Why the Dirt is so Odd

The first thing that Ken noticed was that he wasn't walking anymore. From his point of view, he had just been crossing a street, but now he was sprawled out face down on the ground. "The hell-?" he sputtered. He slowly lifted his torso off the ground, and propped himself up on his elbows. He fingered the ground and rolled the mud between two fingers. He was caked in the muck from head to toe. He was taken aback because something about the mud bothered him. "It's darker?" He asked himself. From merely the color of the earth, Ken instantly realized he was far, far away from home. He finally decided to look up and examine his surroundings. He felt like and idiot.

If he had took a second to look up instead of studying the soil, he would've already known he probably wasn't even in his own country anymore. He seemed to be in somebody's backyard. The house closest to him was a story tall and no bigger than a large shed from a hardware store. It had timber framing and the walls between the wood were once whitewashed, but no longer. It occurred to Ken that he'd seen this kind of house before in movies. "Must be old as dirt," he murmured. He looked around more, and gathered that there were similar houses around him, and from the turrets on the horizon that he must've been in the middle of some great city. The sky was blue and clear, with no clouds in sight. He gathered himself to his feet, attempted to dust off the caked-on mud, and started walking past the house. He crossed over a woven fence and found himself on a worn dirt road. This dirt was dry and not as dark, as a result of wear from foot travel.

"'Bout twelve, I'd say," he indeed said, eyes to the heavens. He noticed there were people around, and he wasn't surprised to see that they wore old, roughly made clothes. Wives hung up laundry, Mothers nursed their children, and men walked alongside their donkeys. "I must be in some really poor part of Europe," he thought to himself, "Eastern, maybe?" He spaced out and started walking alongside a donkey being pulled by a small man.

Ken didn't want to bother anybody, so he started to just follow the flow of traffic. Eventually, the dirt turned to gravel and he realized he wasn't anywhere on earth that he knew of. He had happened to see several unfamiliar races, and he merely accepted their existence without a second thought.

"Sir!"

Ken's head swung around to the source of the voice. It was an elf seemingly in her teens. Ken pointed to himself, silently asking for confirmation.

"Yeah, you! Come over here."

Ken cut through the crowd and made his way to the curious elf.

"What'd you need, miss?" He asked. His eyes pored over the elf. Her hair was chestnut, and naturally fell onto her shoulders. Her eyes were an incredibly clear hazel. Her skin was pure and clear of any sign of blemishes. She wore a rough brown tunic that was adorned with white frills and glossy silver. She stood behind the counter of a market stall. Various clothes and textiles were draped over displays. She bore a practiced smile typical of experienced merchants.

"Say, what kind of material is that jacket?" She inquired with a calculated tilt of her head.