He'd been in RhyDin a week, maybe more, a rootless vagabond and victim of the warp like so many others before him.
While it might be said that being tossed out of the general ignorance of a medieval Scottish society was a harsher transition than some had to make, the young Roderick Douglas had weathered it well enough; perhaps it was the fairy tales his mother'd told him as a child, tales which he'd loved above all else, and fired his imagination.
And here they were, come to life.
Witches, elves, fairies, and more modern things inconceivable to one from Earth's 15th century Europe abounded, and a time or two after arrival he might have lost his life, or worse, on RhyDin city's mean streets had he not been a wary fighter to his core. Perhaps it was the inherent danger of the place that had finally driven him inside, to what seemed the busiest tavern around, the Red Dragon. Or perhaps fortune, or the Christian god of Roderick's people, had led him there that day.
For it was there he'd met Aliss Cameron, a co-owner of a large, local horse farm. Though she seemed a shy lass, she had actually approached the kilted Scot first for conversation. Shedding pride once he'd learned of her vocation, he'd immediately asked about work, horses being something Roderick could comprehend, a potential anchor in the confusing morass which his life had suddenly become.
She'd instructed him to head for the farm the very next day to seek out her brother Nick, telling him that lunchtime would be best. If she'd said arrive before dawn, he'd have done so, already feeling the pinch of homelessness even after so short a time in the city; the lad was hungry, and the small supply of silver he'd managed to scrounge in a competitive barfight was quickly draining away.
He spent some of that last silver on a good comb and a bath, and had washed his kilt in the nearest, clearest stream he could find that morning before his interview, so that when he arrived precisely on time at the appointed hour to the Cameron Horse Farms, he looked his dazzling best (and was probably cleaner than he'd been in months, to boot). A bright smile lit his features as he sought out Nick Cameron, as per the written directions Aliss'd given him. And hopefully he'd see the bonny lass herself somewhere about, but business must always come first to a properly raised Scot.
While it might be said that being tossed out of the general ignorance of a medieval Scottish society was a harsher transition than some had to make, the young Roderick Douglas had weathered it well enough; perhaps it was the fairy tales his mother'd told him as a child, tales which he'd loved above all else, and fired his imagination.
And here they were, come to life.
Witches, elves, fairies, and more modern things inconceivable to one from Earth's 15th century Europe abounded, and a time or two after arrival he might have lost his life, or worse, on RhyDin city's mean streets had he not been a wary fighter to his core. Perhaps it was the inherent danger of the place that had finally driven him inside, to what seemed the busiest tavern around, the Red Dragon. Or perhaps fortune, or the Christian god of Roderick's people, had led him there that day.
For it was there he'd met Aliss Cameron, a co-owner of a large, local horse farm. Though she seemed a shy lass, she had actually approached the kilted Scot first for conversation. Shedding pride once he'd learned of her vocation, he'd immediately asked about work, horses being something Roderick could comprehend, a potential anchor in the confusing morass which his life had suddenly become.
She'd instructed him to head for the farm the very next day to seek out her brother Nick, telling him that lunchtime would be best. If she'd said arrive before dawn, he'd have done so, already feeling the pinch of homelessness even after so short a time in the city; the lad was hungry, and the small supply of silver he'd managed to scrounge in a competitive barfight was quickly draining away.
He spent some of that last silver on a good comb and a bath, and had washed his kilt in the nearest, clearest stream he could find that morning before his interview, so that when he arrived precisely on time at the appointed hour to the Cameron Horse Farms, he looked his dazzling best (and was probably cleaner than he'd been in months, to boot). A bright smile lit his features as he sought out Nick Cameron, as per the written directions Aliss'd given him. And hopefully he'd see the bonny lass herself somewhere about, but business must always come first to a properly raised Scot.