I regained consciousness in the midst of a forest. Tall, burly oak trees created a shaded canopy across the ferns and brush. I could hear the chittering of small animals and the wind through branches. The smell of moss and fungi was permeating that breeze, earthy and robust. I tasted dirt.

  I was faceplanted in the dirt.

  Propping my body up with a groan, I rolled onto my ass and sat back, wiping my face off with one hand. Mud and clay flopped onto my wool shirt. It was thin, a grayed and dusted white color. I wore what felt like the tightest pants ever around my animalistic legs. They were more like annoyingly tight shorts, ending at the knee joint, with a belt around my hips and a cheap tin buckle. They had pockets, as did the belt with various pouches, but it was tight for a very obvious reason. I tried shifting it around a bit, and while it was funny to flop some like a small hose, standing up and talking a few steps, I quickly realized it was a huge pain. Fur on sensitive areas didn't feel good, and I'd need a jockstrap sooner than I needed to figure out where I was.

  I had a big bag on my back, heavy with what I could hear after a bit of rustling must've been my armor. I had the mace looped on my belt with the crossbow underneath the bag, strapped to the sac. Shield over the top of the backpack, adorned with the crest of what looked like a giant willow tree, painted green. Around my neck was the same symbol on a pendant. Lastly, some rope on the side of the bag, with my other belongings presumably inside.

  "Damn... why does it have to be so fucking heavy..."

  I mumbled, trying to adjust the leather straps as best as I could to fit them better to my body. The thin shoulder profile cut off blood flow, and the straps themselves dug in, seemingly through the shirt and into my skin. If it weren't for the scales on the back of my neck, the rough leather from the bag would've chaffed it. Not to mention the bag itself felt exorbitantly heavy.

  Standing up was troublesome, but not exhausting. My constitution was above average and in good health, but I would be tired for sure from hiking around with this thing.

  My memory had picked up not terribly long after the character's backstory had ended. My house had been burned down, the laboratory destroyed, and I'd left town in search of work. I was 13 gold coins up, not much in the scheme of things. This could afford me food, shelter, and water for a good while at almost any town, but anything substantial, like better gear or items, would cost more.

  My brain went on its own logistical ramble, mathing out how long I could subsist off of little to nothing with this amount of money. Why was I worried? Wasn't this a dream? I suppose that was the first thing to test.

  ...

  Hooves clopped along grass and brush as I ventured through the woods. The sun shone through like tiny wisps of honey onto the forest floor, almost making the dew-covered leaves sparkle if I looked around right. Yet this revealed my first issue. That was how I imagined it would have looked if I had good vision. Right now? That may have looked like a tree. I couldn't tell a bush from a boulder. Getting around was a matter of using my horns to brush past smaller branches and ducking under larger blobs that made up the others. Is this how my younger brother lived without glasses? Just... feeling around? Every step made me worry I would fall over and break an arm.

  How was I going to see? Had I not ever asked my parents about glasses? A monocle? Anything? Good gods. I was squinting to see even just a few inches farther, but it wasn't helping. My bag was getting heavier, and after walking for what felt like hours, I tried to remember which way I needed to go. Getting an idea of where North was based on the sun, I knew the nearest town was a dozen or so miles from my last one. A place called Brudside, as I recall. Known for its orchards, lumber, and alcohol. I doubted they'd have glasses available, since that was my biggest issue. I couldn't see for squat. I at least knew which direction to go, thankfully.

  Traveling was painful. The sun continued to move through the sky, and by the time it hit nightfall, I had no clue how far I'd gone. Without a map or any navigation tools, and no understanding of this body's traveling pace, I had no way of telling how far I had gone. I couldn't even be sure if I hadn't already gone through this neck of the woods since I couldn't tell what was what. By the time the sun had set, I was bone tired.

  My legs were sore, my back hurt, my shoulders hurt, my arms had fallen asleep from a lack of blood flow, and I was covered in scratches and cuts from branches from head to hoof. I found a tree, made my way into a small divot between its roots, and sat down, putting my bag beside me. I pulled my legs close to my body and groaned, sighing on the exhale. Travel was always waived aside in the games I played, and even in my grittier games, I never got this serious about the details. Still, I was learning some things.

  My darkvision was better than my daytime vision. I didn't know if I had somehow gotten sunlight sensitivity or what, but my darkvision worked as normal. Darker and dimmer patches of the forest were much, much easier to see in, and while I could only see in shades of black and white, I was much more comfortable moving through those areas than the ones in direct sunlight. It was only out to a certain radius, but that was better than my regular one-foot radius of vision. I had also learned this was, in fact, not a dream. I had emptied my waterskin and the half-empty bottle both to get myself to urinate. After marking a few trees, I came to the conclusion that if that amount of liquid went down without being weird, like a dream, and if using the bathroom multiple times hadn't woken me up, I wasn't dreaming.

  I wasn't sure how to feel about it. Was everything I knew just... gone? My whole life leading up to my third year of college just vanished? Where was my actual body? Was my soul in a character's body I created, or did I swap souls with the character I had made? If I died in this world, would I die back in my real body? Was it even my real body if I was stuck here? Could I rely on anything in this realm making sense if it was from a fucking tabletop game played by nerds and sweaty losers?

  I couldn't know for sure, not in the woods. I imagined higher beings would know, interdimensional gods and travelers. A big maybe. There were creatures in D&D whose power was supposedly enough to shape reality multiple times over. If I could somehow ask them and get an honest answer, maybe I could figure that out. Did I need to hide my identity at all? was the next question. Had I possessed this body? Swapped souls with Chagrin when I lay down in bed that night? If I acted as normal and not possessed by some kid from the 20th century, it would be fine, right? I had all of Chagrin's memories and knowledge, and still retained all of my own. Not much else, though; it seemed really the only thing that had over me was his brains. That, and being the son of an incubus, but aside from that, just his brains.

  That was the other thing. This body sucked. I was skinny, couldn't carry much, yet I was fat, and overly heavy in the worst places, like my back and my gut. My belt and pants felt too tight, my shirt was too loose, and my legs made me look like a ham on sticks. With wings, that only made it worse. The reason I wasn't flying was that all of my gear already made me encumbered. Just the explorer's pack and scale mail armor was busting my carry capacity, which I wouldn't clock in anything higher than ninety pounds. My mace felt heavy in my hands, to the point where I questioned if any skill with the weapon would make up for the fact that I could hardly swing it. My shield felt like a big wooden pallet, and I didn't want to imagine what wearing the armor would feel like.

  If I did some mental math and assumed I could travel at least 8 miles a day, given I was stumbling through thick woods at a slow pace, it would take me about a week on foot to get to the next town. I had 10 days' worth of rations, and I could create enough water with magic to sustain myself. That covered basic necessities. I could use produce flame to make fire just fine, and paired with my bedrol, I wouldn't need to worry too terribly about the cold at night. The real danger was what could be lurking in the woods. Goblins, orcs, kobolds, evil plants, bears, giant animals, the works. Any of those could pose an immediate threat to me, to where I would have little chance of winning the fight or escaping, given my shitty eyesight. If I traveled as stealthily as one could like this, it would delay my travel, but I would have a lesser chance of running into anything.

  The alert feat was nice for this as well. I wasn't any better at spotting any possible threats or danger, but I could tell when one was nearby enough to be watching me. It wasn't as insane as danger sense that barbarians get, which could be compared to a spidey-sense, but it did make me more attentive, almost paranoid. My big ears came in clutch, in that sense. Twig snaps, leaves crunching, birds stop singing. Things like that could notify me of danger.

  I decided to get up, haul my bag back on, and get moving again. If I traveled at night, my eyesight would do me better than during the day. I could rest in daylight, when monsters were hopefully less active, and maybe a passerby could help me. At the very least, traveling at night could help me hide better in the darkness. It was cold, sure, but god bless wool. Avoiding stream crossings and puddles kept my boots dry, and taking the path of least resistance helped. I was still tired, but I kept moving. I may as well become nocturnal if my eyes demand it this much. Grayscale vision was another adjustment.

  It was similar to how dogs should see things, but without the incredible sense of smell. Anything past the first thirty feet was dimmer, darker, and anything past the thirty feet after that was darkness. My horizon line was small, but better than during the day, when it was a foot.

  I kept walking. It got colder as night pressed on, and I got more and more tired. I'd threaten exhaustion soon, and I still had days and days to go to get to town. This was going to suck.

  ...

  As dawn approached based on the steady purpling of the sky, I had come up with a plan.

  First, I needed to reach town safely. Objective number one. Town meant consistent access to food, water, shelter, and approximate safety. Possible places to find work and earn some money. This was all based on the hope that the god I worshipped, Eldath, had a temple or sanctuary there. Otherwise, I would need to test my luck with the inns, which, as a tiefling, would very likely mean terrible service, terrible rooms, and worse prices.

  Second, I needed to get equipment. Ball bearings, caltrops, spell scrolls if I could find them, component pouches, healing potions, a healer's kit, a spellbook, ink and quills, and hopefully a dagger. I was no good with the mace; it was too heavy, and I had no applicable strength to wield it. A dagger, I could better make use of my dexterity. I could cut things. I could throw it around if need arose. Ball bearings and caltrops would be good for area control since I lacked substantial AOE spells. More than anything, though, I desperately needed a Bag of Holding. Heward's Handy Haversack. Something to make up for my lack of strength. A pack animal. A companion. Anything, really.

  Thirdly. Friends. I needed allies. A cleric is survivable at best on their own. Party members who can support and protect them are far better. Sanctuary could save my skin in a pinch, but I needed some kind of protection.

  I couldn't get the second two without the first. When dawn broke, I collapsed under a series of large roots by a creek, dropped my bedroll and set it up with a kick, before lying down and passing out. Learning to sleep with no pillow, giant horns, a tail, and a fucking horse dick between your legs was annoying. Not to mention hooves that threatened to tear the bottom of the bedroll open every hour.

  ...

  I woke up to the sound of rain and the loud grumbling of water. The creek, smooth and slow the previous night, had nearly grown to a river by the time I woke up past noon. It didn't take a genius with no vision to understand it had nearly snatched him downstream had I not woken up earlier. Scrambling with a sore body to roll up my bedding and toss my stupidly heavy bag over my shoulder, I shambled up the riverbed and got back into the woods. I quickly became drenched in water from head to hoof, my hair drooping down into my eyes as the grooves in my horns became spouts for water to pour from. Everything in my bag and on my person was soaked. Not that it mattered; there wasn't much to soak in the first place, save for maybe some dried meats. I plopped my bag in the grassy mud and tore it open, pulling out my bottle and water skin, doing what I could to fill the two with rain for the next couple of minutes. After stuffing some rations in my dripping pouches, I hefted my bag again and continued walking.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  It was humid with the rain now, and my shorts felt worse and worse to wear. My groin fucking hurt, and I wasn't liking it one bit. Given it was the middle of the woods, miles from any town or road I knew of, I dropped my bag again and, during the middle of the downpour, took them off and tore them along the seam on one side. This was much harder than I anticipated, since I hardly had the strength to set my bag down carefully. I ended up having to use my sharp teeth rather than just my hands to do this, and I did the same to separate the leather from the fabric. I turned the shorts into what I would prefer to call a kilt, but it would be more appropriately called a loincloth. Regrettably, it didn't bother covering everything either. I took the belt, and after some shuffing and awkward jostling, I tucked up for the first time ever. It was a very, very odd sensation. More comfortable than before, certainly, but colder too. Having my family jewels to the open air was kind of nice, though, even if with the loincloth, they were still a bit visible. I just hoped I wouldn't encounter any gnomes or something.

  I went on. Hours passed, and the rain didn't stop. It went on into the night, and while I could have stayed up longer and seen better, I was freezing. Any torches I tried to light had already been damp for too long to do anything. Produce flame was something, but it wasn't like a continual flame or a lantern. It took my attention away from walking, having to re-cast it every ten minutes, but it was warm enough to keep my core fine. The yellow skin on my fingers had grown clammy and pale, graying as I continued to lose body heat.

  Eventually, dawn began to break, and the clouds overhead began to move, revealing stars. Finding a somewhat decent spot to rest for the day, I set up camp and slept.

  ...

  Wake up. Eat. Drink. Walk. Sleep. Repeat. Wake up. Eat. Drink. Walk. Sleep. Repeat. Over and over again, for days, without seeing anyone in the woods. Animals, sure. The birds, a squirrel, the rare fox, or deer here and there. Fish in the creeks and ponds. It felt like it went on for ages.

  When day four finally hit m,e and I was walking along a deer trail, I finally hit a road. A road! Stamped dirt, pebbles, rocks, and pathetic excuses for ditches on each side, but a road! Sure, traveling on the road was possibly more dangerous than the woods, given bandits, ambushes, and so on, but it was also more rewarding if people could go by. I could offer money or healing in exchange for a ride, estimates on how far town was, or maybe even just a looser set of fucking pants.

  In the dark, I walked along the road with swifter feet and rejuvenated spirits. I thanked Eldath with a quick clasp of my hands, offering a silent prayer to her grace. I wasn't sure if real-world gods existed in D&D and whether or not I could introduce Catholicism to goblins, but this would have to do for now, since I think the only thing keeping me from avoiding danger in these woods was her and holding my breath whenever I heard a crunch.

  It was maybe midnight, based on the moon's position. By now, everything I owned had dried, and I was no longer soaking. I hadn't bathed much, so I smelled like sulfur and rainwater more strongly than any bear dung I had come across. Yet it was at this time that I probably looked like a crazy person wandering around the woods when I heard wood rolling on gravel. From behind me, being pulled at a decent pace by a donkey, was a small cart being driven by a halfling. He had light hair, was wearing trousers and a thick wool coat, and his well-used cart was filled with what looked to be cabbage and potatoes. I heard him coming from a bit away, and I quickly thought to myself.

  How could I get him to stop? He could probably smell me before he could see me. Would I hail him down? Would he think I was robbing him? I was carrying weapons, but I wasn't wearing armor. This was my first contact with another race since I had arrived here, and I wasn't completely sure how it would go. Chagrin had been treated poorly by people closest to where his parents had lived, hundreds of miles away, closer to the cities. Were people further out in the country better? They presumably saw worse things and experienced worse than the odd sight of a tiefling in town, surely not?

  As they got closer and the light of the hooded lantern dangling from the wooden seat got closer, I raised my hand and gave a wave over my head, knowing the native desperation on my face would be more telling than anything I could really say.

  "Whoa, whoa!" He said as he pulled the reins back on his mud-covered donkey.

  He looked at me for a moment, his careful eyes going up and down a few times. I could tell he was more concerned about the weapons I was carrying than the fact that I was of evil blood.

  "Need a ride?" The halfling asked, his tone flat.

  "Please, sir. I just need to get to town." I said, stopping myself from stating why, or how my house had been burned, or how I was hungry for the fresh vegetables he was carrying, or how I wished I had met a damn orc instead of a halfling so I could ask if he had an extra set of pants.

  "I see that emblem on your shield. My son back home is sick. I'll bring you to town if you can heal him."

  I hesitated. I didn't have any spells that could cure diseases. If I couldn't follow through on this promise, I was worried I'd end up getting forced out of town again.

  "I can try, sir. I can at least alleviate whatever pain he's in." I said solemnly.

  "Works for me, get in." He was probably the most gruff halfling I'd ever seen. Well, the only one, but from the books, halflings were always described as jolly.

  What was I talking about? His son was sick, possibly dying. Nobody could bear to be jolly like that.

  I walked around to the back of his cart and tried to haul my bag up onto it. After struggling, I turned around and jumped in order to loft it onto the cart. I climbed in myself, lying against my backpack and resting my head. I didn't need to worry too terribly about travel time now- at this pace, on a road? I would be there by morning. The rocking back and forth of the cart made it next to impossible to get some sleep, but my sleep schedule was already screwed anyway. I opted to pray, thanking Eldath for this man's mercy, and hers.

  ...

  Town steadily came into view as dawn broke again. My vision was getting worse as we approached the coming light, but I could see that past the treeline we were leaving were rolling hills of fruit and nut trees for miles and miles. Grass is kept short by ranging goats and cattle, with ducks waddling between to eat bugs. Bat houses were spaced around as well, presumably to work at night, too. We passed by rows of stumps and piles of lumber with the bark up, some with mushrooms growing out of them, others already being sawed apart and tossed into the river towards what I could assume to be a lumber mill. The road grew smoother as larger stones made up the path, until by daybreak I could make out the shapes of people, small shops and stores, and some residential homes, and the sounds of the market in the town square, buzzing with early morning labor. He stopped by a small home on the other side of town where we had entered, no doubt getting multiple gazes as he carried a tiefling in the back of his ride.

  I stepped out of the cart with a hushed groan of exhausted pain, before saddling my rucksack again and turning to try and find the blob of color that made up the halfling man. He got off the cart as well, leading the donkey to what looked like a small shack on the side of his house. I couldn't make out the details of his home very well; all I could tell was that I would need to crouch down when going inside. Windowed, mostly comprised of wood and stone, and with a bit of smoke billowing out of a cobbled chimney in the roof. The halfling came back around to the front after a minute and had me follow him inside.

  The door opened with a low creak, and I ducked my horns down to get inside. I had to crouch, but there was still some room for me to get around. Wooden flooring, a small living room, a tiny kitchen area, and two doors to what looked like bedrooms. He led me through one room to where his son was lying in bed. Even shorter and smaller than his father, the boy had a wet cloth over his head and a bucket filled with barf by the nightstand. He was bundled up in blankets, and the kid's face was pale. By halfling standards, he was maybe 16, but by human standards, she was easily double Chagrin's age. I stumbled in, still hauling my bag, and sat beside the bed. Glancing at the father, memories of learning basic medicine and patient care sprang to mind. Chagrin had learned very, very rudimentary medicine using herbs, plants, and cures native to the land. Chagrin's knowledge of the herbs and plants used was exceptional compared to that of a regular person, but his understanding of how they worked on the body and how to spot the kind of disease someone had was very different. From what I could understand, the kid just had a horrible fever and needed good food, water, rest, and maybe some cold medicine. So, that is exactly what I did.

  "May I use anything you have on hand?" I asked.

  "Whatever's in the home. Hopefully you can do something I haven't already tried." He replied.

  I left towards his kitchen, heading to gather items Chagrin knew better than I. Leaves, weird roots they had stored in jars, he was rather quick with it. Using a mortar and pestle, grinding a few of the plants, and mixing them with some liquids in the cabinets, Chagrin's practiced intelligence produced a dull brown mixture. I muttered continual prayers as I worked, casting guidance throughout the process, hoping Eldath would help me. I brought the cup with the cold mixture to the boy, steadily helping him drink it.

  It went down in odd chunks, but he swallowed nonetheless, and the dullness in his face faded some instantly. I replaced the wet cloth on his head and gave him a healing word, a spell I had access to. If the disease or poison had truly harmed him in some fashion, this would rejuvenate him enough for the father to take him to a temple or doctor who could better treat him.

  "Take Eldath's embrace, and be healed," I said quietly, my hand out over the boy's chest. A minor, radiant glow flew out of my mouth with the last word, heading to his chest and filling the boy. More color returned to his face, but he remained unconscious for now. Turning to the man again, his expression was different.

  We stared at one another for a moment. I couldn't tell if he wanted to tell me to get out of his house for wasting his time bringing me to town, or if he wanted to thank me for healing his son. Either way, I knew he was disappointed the cleric he found wasn't able to fully awaken his son.

  "The boy should recover soon enough. Keep feeding him, caring for him. He should be stable enough now to travel to another area if you want to look for a more qualified doctor. If you give me until tomorrow, I will be able to receive a prayer to identify his illness. I understand if you do not wish to wait that long." I said, quietly.

  "I'll come find you tomorrow. Save me money to not have them test him." He said softly.

  I found it odd how even now he was thinking about saving money, but then again, this was a fantasy realm. While magic helped in all sorts of ways, I was sure, there was no doubt it caused as many problems as it solved. From what I understood based on his reaction to my healing word, it wasn't uncommon, but even something like second-level spells like lesser restoration were hard to come by.

  "I'll take my leave. I need to find somewhere to stay. Thank you for bringing me to Brudside." With that, he only nodded, and I stepped out of the room and left his home.

  Back outside, it was a short but painful walk back into town. Over a small cobbled bridge across the river I saw logs and scrappy planks floating down towards a brown blob in the distance I assumed again was the lumber mill. I could hear people pounding away at what I imagined would be a smithy somewhere deeper into the village, and the much louder sounds of arguing and bartering at the town square where all the commerce was.

  I needed actual pants. I was avoiding the small, tiny blobs that were children running around, so I wouldn't be labeled a pervert, given how I didn't have half-decently covering undergarments. I wandered almost aimlessly, staying close to the walls of the shops to try and read or find anything that said tailor. Regrettably, I couldn't find one. Instead, I found an inn. The sign read 'Bloodied Bard' or something like that, with a carving of a lute over the words. I walked in, and, given it was early morning, a few people were checking out of their rooms for the night. Common travelers. A human couple who gave me the side eye as I made my way to the back of the line. A dwarven trader who looked to be nearing nobility status, clearly sick of the slow service, and a surprisingly cute woman in very colorful clothes, with a harp on her hip and a backpack with rope on the side. She was hiding weapons, as far as I could see. A few daggers in her boots, and a knife hidden up a sleeve. A bard, clearly. Adventuring wasn't uncommon, it looked like. Not from Chagrin's memories either; his father often requested work from mercenaries and the like to help deal with beasts getting too close to his indentured servants' fields.

  I waited my turn in line, and after the dwarven trader argued for an extra ten minutes over the price of his stay, I got to have my turn. The gentleman at the desk was still standing after his conversation with the dwarf, but he promptly sat down and turned away to some papers as I approached the desk. I assumed he was busy working on something before getting to me, so I continued to wait. After a few beats, he spoke without so much as glancing at me.

  "Get out."

  I paused. What?

  "I have mo-"

  "I just said get out."

  I plopped 5 gold coins onto the desk. This was already pissing me off, and it was only my first encounter. He stared at the money before looking away again.

  "You get two nights." He grabbed a key from under the desk, rusted and tiny.

  "Your room is at the end of the hall. Don't make a mess, and for the love of the gods don't have anyone over."

  I took the key after he placed it by the money, before I made my way up to the room. It is on the other side of the inn, with the bottom of the door covered in mold. Room 13, how fitting. I tried the door, and again, and again. It took three separate attempts to open it before the key finally carved through enough rust to open it. I shut it behind me and didn't even bother to scope the rest of the room. I plopped the bag down onto the floor and collapsed onto the bed. By the time I inhaled what had to have been a few weeks' worth of dust, I had already passed out.