After a bit of waiting, one of the aliens came forward with an odd, bounding gait. It was incredibly difficult to distinguish the aliens from each other, but this one had a wide nose and a slightly more muscular build than the rest, so Tamara supposed he was a male. A pair of gray eyes regarded them from below a hairless brow, the expression on the alien’s face calm and serene. He stopped a couple of steps away from Tamara, then bowed his head.

“Greetings, Reapers. My name is Nikanonakin, leader of this caravan. What can I help you with?”

There was a moment of pause, during which Tamara and Randel looked at each other. This wasn’t how Tamara had imagined this encounter would go, and by the looks of it, neither had Randel.

“Hello,” Randel spoke. “My name is Randel, and she is Tamara. So … you can speak our language?”

“Naturally,” the alien said, gray lips curling up in a faint smile. “Everyone present can speak Terran.”

Terran? Tamara’s eyes widened at the implication. It seemed like there really were more than a few human Players on this planet.

“Excuse me,” Tamara said, her heart beating faster, “But could you tell us where we are, Mr Niko—um, Nika—”

“Just call me Non, please.”

“Thank you, Non,” Tamara said. “Could you please tell us where we are? All we know is that this world is called Nerilia.”

“You’re newborn, aren’t you?” Non asked. “You stand currently at the westernmost border of the Terran Empire, in the Whispering Woods. There is—Randel, good sir, may I ask what you’re doing?”

“Oh! Sorry,” Randel said, then stopped edging sideways. By now he was about halfway between Tamara and Non, tilting his head to the side. “I was just trying to see whether your, you know, other mouth is moving too while you speak.”

“I can move both at will,” Non said, and this time it sounded as if two people were speaking at once.

“I see,” Randel said. “So you control both of your sides. Sorry if it sounds rude but you don’t have split personalities for your two halves, do you?”

“Every Bolob is their own person, and I’m no exception from this.”

“That’s really cool,” Randel said. “So how do you sleep, if you don’t mind me asking? Do you—”

“Randel, stop,” Tamara cut in quickly, afraid that the aliens would get offended. “Non, I apologize if Randel insulted you. As you already noted, we’re new to this world, and there’re many things we don’t know. There are seven of us, and we might have a few items to trade for information and basic supplies, if you’re interested.”

Non looked from Randel to Tamara, wrinkling his brow.

“You’re an odd pair, if you forgive me for saying this. I doubt you have anything worth trading with us, but I would never refuse to enlighten a Reaper on the ways of our world. May I invite you for a drink? There’s herbal tea brewing at the campfire, consumable by your species too.”

Tamara bit her lip in worry, hesitating. Although Non had been acting civil and polite so far, to trust him so much was—

“Sure,” Randel said. “Thanks, Non, we’d love to have some tea.”

“This way, then,” Non said, then started walking backward—technically forward, since he didn’t have a back. “Will the rest of your group join us?”

He spoke with the face that was looking in Tamara’s direction even as his body walked the other way, distracting Tamara so much that she almost forgot the question.

“I’m afraid they won’t come,” Randel replied. “They are keeping watch in case something happens to us.”

“A reasonable precaution,” Non said. “I promise that none of us will hurt you unduly, but you were right to be cautious. There are many who do not tolerate your kind.”

“They don’t tolerate humans?” Randel asked back.

“Reapers,” Non corrected. “Powerful beings from faraway places, defying the laws of our world. They often leave death in their wake, collecting the souls of the fallen.”

“That doesn’t apply to us,” Tamara said. “I don’t intend to become a killer.”

“Oh, most Reapers don’t,” Non said. “And yet, they pursue their Quests inevitably.”

There was nothing Tamara could say to that. So far her own Quests have been quite reasonable, but she didn’t have enough data to tell how destructive Quests generally were. She knew however, that having an inactivity counter wouldn’t compel her to change her morals.

Non led them toward the campfire while the other gray-skinned aliens bustled around the camp, barely sparing a look at the two newcomers. Walking death-machines or not, it seemed like Reapers didn’t bother the Bolob too much—which in turn bothered Tamara all the more. Did they have some kind of magic like that mutant boar had? Were they really that unconcerned by whatever Abilities she might have possessed? Their confidence had disturbing implications.

“Have you seen their fingers?” Randel whispered to Tamara. “Even those can bend in both directions!”

“Fascinating,” Tamara replied flatly.

“I need to take notes so badly now,” Randel mumbled. “I’m going to forget all these cool details.”

They arrived to the campfire, and Non went on to grab a few metallic mugs. Another Bolob came over – this one looking more feminine with her thick lips and colorful clothes – and arranged two small benches by the fire, facing each other.

“Greetings, humans,” she said, inclining her bald head. “My name is Kritatirk. Please don’t mind my presence—I’m just here to make us even.”

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

Kritatirk offered no further explanation, just waited patently while Non brought four steaming mugs over. With a forced smile Tamara accepted her own mug, though she had no intention of drinking from it. She sat down with Randel on one of the benches, and the two Bolob took seat on the other.

“You must be full of questions, aren’t you?” Non spoke. “Before we begin though, know that we have only till nightfall. My caravan will continue its journey tonight.”

“Can we come with you until we reach the nearest settlement?” Randel immediately asked. “It would help our group tremendously. Traversing this forest can be dangerous.”

“The Whispering Woods is one of the safest places on this planet,” Non countered. “Not many large predators or magical creatures live here, so far away from the Cores. It is a good place for newborn Reapers like you, believe me. On that note—please give me a second, I’ll fetch the posters.”

“There’s no need for that,” Kritatirk said, holding up two rolls of brownish paper. “I’ve brought them already.”

“Ah, good thinking! Thank you, Tat.”

Non took the posters from Kritatirk, then handed them over to Randel. Hand-written with ink, the texts were on their language. One of the papers reported strange mana-activity deep within the woods, with five gold coins as the reward for investigating it. The other poster was even more ominous, talking about enormous footprints on the ground and disappearing cattle on the farmlands that bordered the woods. The reward was fifty gold coins for killing what was presumed to be a cyclops.

> Quest received: Oddity in the woods

> Quest received: The stalking giant

“Those posters are from the Bountyhouse of the nearest city, Fortram,” Non told them, unbothered by their flashing collars. “In the future, if you find yourself in search of souls to reap, I can recommend the Bountyhouse as a starting point. The Terran Empire had built up a wonderfully efficient system to support your needs.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not in a hurry to go reaping souls,” Randel said. “In fact, it occurs to my humble person that this cyclops and this oddity in the forest are things I’d rather not reap at all. Can’t we join your caravan, at least until we get to a village or town or something?”

The brief silence on the Bolob’s part didn’t bode well.

“I’d appreciate if you didn’t,” Non stiffly replied. “We don’t mind your company for today, but we wouldn’t want to get caught up in one of your Quests.”

“Is it really that bad?” Randel asked, groaning. “We’ve just completed one yesterday! Surely we don’t need to worry about Quests for a while now.”

“Perhaps, or perhaps not,” Non said, not budging. There was a tangible tension in the air now.

“In which direction is this human city you spoke of?” Tamara asked, changing the subject before Randel had the chance to say something regrettable.

“It’s the way we come from,” Non replied, relaxing a bit. “It’s not strictly a human city, though. Other species intermingle as well.”

Tamara nodded at that. “How many people should we expect to find in Fortram, then?”

“Numbering over a hundred thousand,” Non said. “Fortram is a large city, as it is the western frontier of the Terran Empire. The uninhabited lands on the West attract adventurers and Reapers alike.”

“I take this Terran Empire is quite large, then?” Tamara said, clutching her mug tighter. A hundred thousand wasn’t too many by Earth-standards, but considering this was supposedly only the edge of an empire, it sounded impressive.

“Quite large indeed,” Kritatirk spoke up suddenly, startling Tamara. “Most of these lands were Bolob territory, in the past. But humans proliferate quickly, spreading everywhere like—”

“Thank you, Tat, that’s enough” Non cut her off with a chiding tone. “Tamara, Randel, please forgive Kritatirk’s outburst. There are some of us who take our ideologies – in this case, the act of preservation – a tad farther than it is strictly necessary. Kritatirk is still young, and they had an unfortunate encounter with humans recently.”

“It’s alright,” Randel said. “They didn’t offend us.”

“They?” Tamara asked, keeping her eyes on Kritatirk. The fuming Bolob woman was clenching her hands and looked rather angry, but refrained from talking again.

“Bolob are genderless,” Randel said.

“I like the term androgynous better,” Non said, “though essentially, you’re correct. Our way of reproduction is different than what you humans experience.”

“Why is it different?” Randel asked, leaning forward a bit. “Do you need others to reproduce, or can you do it on your own?”

Tamara certainly did not want to know the details, but it was too late to stop Non from answering.

“We tend to swap seeds, though it’s not strictly necessary,” the gray-skinned alien said in a straightforward manner. “In any case, we rarely do it these days. Reproducing conflicts with our magic and our ideology too much.”

“Ah, so you have magic,” Tamara said, eager to talk about something other than how Bolob had sex.

“Everyone does,” Non replied. “The form of magic varies from species to species, but everyone born in Nerilia has the aptitude. If the two of you had an offspring right now, the child would possess magical capabilities too.”

Tamara frowned. “Good thing we won’t have any offspring, then.”

“Not right now, at least,” Randel said.

“Not ever.”

“Not with that attitude,” Randel shook his head disapprovingly. “See, Tat, even us humans don’t proliferate that quickly. Some people are just way too picky about their partners.”

“It is Kritatirk for you, not Tat,” the other Bolob said grumpily.

“How interesting,” Non told Randel. “I knew that humans preferred to find partners from the opposite sex, but I’ve never truly thought about how much effort they put into it. Does it take long to find the right partner to copulate with?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Randel replied. “Actually finding someone might not be difficult, especially if you’re good-looking, but finding the right one? Pretty damn hard, I tell you. Some humans never even find the right partner in their entire life!”

“Ah, but you humans are so short-lived,” Non said. “Do you think your search would be easier if you lived longer?”

“Perhaps, but there’s also our physical age to consider too. Aged humans are not that sexually active, though they can still find partners, of course.”

Tamara sat slack-jawed, listening in disbelief as Randel talked about how messy relationships between humans could be. Even Kritatirk was listening to Randel’s speech with interest. Just what was going on? This wasn’t supposed to happen. They were here to negotiate with these aliens, to trade magic-tusks and boar-hide for water flasks, bedrolls, new clothes, backpacks, and not … whatever Randel was doing!

Perhaps this was his revenge against Tamara, because her presence hindered him from scheming behind the group’s back. He might be planning to waste this precious chance with the Bolob. He had already done something similar before, when the Inspector allowed him to ask a single question. Tamara didn’t know what Randel’s ulterior motives were here, but he could be leaving some hidden message for the Bolob, cleverly disguised as small talk.

Or, perhaps … it could also be that Randel really was just an idiot.

“—but that’s the thing! Who says the compliment matters too. Say it to a person you barely know, and they’d think that you’re a creep or a weirdo.”

“Really?” Kritatirk asked. “So if I told Tamara that her mammaries are larger than an average human’s, she would get insulted? Even if it’s objectively true, and I intended it as a praise?”

“Oh, she would definitely get mad,” Randel said, nodding vehemently. “Besides, you shouldn’t compare her to an average human, but to an average woman. That’s an important difference, especially if you talk about her breasts. You see—”

Yes, it could also be that he was just an idiot. Tamara crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at Randel. Whatever his intentions, he needed to be stopped; hidden schemes or not, if it was up to him, he’d discuss human breasts with the Bolob all day long. Not on Tamara’s watch, however. She would wait for Randel to butter up the Bolob, then squeeze as much information out of the aliens as she could. Their future depended on this.

“—but you shouldn’t do that either! She’d say that you’re just objectifying her. Just look at her; she doesn’t seem like the type who appreciates that kind of talk. What you should say instead—”

Their future, and her dignity.

“Would you stop talking about me already?!”