well, the clothes you’re wearing cost money to make. You didn’t honestly expect us to give it to you for free did you?”

You’re surprised, it hadn’t really occurred to you to think about it, but you’d assumed the clothes were just given to you out of kindness.

“The same with the bed at the inn and the food you ate. It’s a business. If we just gave those things to people for free we couldn’t very well make a living now could we? Think of them as my mother’s apology to you for having to cast the spell on you.”

His words make sense, but at the same time – “That still doesn’t give you the right to mess with my mind.”

“No,” he says, “it doesn’t. But that’s why I’m apologizing. Besides, if we couldn’t be sure you wouldn’t be a danger to the village we would have had to ask you to leave.”

Seeing your look of surprise Tyrin continues.

“You’re not the first person to arrive here from another world and from what I know about the kind of place you come from it’s understandable for you to think we wouldn’t turn you out. But this world is dangerous. Never mind the monsters and wild animals out there, even just a stranger on the road can turn out to be a danger. You can’t judge someone’s strength here just by their appearance.”

You think over his words for a moment before you speak. “But then, didn’t you take a chance? If I turned out to be someone dangerous, then couldn’t I have reacted poorly to the magic you cast on me?”

“Perhaps, but the first spell she cast was to check if you had any dangerous artifacts on your person. If you did, things would have been different. And if you had tried something regardless, well, my mother would have been enough to take you down.” Tyrin pats the sword on his hip. “Besides, I’m no slouch in a fight either.”

He leans forward, resting an elbow on the table and propping his chin up tiredly in one hand.

“Now,” he says, “what is it you want to do? You’re free to rest here at our inn for a few more days, but after that you’re going to have to start paying. If you want to head out for the capital I can give you some supplies and point you in the right direction. Or, if you want to earn some coin I can always find some work for you. There’s always too much to do around here and never enough manpower.”

What do you do?

1) Rest at the inn for a few days and figure out things later.

2) Leave for the Capital

3) Find some work.