The knights approached the crater cautiously. One moment they were fighting a losing battle against Hades’ horrible troll, the next it had been struck down by a falling star.

None could agree on which god was responsible for their salvation. But they were thankful for the intervention, nonetheless.

Francis poked his head out of the dirt like a diglet, startling the knights. “Got any dip?” He asked.

They looked at one another. It appeared human, but none of them could understand the fallen star’s words. Usually celestials were blessed with the understanding of all languages. This one must have been damaged by the fall.

Sir Auldric Sulfa bowed his head. “Thank you for saving us, heavenly messenger.”

Francis looked at the knight, not understanding a single word. He cocked his head to the side. “Say again?”

“You can't understand me, can you?” Auldric looked around helplessly. “Can anyone understand this creature’s language?”

The other knights shook their heads. It did not have the sound of Elvish, Dwarfish, Orkish, or even Meoish. They wondered if perhaps it was a heavenly tongue from beyond the stars, something not spoken here in the world of Vahnis.

Over the next hour they took turns speaking at Francis. But no communication breakthroughs were forthcoming. The Marine eventually got bored and retreated back into his hole to take a nap.

Sometime later he woke up and decided to see if anyone with dip or authority had arrived. It was still daylight and four men in leather armor were standing around the crater. They seemed more concerned with keeping people away than keeping Francis in, so he figured that was alright.

He understood that he was on foreign soil and it wasn't smart to piss off the locals if he could avoid it. Sometimes if Francis was nice to the locals they even shared their food with him.

Once there was this old man in the mountains that gave Francis some really tasty grapes covered in clay. It was amazing what you could learn from people. He never would have thought to preserve food with dirt.

The Marine sniffed the air. One of the men standing around the crater was smoking a corn cob pipe. Francis figured this was his best shot at finding someone sensible to talk to.

“Got any dip?” He asked.

The gray beard looked down at the Marine. “I got smoke.”

“No dip?” Francis was disappointed. The grizzled veteran looked like exactly the kind of person who would have a can of wintergreen.

“Just smoke.” The man shook his head.

Francis decided to try something else. “I’d kill for a brew.”

“Same.” The old man went back to keeping watch and puffing on his pipe.

“What's this place called?” Francis looked around.

“City’s called Riverlark, Kingdom’s called Grumble.” The old veteran cleaned and stowed his pipe. “Where are you from?”

“Texas.” Francis said, trying to decide if he should get up and go explore. He had to go take a piss sometime soon. That jungle juice from earlier was working its way through him.

Before he could make a decision, the knights came back to try again. This time they brought a man in blue robes. He was holding a staff with a faintly glowing purple crystal on top.

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

Francis’ Arcane skill identified the man in robes as a wizard, which was like a warlock, but less fun at parties (and with much more student debt). A similar figure had been spray painted on the side of his dad’s camper van when he was a kid.

Francis eyeballed the approaching wizard. His unit used to bring along men in robes that spoke all kinds of languages. Perhaps it worked the same way here. “Got any dip? Maybe a brew?” He asked hopefully.

When the wizard didn't respond, Francis repeated the question again. This time he spoke slower and louder. The wizard listened intently then shook his head. “It's no language I have ever heard before.”

Francis couldn't understand him either. He looked over at the old veteran. “Dumbledore doesn't understand shit. He’s useless as tits on an iguana.”

The old man tried to contain his laughter, and failed. Auldric took notice and came over to investigate. “Do you think this situation is funny?”

“No, Sir.” The veteran shook his head.

“Good.” Auldric went back to consulting with the wizard.

Francis watched him go. He understood why the gray beard hadn't told Auldric he could understand him. It wasn't always smart to reveal skills to the brass. They might get ideas on how to use them.

“Who pissed in his Wheaties?” Francis asked.

“Brass is brass.” The veteran shrugged. “I’m Miller.”

“I’m Francis. Wanna get a beer?”

“I'd have a beer.” Miller nodded. “But I got watch duty.”

“Shame.” Francis looked around. He needed to go to the bathroom but he wasn’t sure how the knights were going to respond to him getting out of the hole. “Tell captain clank I gotta hit the head.”

“Will do.” Miller waved to get Auldric’s attention. He pointed down at the Marine. “Francis says he needs to take a piss.”

“Too much jungle juice.” Francis added helpfully.

Auldric ran over. “Are you saying you can communicate with him? How?”

“He has been speaking to me in Grunt, Sir.” Miller explained. “I wouldn't say I understand his exact words. Grunt is more about feelings and general concepts. Where are we? What’s the chow like? Is she single? That sort of stuff.”

“That's amazing! Where does he come from? Which god does he serve?” Sir Auldric waved the wizard over. “Killian, come quickly!”

What followed was a game of telephone where Miller translated Auldric's questions into Grunt and Francis’ answers into Vahnissian Common.

Eventually Francis began to understand the language well enough to figure out what Auldric was asking before Miller translated it. But he wasn't going to tell Auldric that particular piece of information.

Nineteen years in the Marines had taught Francis never to make it easier for foreign brass to order him around. So he listened politely until he had to leave to go take a piss.

Francis crawled out of the hole and shook the cramps out of his legs. He was missing one of his flip flops and his can of dip was nowhere to be found. But at least his booty shorts were intact and pink as ever. Miller guided him to a latrine south of the crater.

The first piss on foreign soil was always a joyful experience for Francis. It meant he had more room for beer and jungle juice. He caught one of the knights eyeing his junk.

“Eyes on your own work.” Francis said. “I know you’d like to see where you came from, but tickets are five bucks and your mom already bought all of them.”

The knight shook his head and walked away. A notification from System pinged in Francis’s skull, causing his nose to bleed.

Congratulations! You have successfully learned the language skill Vahnissian Common!

Congratulations! You have successfully learned the skill Chirp!

He blinked to dismiss it and walked back to the crater. Apparently in Vahnis people just talked at one another until System assigned them a language skill. That explained a lot about how the knights were acting earlier.

From their game of telephone Francis had managed to glean that the kingdom of Grumble had pissed off Hades, and the god of the underworld was sending monsters to make their life hell. None of the other gods had been willing to intervene. Apparently they were waiting on a new champion.

Francis figured that was him. But once again, he wasn't going to tell Auldric that. It was important never to volunteer for things. He would wait until he was voluntold.

But he still had one pressing question that hadn't gotten a satisfactory answer yet. He walked up to Auldric. “Got any dip?” he asked.