Compared to when he last woke up, John found that sleeping on something other than the ground to be much more enjoyable. His dreams on the other hand, those were worse than an uncomfortable position.

The lucid dream he had the night before still nagged at him. A part of him, the rational one, knew that it was just the workings of his imagination, but still…

The pain of remembering was a new sort of pain. John had felt great pains before, sure. Physical pain was quite familiar as there was no shortage of strongarm tactics used in the crime industry. Mental pain also became an acquaintance during his stay in hell.

Pain of the heart was worse.

Like an ache that never abated. Like standing hunched in a room with a ceiling too close to the floor. Like a snake that couldn’t shed its skin.

The pain made him feel crippled in a way that was new. The newness was probably what made it hurt so bad in the first place. John had felt sad before, but he had never felt heartbreak.

The pain culminated not in screaming, or panicked pleas for an end, but in silent tears and soft sighs. There was no use in hysterics.

John was like Atlas, burdens weighed upon him like the weight of the world.

But just as there was no use in hysterical outbursts, there was no use in dwelling on it. John knew that much.

So, with an invisible weight to his actions, he opened his eyes to greet the day. It was sure to be full of oddness with his new friends involved. He hoped they were friends at least.

He could use a few.

***

The morning was actually rather subdued compared to their meeting last night. Then again, things were certainly more exciting when introductions start with a blade to the neck.

Without any belongings besides his shirt sack, the pants on his legs, and a plain looking pair of thin leather boots, he didn’t really have all that much to keep track of.

He put his too-small borrowed cot back where he found it in a closet off to the side of Vulgad’s tent, if that really was what he should call it.

Breakfast consisted of left-over meat from the night before. Apparently, Vulgad had a device to preserve food in his tent, because the meat was just as warm as when John ate it the night before.

‘Magic. Has to be magic.’

Content to sit and watch the two Dwarves go about their business, John sat in his spot from the previous night.

Vulgad walked in and out of his tent, putting cooking utensils presumably in his kitchen. Yes, the tent had a kitchen inside, John had seen it after taking a quick look around after getting up.

He was about to offer to help move the food prep table but was instead silenced by Vulgad’s actions.

The table was a heavy looking thing, solidly built with a slab of polished wood on top, a hand’s width thick, and four legs with the same width as his forearm. It certainly didn’t look like it would be taken out into the wilderness camping, but neither did a spatially manipulated tent for that matter.

Vulgad surprised John by easily lifting the table fully off the ground. The thing looked like it could only be dragged even with a couple men, but Vulgad treated it like it was a chair one would put at that table.

‘Freaking monster… damn, this system makes things weird as hell.’

Shaking his head, he then focused his attention to Baff.

John wasn’t immediately taken with the brash Dwarf, but there was something about him that made his attitude forgivable.

Clearly, he was young. John wasn’t sure how Dwarves aged. In fantasy they often lived far longer than Humans. For all he knew, Dwarves grew beards like Humans grew hair on their heads, so it was hard to see Baff for how young he acted.

Baff’s actions that morning were more interesting compared to the almost constantly stoic Vulgad. Because they were normal. Funny how John got more excited at normal things as he was surrounded by earth shattering wonders.

John snuck a peek into the half open tent of Baff. Breathing a sigh of relief. He was happy at least some things were normal.

Baff, getting up rather groggily, then actually spent time breaking down the tent. Besides a bed roll inside, it seemed that the young Dwarf carried very little else.

Baff’s practiced actions were done with impressive speed and soon the tent was rolled up and folded until it was easily capable of being carried with the small pack that Baff attached it to.

After completing his morning rituals behind a tree. Baff approached his master, who leaned against a large tree lost in thought with a silver inlaid pipe between his lips.

“Master, before we leave, can we do some more trainin’. I need to make up fer not doing it yesterday.”

The elder Dwarf lazily opened his eyes and slowly pulled his pipe from his lips.

“Oh-ho. Issat really why eh? Not because ye wanna show off now tha’ ye got an’ audience?”

Vulgad gestured in John’s direction.

It was a near thing, but John caught the blush forming underneath the beard on Baff’s face.

“N-no! I wanna get stronger to reclai- I mean, defend meself. Yea that’s it...”

Vulgad released the sigh of an exacerbated teacher. A sound that is well recognized by those who care for the young.

“Very well. Grab the practice sword, I’ve been neglectin’ ye swordplay.”

Stolen story; please report.

“Can’t I use tha axe? Me pa always carried an axe in tah battle.”

“Bah, ye know ‘ow ye father got so nimble with the axe, Baff?”

Baff tilted his head.

“By usin’ it, ‘ow else?”

Vulgad flicked his apprentice between the eyes faster than a viper’s lunge.

“Oww! What was tha’ for?”

“Fer thinkin’ there’s only one path to a destination ya dolt!”

Vulgad sighed and shook his head.

“Yer father was a master of the axe. No one would deny that. What most don’t know is ‘ow he got as good as ‘e did. Heh, I was wit’ him when he did his trainin’ as a young man. His prowess with the axe, as Dwarven of a weapon as it is, can be mostly credited to Elven swordplay Baff.”

“Ye lie! No self respectin’ Dwarf would ever learn anythin’ from those pansy arsed, knife eared, tree lovin’, cowar-!” *thwack*

Again, Vulgad flicked Baff. Audibly this time.

“Owwww! Tha’ was the same damn spot!”

“Baff, my patience is wearin’ thin lad. An’ I ‘ope to never ‘ear ye call the Elves cowards again. Their folk are anythin’ but tha’.”

Holding his fingers in a flicking position, Vulgad had a threatening tone in his next words.

“An’ be careful of accusing yer master of lyin’. Tha’ is something you’ll be severely punished for lad.”

Placing his pipe in a small travel pack, Vulgad changed the subject.

“Now go grab ye sword, I won’t ask a third time Baff.”

“Yes master. I ‘ear ye.”

Sitting on the sidelines, John couldn’t help the grin from forming on his face. Baff acting childish was refreshing in its own way.

The grin did not escape the attention of Vulgad.

“John. I assume you’ll be travelin’ wit’ us?”

“Oh, um, yeah. That is, if you don’t mind?”

“No, I don’t mind. But I’ll warn ye once, don’t be rude to Baff. Tease an’ rib the boy, sure, but he’s a good lad. Understand me?”

John wiped the grin from his face.

“Yes, yes I do.”

“Good, now I’ll have tah warn ye that you’ll be pullin’ as much weight as I think ye can handle as we travel.”

“I’d expect nothing less. I feel a bit useless just sittin’ here.”

“Great, then I ‘ave yer first task for ye. ‘ere catch.”

John caught the bag that was thrown to him. Looking inside, he saw a large number of smooth round stones. He sent a questioning glance to Vulgad.

“Yer gonna be helpin’ Baff wit’ his trainin’. Don’t let him think ye enjoy it too much.”

***

Some minutes later Baff stood in front of Vulgad. In his right hand was a longsword which, while Dwarf sized, was not all that small. Adorning Baff’s body was a set of leather armor with excessive outer padding, clearly meant for training purposes.

Vulgad wore no armor. He probably didn’t need it because of some absurd stats from the system.

‘Level 4, Either he has a couple attributes well above rank 4, or he’s more balanced around rank 4.’

Vulgad had no sword, instead using a metal capped stick of about the same size as Baff’s blade.

John, the ‘shirtless manling’ as Baff had taken to calling him, had his stones.

According to Vulgad, John’s job was to throw stones at Baff while they sparred. Baff’s goal was to both dodge the stones and focus on his opponent. It was meant to train his situational awareness. Sure looked intense too, but then again, it wasn’t his problem.

Causing pain was much more preferable to receiving it.

Baff charged towards his master. His sword was already in motion as he approached.

“Hahhhh!”

With a nonchalant expression, Vulgad sidestepped the attack. The stick in his hand connecting with the back of Baff’s knee. It was enough to take the dwarf down.

“Ferocity ‘as its place in battle, but ye never use only ferocity. That’s an easy way to get yerself impaled on tha blades of calmer minds.”

John found himself nodding in agreement. He was no hardcore fighter, but he had been in his fair share of back alley scuffles. Dumb kids with knives swinging wildly tend to overextend themselves. Not unlike how Baff tried to attack.

Baff himself had regained his stance. His excitement sated, and his pride humbled.

This time, the young Dwarf approached cautiously. Blade forward in a guarding position.

Humoring his apprentice, Vulgad lashed out with a testing slash from the right.

Still harboring some of his bloodthirst, Baff blocked the stick. Taking advantage of the immobilized weapon, he then took a step inward. In such close quarters Baff turned the battle of technique into one of power.

Vulgad had the advantage in power, there was no doubt about that, but he had claimed in the beginning that he would fight with strength equal to Baff. Instead of overpowering his apprentice, the master outwitted him.

Vulgad used the close range of Baff to land a particularly brutal punch to the midsection.

The move was one John saw coming as soon as the two got closer. Its what he would have done were he in that position.

Baff was gasping on the ground as the older Dwarf spoke once again.

“Changin’ the terms of tha battle is useful strategy, so long as ye don’t put yerself at a disadvantage in the new circumstances. For now Baff, It’d be more useful to just practice swordplay, rather than tryin’ tah find ways out of it. Maybe ye can last long enough for John ‘ere to get a stone or two thrown at ye.”

Raising to his feet, Baff’s face did not reflect the petulance that John expected. The apprentice’s eyes were hardened like steel when he faced his master again.

“Yes master. I’ll do me best!”

This was a new Baff sparring with his master. His personality had gone from fire to ice. Calculating eyes studied his master and glanced to the stone in John’s hand too.

Vulgad smiled.

“Well come on then! Show me yer best!”

Baff proceeded to do so.

This time, each move was contemplated. The risk of each movement was assessed and decided upon accordingly. Vulgad looked quite pleased.

Baff drew his sword arm back into what would have been a well-timed chop. If at that moment a stone didn’t impact into the Dwarf’s armpit. The resulting twitch costing him dearly as an iron capped stick impacted against his now undefended side.

“Always watch yer surroundin’s Baff! Warriors far greater than you an’ I ‘ave been felled by the coward’s arrow while in heated combat.”

“Yes master!”

***

The next hour or so passed with Baff either being battered by his master or being pelted by stones.

The session ended with Vulgad looking to the sky.

“Its gotten late enough in the morning Baff. We best be movin’. I won’t be one to test the ‘ospitality of the Halflings”

The battered young Dwarf nodded his agreement. He panted too hard to agree.

“This is why we train when we make camp Baff. Now you’ve a days worth of walkin’ ahead of ye.”

The old Dwarf looked to John and gave a smile. Sometimes lessons are best learned the hard way.

John himself had been pretty quiet the whole time. He was content to just listen to the Dwarves and give answers when asked.

Now, he was ready to start asking questions. Its not that he had to work his nerve up to talk to the powerful little man, totally not!

“Hey Vulgad. Can I ask you a question?”

“Hmm? Sure manling, ask away.”

“Well, you said we’re in Halfling territory, but we don’t have them where I’m from. What are they?”

“Is that so? Never met anyone who’d never met a ‘alflin’ before.”

John inwardly cringed at how out of place he made himself look.

“Where tah start… Ah! Maybe ye have a different name fer ‘em? I’ve known them to be called Fey in some places. It’s the older name of the buggers. Back when they weren’t united under their king.”

John had heard of Fey before. Not exactly sure what the Dwarf meant by the name, he hesitantly nodded.

“I’ve heard the name Fey before. Magical creatures of some sort right?”

“Yer not too off base there. A Halfling is about the same height as a Dwarf, but with the build of ye tall folk. They also have wings, like a butterfly’s. The name ‘Halfling’ comes from their nature. They exist in two realms at once. We see their physical forms, but they also exist in the realm of dreams, and can fully withdraw there to escape us mortals.”

“They’re not mortal?”

“No, their folk don’t age like us men an’ dwarves do. They’re one of tha few races on Cuerus that can be present at both the birth and death of Elves an’ Dragons. They have tongues keener than the sharpest blade and minds wiser than the stones of the depths.”

Vulgad had an odd expression as he spoke. Perhaps remembering something from the past.

John thought better than to pry. The Dwarf had experienced unfathomable things, of that there was little doubt.

Instead, he settled for changing the subject.

“So, how do you pack up that tent there?”

He gestured to the large tent housing a room bigger than their whole campsite.

Vulgad didn’t answer. He just walked over to the tent and spoke a few words.

“Zera alanar formis belada!”

The tent shrank into a ring, like you'd wear on your finger.

John was shocked. Not because of the tent, but because of what he saw in the air corresponding to Vulgad’s words.

‘The hell? Those are runes!’