Trouble.

You are not used to this sort of terrain. Nice and even stone floors are your jam. The outdoor world is significantly harder to traverse, with all its plants and curved surfaces and nonsense. It wouldn't be so much of a problem if your legs were a little longer and your robe didn't reach all the way down to the ground, but you don't see yourself growing anytime soon and you refuse to take off your robe. It doesn't offer any physical protection or anything, but it plays the important role of protecting your frail dignity. You're silly-looking as it is, you don't need to also be running around naked.

Besides, you're pretty sure it's coded into your instincts to have an aversion to exposing yourself, because the mere thought of it is really uncomfortable. Probably to avoid compromising the whole faceless gimmick. Or there's no code behind it at all and you just have a terrible body image. Point is, the robe stays. Even though it causes you to stumble a lot more often than you otherwise would as you shuffle through the underbrush of the forest.

The ruins you came from were in a clearing, with trees rather sparsely spread out. Here, however, they grow much closer together. It's pretty dark despite being daytime still, only a few rays of sunlight managing to pierce through the leaves. You'd think a "dark" caster would have night vision, but nope. Your red little eyes squint just as much as a human's would in the murky forest.

Hence why you realize too late when you step off a cliff, and with a feeble squeak you roll down a steep hill like a little cloth-draped doll.

Why? This is the question you ask yourself as the ground levels out and you finally stop rolling. Why do these things always happen to you? Is there a hidden luck stat you're not aware of? Are you programmed to regularly become the victim of endearing misfortune? And how many levels until it stops?

The sound of someone clearing their throat snaps you back to reality and you look up from your position of lying face-down in the dirt.

...Uh-oh.

You're staring up at a mage. And not the dark kind like yourself, the hero kind. A young woman with a slender frame and short black hair, dressed in a modest blue robe that conceals her seemingly small bosom, and a blue, pointy hat with a wide brim, tilted a little to the side. You've seen that outfit many times before, it's probably common early-game gear.

She inspects you through golden eyes, one eyebrow raised while tapping her fingers on a gnarly wooden staff with a swirly shape at the upper end. "You're a little far from home, aren't you? Did you glitch out through a wall or something?"