No plan survives contact with the enemy. A saying that most people will have heard at some point. It took Wilfried about thirty minutes to learn that those words are filled with great wisdom. He was not sure whether the enemy was time or himself.
There wasn’t anybody else in the house. He discovered that fact shortly after devising his plan. The smartest thing to do was start as soon as possible. Every minute wasted now would equate to four being wasted; even more if he was to try learning the local language. As such, his genius idea was to call out and try to start talking with the farmers or whoever was around. Nobody responded to his calls nor could he hear any noise throughout the building.
He had cracked open the door so that he could poke his head out. The house was devoid of people, but looked to be lived in. There were plenty of items and furniture scattered around – an obvious sign of recent use. The room seemed to be both a living area and kitchen. A lack of a bed indicated that the door on the opposite side of the room was likely to be the main bedroom. The room he was in seemed rather sparse in comparison to the main room.
Wilfried was tempted to wander around the house, but his brain reminded him that doing so may piss off the owner. Given his circumstances, he felt it best to avoid annoying the natives before he could at least offer a defense of his own. For that reason, he turned his ass around and sat back on the bed.
The first few minutes were spent just looking around the room. The furniture appeared to be hand made. It didn’t possess any major imperfections, but would certainly not fit in with the hand crafted furniture he was used to seeing. The small bedside table was rather basic with its rectangular legs and plain square surface. It lacked any sort of markings, cravings, or decoration. There wasn’t any fancy stain, nor did the wood seem to be anything more than cheap softwood. For as simplistic as it was, the little table oozed passion in a way that no ‘build it yourself’ boxed furniture could.
On a whole, the furniture was skillfully made. His dad had gotten into a carpentry kick about a decade ago; Wilfried had watched the man work, but quickly got bored. The end result happened to be enough furniture to fill all the nooks and crannies throughout the house. He’s willing to say that his dad could make a better table, but most of the improvements would be a result of superior materials. Although his father had certainly honed his woodworking abilities over the couple years that he made furniture, a lot of the craftsmanship came from the many machines and tools that allowed wood to be worked with great precision. Given that he didn’t see any signs of technology in the main room of this house, Wilfried guessed that the furniture throughout the building had to be made by hand or simple tools. That meant that whoever made all of it was talented.
If low-end goods were made by talented artisans in this world, that implied a lack of industrialization. That or wherever he was at was too far away from an industrial center for transport to be cost efficient. Either way, it meant that if he could fill a niche in the local economy then he should have an easier time. People will buy lesser goods if they are the only game in town.
Beyond staring at the furniture, there wasn’t much to do in the little room. Wilfried wouldn’t snoop through the dresser or any of the sacks piled up in the corner of the room. No need for his host to discover him rummaging through their things. The impact of such would likely be worse if the room was not a guest room.
Without anything to function as a distraction, Wilfried found himself in rapidly spiraling into a state of panic. The reality he faced was that the chance of going home – of seeing his family again – was almost zero. There were no tears cried, but a tight feeling in his chest and ice slithering through his veins was easily the worst feeling he had ever felt. Far worse than any sort of physical pain.
That feeling only grew worse when he began to clear his mind. Somehow suppressing his memories was more taxing than allowing them to run rampant. He was going to have a breakdown at some point. He just needed that time to not be now; preferably later enough to have made some progress being able to live wherever here was.
His normal coping mechanism for dealing with stress was hiding away in his room and watching a video or playing a game. No such options existed for him. Videos and games required technology which he did not possess. Although he was in a room, it was not his. That wasn’t even to mention that the current cause of his stress was the lack of people…
And so, he was forced to sit and wait while he cycled through panic and forcing himself to be stoic. Was he the enemy? Or was it time? Each passing minute made it more difficult to rip his mind away from memories of home. His mind would leak out doubts about whatever he was planning.
The loudest thought crashing throughout his brain was just a simple question. How would he explain his appearance to the locals? He had no idea how he even got here. Would he try to explain that he was from another world? They may think he’s crazy. If he didn’t figure out an excuse by the time he could communicate, he could be completely fucked.
A lesser, but still prevalent, thought was another question. How would he handle documentation? If whatever society he finds himself stuck in did not use any sort of identification documents for the average citizen, he would be fine. But if they had things like passports or birth certificates, he would be fucked. Of course, in a low technology society, it shouldn’t be too much of an issue to forge some documents with the assistance of some criminals.
It was then that another thought slugged him. Would the existence of magic make his integration easier or more difficult? If important documents were protected with magic, could he even get some?
Wilfried was pulled back to reality by muffled voices. There were at least two men based on the presumed conversation between a pair of distinct tones.
After a minute, a creak echoed throughout the house. He would be meeting whatever strangers were there. With only a thin door separating them, the conversation became much more audible yet remained just as unintelligible.
Wilfried hardened his resolve, ready as he could be. “Hello?”
The effect was instant. The voices ceased and a tense silence fell upon the house. Was that a bad thing?
Suddenly, one of the voices starts up again. It seemed that the man was trying to keep his voice low, yet Wilfried could just barely make out words. “Na pal tana rult bosh.”
“Sha. Rult.” That was another voice, so there were at least three people.
Should he open the door and meet with them? Perhaps if they don’t enter on their own. For now, he would try to let them know he wants to talk. Wilfried tried to use a neutral tone, “I can’t understand you, but I’m hoping that you’d be willing to try and communicate.”
Whispers could be heard from behind the door along with the clattering of boots against wood.
“It will be easier to try talking face to face. At least then we can point and pretend to have a clue.”
The whispers went quiet. Wilfried watched as the door slowly opened with a light creak.
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It was a single man who entered. He didn’t have any features that would differentiate him from a standard human. Dark brown hair with a sizable bald spot and a spattering of grey hairs. Skin on the lighter side – not pale, but far from tanned. No extra appendages, horns, wings, or any other such parts. Just a normal man at the end of his middle aged years.
The man stared at Wilfried. His face held strong, refusing to betray any intentions. Not a hint of either a frown or smile. It was everything that Wilfried attempted to go for, yet in a perfected form. It was the same stoic look favored by politicians and company spokesmen. It told Wilfried that this man had the potential to wield a danger far greater than any physical strength. The man held sway over others.
Wilfried’s felt his resolve be tested – he needed to be a stalwart defender of his interests all while ensuring the man was not displeased. At least, he thought such before looking at the eyes of the man. The orbs held not the greed and apathy that glimmered brightly in politicians; instead, they portrayed a mixture of caution and curiosity. It made Wilfried wonder how much of the man’s stoicism was a reaction to the unknown.
If his impression of the man was tainted by the blank look, was the same true for the man’s impression of him? He had to try establishing a friendly relationship. He would prefer that the man’s weariness evaporate sooner rather than later. If the man turned out to just be a jackass with power, then hopefully the gesture would make the man view him as less of a threat.
Wilfried took a deep breath and allowed his tight face to slacken a little. He slowly raised his hand next to his head, then allowed the appendage a slight side to side motion. “Hello, sir.”
The man’s eyebrows shot up as his head tilted slightly to the side. His expression shifted towards a subtle intrigue. After a couple seconds the man tentatively copied the wave. “He lo, sur.”
A surge of relief flooded Wilfried. The man seemed willing to try an put effort into successful communication. There was a long way to go, but it was a start. “I know we can’t talk to each other, but I hope gestures will work well enough.”
The man seemed to absorb the words, but the ponderous expression becoming more prevalent indicated that he didn’t understand. They’d probably have to point at things to learn simple words before letting context clues fill in the gaps.
“Mandaltban, tanegurdin.” The man raised an arm and tapped his chest. “Neshi tin gast pal menitin rult.”
That was obviously some sort of introduction given the gesture. Sadly, figuring out which word was the name proved to be tricky. Did the man use the brief pause to point as his chest as a way to emphasize the name? Only one way to find out – point and speak, “Your name is Neshi?”
The man listened and then shook his head once he recognized the word. “Tasp, Neshi rulidag,” he said before pausing. The man seemed to think before pointing at his chest and speaking again, “Menitin rult.”
Wilfried had evidently guessed wrong. But the man made it obvious that Neshi was not his name. Context clues indicated that his name would either be ‘Menitin’ or ‘Rult.’ Wilfried’s face shifted into an openly thoughtful look as he pondered the words. ‘Rulidag’ and ‘rult’ seemed somewhat similar, but ‘rulidag’ did not appear in the full introduction sentence. Could they be the same word in different forms? That was possible, but far from guaranteed.
Wilfried allowed himself another moment to think. He eventually decided that ‘rult’ could be tried if he fucks this guess up. “You are Menitin?”
The man heard the word and gave Wilfried a smile and a nod. “Sha. Menitin.”
Wilfried let a smile of his own appear. “Well, nice to meet you, Menitin.”
The man – Menitin – listened to the words and gave a small nod at his name. He pointed towards Wilfried with his own hand. “Neppa tin gast pal ulk’ka rult bosh.”
Wilfried could recognize that some words were the same as Menitin’s introduction. It was clear that the man was asking for his name. “My name is Wilfried.” He pointed at his chest. “Wilfried.”
Menitin seemed to think for a bit before letting out what Wilfried assumed was a question. “Wilfried rult bosh?”
“Yes, my name is Wilfried.” He mimicked the man’s earlier smile and nod.
That was good. They knew each other’s names. Menitin seemed to be less tense. Wilfried was certainly less tense. It seemed like things were not going to be as dire as he worried about. But he still had a long way to go.
A good next step would be to try and say something in Menitin’s language. He would copy the man’s introduction. “Mandaltban, tanegurdin, “ Wilfried paused to point at himself, ”neshi tin gast pal Wilfried rult.”
Based on the snort, his sentence seemed to be amusing for some reason. He knew that some languages have different ways of speaking depending on age. Perhaps he said something that would sound weird from a young man?
“Neshi tin gast pal Wilfried rult.” He mostly got it right. The first part of his sentence was evidently the problematic portion.
Wilfried repeated the phrase and got a smile from the man.
Menitin smiled at Wilfried then shook his head. “Mandaltban, tanegurdin. Tasp.” He pointed to himself. “Tanegurdin rulidag.” The hand was then pointed over at Wilfried. “Tanegurdin rult.”
If Wilfried understood correctly, Menitin was indicating that he was not whatever ‘tanegurdin’ meant, but that Wilfried fit the criteria for ‘tanegurdin.’ The word ‘tasp’ seemed to mean ‘no’ or something similar. By this point, he felt confident enough to assert that ‘rult’ and ‘rulidag’ were indeed conjugations of the same word. Furthermore, Wilfried felt safe in assuming that ‘rult’ was a verb that indicated that something was. Therefore, ‘rulidag’ was likely the negative conjugation.
Just as Wilfried finished his thought, he noticed a message appear in his UI chatbox. ‘Language skill Berkut (Spoken) has been learned.’ Were skills just representations of knowledge in a similar manner to gear? If so, why would he have bonus xp?
Wilfried’s thoughts were violently interrupted by a sharp pain ripping through his skull. He let out a pained gasp as his hands attempted to massage his forehead. His eyes slammed shut in an attempt to stop the hurting. Voices echoed around him. They weren’t loud, but each sound sent a new jolt of pain into his head. The gibberish seemed to mix with words he could understand, blending into a vile noise fit only for some eldritch abomination.
The pain seemed to grow worse with each passing minute until Wilfried’s mind shut everything out. Eventually, the world slowly returned. He didn’t know how long he was out of it, but it seemed that the sun was beginning to set. The pounding in his skull had reduced to a minor headache. A few days ago he would have classified the headache as agonizing, but after going through that torture, he was willing to categorize his pain scale.
Nobody was in the room with him, but he could hear quiet talking from beyond the door. The words still seemed to send pulses of pain through his head, so he ignored any attempts to listen in. Instead, Wilfried was going to stare blankly at the wall until he could really think again. The health bar sitting in the corner of his vision taunted him with full health. Surely a migraine would at least provide some indication that he is not in the best of health. Despite his efforts at a distraction, the throbbing pain persisted.
A sudden movement caught his eye. At first he thought he saw something move along the floor. Perhaps a bug flying across the corner of his vision? It was a few seconds later that he realized that the UI sat at the corner of his vision; the chatbox just so happened to be located where he noticed movement. A smile overcame Wilfried as he viewed the many messages which had appeared in the time he was out of it.
Each message was almost identical. ‘Berkut (Spoken) is now level 19’ was the most recent message and presumably the movement he saw. The other messages were just for each preceding level.
All the pain started after he got the first message. Wilfried was willing to assume that the Berkut skill was the cause. It would make sense that his head hurt if it was getting a whole fucking language jammed into it. There was only one way to check.
Wilfried pushed himself off the bed while trying to ignore the nausea. Apparently he’d wound up in a sitting position during his pain induced nothingness. The room spun as he took a step forward. He wanted to vomit, but managed to hold it down. The door frame was a surprisingly nice place to lean on. It let him get a couple of breaths while the world stills.
After a moment, Wilfried felt he was able enough to continue. The door creaked open and the voices cut off.
“Are you feel better?” He was fairly certain that was Menitin. Speaking in English?
“Yes. How are you speaking English?”
Menitin looked confused for a moment before understanding replaced it. “English? I speak not. You have Berkut palkto. I knew Tanegurdin learn fast, but you speak good for a bell.”
He wasn’t speaking English? Were his words just being translated. Menitin seemed to understand what he was thinking and spoke, “You use palkto without thought. Words say as you think. You learn Berkut fast. Maybe your mind know how speak but you not catch up yet.”
Wilfried blinked. Menitin claimed that they were speaking in Berkut, but his mind was translating for him. If he correctly understood what the man was trying to say, his brain hadn’t had enough time to process all the new knowledge so everything was instinctual. “I think I understand. Can you tell me what palkto means. I do not recognize the word.”
“Palkto is like palkor from your gundkorma.” That explanation didn’t do anything to help.
“I didn’t understand any of the words you used to describe it.”
Menitin took a hand and stroked his chin. “I see. Do you understand what gund means?”
Wilfried did not know, though it did sound similar to ‘gunned.’ “Not unless the word means to use a firearm.”
The man shook his head before pointing up. “Gund is wise sky people. Sky people make land. Do you understand?”
“I think so.” Menitin’s description sounded like either aliens or gods. Given that the sky people ‘made the land,’ Wilfried figured gods were more likely.
“Good. Please sit.” Menitin gestured to a chair. “We will talk so you can learn. When your Berkut is good, we can talk. You learn fast. We talk for a bell. After that we talk. Do you understand?”
Wilfried nodded to Menitin. He would listen to the others talk to level up his skill enough to have a proper conversation. He sat down on the offered chair. It looked like his headache was not going away any time soon...