As Topher watched, bleary-eyed with exhaustion from a day and a half without sleep and no access to Remove Fatigue, Hana and Zanasha began to make their way down the hill towards the cottage. He expected them to open the door and head inside, but to his surprise they merely paused at the entrance; after a few moments, curiosity got the better of him, and he ambled down wearily to join them. "What's wrong?"

Hana fluttered her hand downwards in a "lower your voice" gesture. "Unwelcome houseguests, Bailey-sama," she confided in a low tone.

At Topher's confused look, Zanasha chuckled and leaned in closer to him. "Goblins have broken in and squatted the property in our absence, Friend Topher. It has happened before."

Topher, remembering his adventures clearing the goblin camp outside Frostford, shuddered. "Should we leave and come back? I can't really help without any MP."

Hana smiled, not entirely charitably. "There is no need to worry, Bailey-sama. Please, be at ease; we will deal with them." Drawing the dagger at her hip, she nodded to Zanasha.

To Topher, what happened next was a beautiful ballet of economical motion; Zanasha, in a single smooth movement, drew the sword at her hip and kicked open the door with a crash. Topher expected her to draw her shield as well, but instead she adopted a fluid stance that was more like a fencer's, with one hand up in the air, as she darted inside with Hana hot on her heels. Topher heard the now-familiar yowling of startled goblins and staggered closer to the door, peeking inside.

As he watched, Zanasha decapitated one goblin, sidestepped an axe blow from another, and blocked a dagger thrust from a third with her forearm; in the same motion, she scooped up a handful of dirt from the floor and flung it directly into the axe-wielding goblin's eyes, then darted sideways to thrust her sword between a fourth goblin's ribs. The axe-wielding goblin turned to chop at her a second time, but she deftly swirled around towards another goblin with a blowpipe in just such a manner that the dagger-wielding goblin received the second goblin's axe directly through the top of its head. Topher's mouth dropped open in awe.

He was dimly aware that Hana was fighting, too -- her Flux Blade shifting and swirling into pikes and polearms to keep goblins at bay before dwindling into a barbed, vicious dagger for lightning-fast strikes -- but Zanasha was consuming the bulk of his attention to an even greater degree than normal. In his groggy, half-dazed state, he imagined that he could see her shifting her fighting style -- now savage and forceful, now canny and precise -- in time with the flow of the battle's tempo; intuitively, he realized that if she ever reached her full potential, she would be a truly legendary warrior, not bound by any style or creed, but able to master and intertwine disparate Skills and approaches to defeat even opponents with esoteric or supernatural powers. The word Battlemaster floated through his consciousness, unbidden, and he noted it bemusedly before it dissolved into the swirl of fatigue and confusion within and around him.

Slowly, it came to his attention that his perception was being altered in some way; little blurry Status windows were popping up all around him on various objects and terrain elements, then fading out and dissipating before he could read them. Then, after a short while, those disintegrated into dim white lines which seemed to wrap and surround every object, that blurred into transparency when he looked directly at them but sparkled charmingly in his peripheral vision. I'd probably be blasting akasha everywhere if I had any MP, he mused to himself as he watched the two women dispatch goblin after goblin. Maybe this is why Kelfir was letting himself run around sleep-deprived.

Then, to his annoyance, he noticed a discordant note in the symphony of interaction around him; frowning, he traced it fumblingly to its source and looked up to see an as-yet unnoticed goblin, perched on a joist near the entrance to another darkened room. As he watched, groggy and confused, it produced a massive crossbow and sighted down on Hana, then pulled the rusty, jagged trigger; Hana turned at the sound, but the bolt was already flashing directly towards her head.

Then, abruptly, it was gone; Topher, to his surprise, found that he was holding it. That's weird, he thought. How'd I get ahold of this thing? Shaking his hand irritably, he dropped the bolt while Hana produced a ten-foot glaive and hacked at the goblin with it; the creature screeched and jerked back out of the rafters, mostly unhurt, only to find Zanasha waiting for it with a savage grin. The results were predictable.

When, at last, the fighting and confusion had abated, more than a dozen goblins were lying dead among the splintered, dust-covered furniture; Topher kept trying to count them and failing, because his eyes kept closing by themselves and wandering off in different directions. Still, he did his best to rouse himself, dragging the corpses outside at Zanasha's gentle and patient direction, then watched with professional interest as she checked each one for Magic Stones (none, which didn't surprise him -- all three of them were probably too high-Level to get any drops from goblins at this point). Stumbling and blinking, he helped Hana right the battered and bestrewn furniture as much as could be accomplished, then stood by swaying and murmuring lightly as the other two checked the remainder of the cottage's rooms before declaring it now goblin-free. "They were peeing in the sink," Hana exclaimed in disgust, but no other lasting harm seemed to have befallen the house in their absence.

"This happen often?" Topher slurred as Zanasha led him carefully into a side room that mostly housed tools and bags. "Doesn' seem like a good neighborhood, if y'ask me."

"It has it charms," the half-orc retorted with a smile. "Do you require assistance?"

"Heck no," Topher mumbled, attempting to unroll his bedroll and failing several times before finally getting it right. "Been more tired than this. Stayed up five nights in a row once, without any Sentinel Skill or nothin'." And I didn't even cast Remove Fatigue once today, he noted to himself smugly.

Finally, he managed to position himself to his satisfaction over the unrolled bedroll; he tried to lie down, but lost his balance and toppled face-first into the blankets. Zanasha made some sort of exclamation, but he didn't hear it; Topher Bailey was asleep before impact.

----------------------------------------

When he awoke, an unknown amount of time later, his mouth tasted like he'd been snacking on the contents of a litterbox and his head was pounding; he groaned, cast Create Food and Drink, and chugged the resulting cup of water before even fully waking. Forcing his bleary, gummy eyelids open, he realized that he hadn't had a container handy, and was surprised to discover he'd conjured a cup made out of dwarfmeal entirely unconsciously to hold the water even as he'd been summoning it; pleased with himself, he summoned another quantity of water and drank half of that, too, before leaving the rest to moisten the dwarfmeal and then eating the "cup". Now that's efficiency, he thought to himself in satisfaction, and turned his attention to his surroundings.

As before, he was still in the cottage, snuggled up in his bedroll in what he now recognized to be a storage room; bags of seeds, meal, and other farming supplies coexisted uneasily with rusty tools such as rakes, hoes, and shovels in a way that made him subconsciously wish he had a Cure Tetanus spell. Half-dozing still, he began doing his daily exercises out of habit, then woke more thoroughly as he moved through his circuit of stretches and calisthenics. When he finished, he cast Remove Fatigue and contemplated starting a second set, but decided against it; should probably save my MP until I know what today's plan is.

Summoning more water, he washed his face and brushed his teeth as best he could, then decided to venture forth; opening the room's only door, he stumped out into the cottage's main room before skidding to a halt, astonished.

While he had slept, the cottage had been cleaned immaculately; what had yesterday been a dingy, filthy hovel was now a picturesque cottage straight out of a storybook, with a charming little kitchen, a stout and secure front door, and a table-and-chair set so vigorously scrubbed that it practically gleamed (with a bouquet of flowers in a dainty vase as a centerpiece, to boot). Topher rotated, slowly, as he took everything in. "Jesus Christ. Did I sleep for a week, or what?"

Zanasha stepped lightly into the room from another bedroom across the house from Topher, her half-shy smile illuminating her face; his heart skipped a beat as usual, but he managed to tear his gaze away before it could become awkward. "Only a day, Friend Topher. But hard work and great quantities of soap are capable of much, if applied in the correct proportions." She deftly plucked two teacups from the porcelain sink, rinsed them briskly with water from a carafe, and filled them with a tan-colored liquid from a small steel kettle before carrying them to the dining table. "Do you take sugar in your tea? We are bereft of milk or cream, however."

"Good thing you have a mighty wizard around, then," said Topher sarcastically. Awkwardly shuffling past her, he picked up a small jug from where it was drying atop a towel, peered inside to ensure it was empty, then cast Create Food and Drink to fill it with ice-cold heavy cream. "Here you go. Just in case you thought I was completely useless."

"Ah, yes, of course," the half-orc deadpanned as she accepted the jug from him with immense gravity. "Topher Bailey, the deadweight wastrel who merely saved us all from a Capras, defeated an Archmagus, and then arranged for us to be teleported halfway across the nation." Shaking her head in mock disbelief, she poured a thick stream from the jug into her own teacup, then carefully pinched two cubical lumps of sugar from a small bowl into it with a pair of what looked to Topher like metal chopsticks. She offered the bowl to Topher, but he shook his head; instead, he shuffled cautiously around to the other side of the table and poured a small portion of cream into his own tea.

"Trying to cut back on sugar," he murmured, taking one of the two metal chopsticks to stir his tea; Zanasha nodded and did the same with the other, confirming his suspicion that they were provided for just such a purpose. "Hana doing okay?"

The half-orc sipped her tea delicately, then closed her eyes for a moment; when she opened them, they were warm with satisfaction and contentment. "She is recovering, albeit slowly. I have attempted to engage her in conversation about her feelings a few times, but she remains unready as yet; it will take time."

Topher grunted. "Stupid feelings, making everything difficult." Like how I can barely be at this table with you and not stare adoringly at you, he groused to himself. A short silence descended, during which Topher stared resolutely into his teacup and Zanasha did not interrupt; eventually, he felt compelled to resume the conversation. "So what did she need from here, anyway?"

"I am not certain," murmured Zanasha, "but I believe her purposes were twofold." She sipped her own tea again, made a small noise of pleasure, and looked up once more. "Firstly, Hana-chan keeps alchemical supplies and equipment here for her potion-making; as she mentioned, her reserves of potions and other such items were becoming depleted, which is a dangerous situation for all of us. And secondly..." -- she paused, looking out the cottage's cozily becurtained window -- "...I think she wished for some comforting familiarity."

"Guess I would too, if every goal I'd been working on for years suddenly blew up in my face," Topher acknowledged glumly. He looked around the cottage once more, marveling again at its transformation. "This place is adorable. Do you live here too, or do you still visit your folks?"

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Zanasha closed her eyes, her light smile disappearing; Topher immediately knew he'd said the wrong thing. "Shit. Sorry. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

The half-orc shook her head, then opened her eyes again; her expression was strange and unreadable. "No, I do not mind. My family and village are all dead, Friend Topher. It has been many years since I have had anyone other than Hana-chan in my life."

"Jesus." Topher blinked, recoiling a little in horror. "What happened?"

"It... would be difficult to explain, to someone without knowledge of my culture," Zanasha murmured with obvious embarrassment. "I would not want to upset you."

"Hey, listen." Topher, to his horror, realized that he was reaching across the table and about to take the half-orc's scarred hand in his own; he quickly diverted his grasp to the cream jug and dumped more of it into his tea. "I'm never gonna learn stuff unless people tell me, okay? Don't spare my feelings; I'm a lot more worried about yours." Idiot, stop running your mouth, he raged at himself silently.

Zanasha, looking thoughtful, nodded. "As you say." Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, then opened them again and met Topher's gaze; he steeled himself just in time to avoid visibly reacting to the powerful shock of meeting it with his own. "My father, as I have mentioned, was unusual for an orc; he courted and married my mother in ways most of the rest of my tribe found strange and confusing. When he began to grow old..." she stopped, looking sad. "Here I must make a brief aside, Friend Topher. You are aware that elves and dwarves age more slowly than humans, I take it?"

"More or less," grunted Topher. "Varissian and Dakath educated me a little, mostly by telling me I would croak of old age before I had any time to get good at anything."

Zanasha smirked, slightly victoriously. "As is evident, our lives are more than the sum of our years." Then she sobered, while Topher fought against the overpowering urge to compliment her elegant and lyrical choice of words. "For orcs, it is similar, but in reverse; a young full-blood orc matures in roughly nine years, reaches middle age in his or her twenties, and can be expected not to live long past forty or fifty. Half-breeds, such as myself, have lifespans closer to those of our human parent." She looked down at her hands. "As you may imagine, this can cause... social friction... in a village otherwise entirely populated by orcs."

"Jesus," Topher choked, against. "You got to watch your own parents grow old and die while you were still young?"

The half-orc shook her head, her red hair flowing across her features like a lash of flame. "If only." She sighed again, then raised her gaze once more. "My father grew old, even as my mother retained her youth and comeliness; eventually, younger orcs of the tribe decided that he was no longer fit to claim my mother as his wife." Her hands tightened on her teacup, and Topher imagined he could hear the porcelain creaking. "The results were... unpleasant."

Topher closed his eyes, his mouth settling into a hard grimace. "Are you seriously telling me that the neighborhood orc boys tried to kill your dad and rape your mom?"

"They did more than try," Hana corrected, sadly. There followed a silence, which lasted nearly a minute.

"Well, fuck," Topher managed, blowing out a shaky breath. "What did you do?"

"I killed them," the half-orc answered matter-of-factly. "I killed them all. Which, as you can imagine, was very poorly received by the tribe's leadership." She poured herself another cup of tea and stirred it absently, her gaze fixed on something horrid far away. "Things escalated. My mother was killed. I was very nearly killed myself, before being driven out into the wilderness in a storm; I returned some time later while everyone slept." She drained her teacup, then set it down with pronounced gentleness. "As I said, the village is no longer there."

"Holy Christ." Topher felt sick. "How many people did you have to kill?!"

"Not as many as I feared I would have to," Zanasha murmured. "The ones who killed my father and my mother, of course. The tribe's leadership, and those who defended them. The rest fled."

Topher buried his head in his hands. "And I thought I had a shitty upbringing." He raised his gaze to Zanasha's, feeling bruised by proxy. "How did you stand it?"

"Friend Topher, here again I feel compelled to disabuse you of a misconception," the half-orc demurred. "I do not hate the people of my tribe. I have spent..." -- she paused, as if gathering her thoughts -- "...many years attempting to understand the situation from their point of view. To them, violence was not reprehensible; to them, my mother and I were outsiders who had no rights beyond those we could wrest in combat from the others. We were strange -- alien intelligences, nigh-immortal to their reckoning -- and threatening to their way of life." She rose, taking her teacup to the sink, and began to wash and rinse it as she looked out the window once more. "In a way, I honored my tribe and my people by destroying them. Given the chance to be spared, they would have been insulted by the offer."

"My God." Topher shook his head again. "Was your tribe unusual? I've known other orcs -- a guy named Slaugh, in particular -- and they weren't like that."

Zanasha nodded, still looking away. "Breakskull is -- was -- located along the northern border of Vorn; it was not, as you or I would term it, civilized. We were not monsters, but the difference was smaller than it typically is for other orc tribes in more settled lands." Drying her teacup, she carefully suspended it from a hook attached to the underside of a cabinet. "My mother was very, very brave to settle there with my father, as I believe I have intimated."

"She must have loved the shit out of him," Topher observed before he realized the inappropriateness of the comment with a wince. "Sorry. That came out wrong."

Zanasha turned back, shaking her head; to Topher's surprise, her eyes were practically glowing with happiness. "Do not be sorry." She chuckled, recalling some memory. "She would have appreciated the sentiment."

Abruptly, the conversation dwindled and faded away; Topher, so star-struck by the sight of Zanasha's beaming face that he didn't trust himself to construct coherent sentences, busied himself with washing and drying his own teacup. After a while, he turned around and noticed that she was removing a mail coat from a closet and strapping on a sword and bow; he blinked, surprised. "You expecting trouble, or something?"

"Very much the opposite," the half-orc corrected him, brushing her hair away from its shaved side and tying it at the side of her neck with a short leather band. "I depart to hunt provisions; I am still much concerned about your weight loss, and require meat for my own nutrition and Hana-chan's, besides." She strung the bow, tested its pull, and grunted in satisfaction. "I should be back in the evening."

By yourself? Topher managed not to say; it was clear she'd done this before. "Is there, uh, anything I can do around the place while you're gone?" he finally managed.

Zanasha nodded. "I regret the asking, but yes; Hana-chan needs someone to talk to, and I have a suspicion she may find you more difficult to stonewall than I." Shouldering a quiver of arrows, she opened the door and looked back; Topher felt like a housewife watching her husband leave for work, and chuckled internally at himself. "It may not succeed, but... will you make the attempt?"

Topher nodded back. "No problem. Be careful, okay?"

"As much as is necessary," said Zanasha, closing the door behind her with a smirk.

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It took a bit of searching, but Topher eventually found Hana behind the cottage; she was using her Flux Blade to plant, shift, and water several rows of herbs and shoots in a tidy little garden outside the cottage's rear window. He coughed, feeling like an intruder. "Uh, hey. How are you holding up?"

Hana finished her current effort, then stood, stretching and wiping sweat off her brow; Topher could see that her hand was still holding her Flux Blade in the shape of a garden trowel. "Better than previously, Bailey-sama. I am grateful for your concern." She regarded the plants before her with satisfaction and joy; Topher blinked as he realized that this garden probably hadn't been here the night before. "How fare you? Did you sleep comfortably?"

"Uh, sure," Topher returned, feeling like a barefooted bumpkin being checked out of a fancy hotel. He shuffled closer to the garden, careful not to step on anything. "What are you growing here?"

"An assortment of plants -- alchemical components, foods, and useful medicines, for the most part." The young woman prodded a shoot with the tip of her trowel, nodding as it bounced back springily. "They should be ready for harvest in a few hours."

Topher blinked. "Holy shit, really? What kind of magic fertilizer does that?"

"Myself, more or less." Hana bent to pick up a bag of seeds, then thrust out one hip to rest it upon; with her other hand, she sheathed her Flux Blade, then shifted her burden to the opposite hip. "My Unique Skill is Accelerated Gardening, Bailey-sama. As you may suspect, my classmates did not find it impressive; but, in combination with the Minor Alchemy Skill I have painstakingly acquired, it has its uses."

"Wow." Topher was impressed, despite himself; way to make lemonade out of lemons, kid. Literally, I guess. Uncomfortably, he turned and gestured towards the plants. "Uh, so, what sort of stuff can you make with these?"

The young Japanese woman smiled, warming to the subject; Topher could see he'd picked a safe conversation topic. "The small green shoots are medicinal herbs; combined with powder from a Magic Stone, they can be used to produce healing potions. The smaller yellow buds..." -- here she gestured to a line of what looked like diminutive acorns -- "...are peppers that can be brewed into the Philtres of Flame I used against the worm creatures in the dungeon. And, along the back row..." -- she gestured again -- "...are a number of rare flowers that normally take years to blossom. They have many uses -- the Tincture of Timelessness we used against the guardian, for one. And... other, more esoteric substances."

Topher raised an eyebrow. "Like whatever let you kick in that door and run up that hill?"

Hana froze for a moment, then nodded cautiously. "Yes. I... did not know that you noticed." Slowly and hesitatingly, she reached into her hip pouch and withdrew a twisting vial; it looked as though it was made of stained glass, and Topher could see a multi-hued fluid shifting and flowing throughout different chambers within the vessel. "This is an Elixir of Enhancement, Bailey-sama; I have been refining its formula for nearly five years now." Demurely, she secreted it back within her hip pouch (which Topher realized, extremely belatedly, was a Magic Bag) and tossed her luxurious hair out of her face. "Before dangerous missions, I take a small sip at dawn; it boosts my Strength and Dexterity to C-Rank, and I am confident that with further improvements, I may be able to one day enhance my Constitution, as well. But I must be cautious; more than a tiny amount could be harmful."

Topher whistled. "Guessing that's not easy to make."

"It is the pinnacle of achievement for my Minor Alchemy skill, which I have attained Rank C in," acknowledged Hana humbly. "A greater class of Alchemy Skill might be capable of brewing even more powerful potions, but without a Class which grants it, I will never be able to progress beyond the Minor grade." She looked down at the dirt, curling her free hand into a fist. "The Hostess Class is... not powerful in most conventional aspects."

Topher nodded. "Yeah. Clerk is not exactly overwhelming, either; but at least it's an MP-granting Class. And I'm starting to realize just how lucky I was to even get that." Noticing that there was another bag of seeds, he grunted and picked it up too. "So what does the Hostess Class give you?"

Hana turned away, heading for the storeroom. "At Level 5, I unlocked the Skill Enhanced Charisma; it raised the attribute to Rank C immediately, which was quite a difference from my original Rank of F." She stalked around the side of the cottage, carefully avoiding roots and stones with the skill of what Topher could only imagine was long practice indeed. "At Level 7, I acquired Enhanced Diplomacy, which has been useful in bargaining and securing... opportunities." Stepping gracefully through the front door, she levered the bag of seeds around the corner of the doorway to the storage room, then lowered it smoothly to the floor. "According to my research, if I attain Level 20 I should receive a Skill known as Elegant Step, which I am given to understand will prevent tripping and dropping of held or carried objects." She grimaced. "As you can see, they are Skills well-suited to greeting clients and customers in a restaurant or other establishment, but of somewhat lower value for an adventurer."

Grunting, Topher set down his own bag. "You seem to be doing okay with them." A thought struck him, suddenly. "You said that having a Charisma of Rank C was really different than Rank F?"

Looking away from him, Hana took a deep breath, then turned to face him -- a little defiantly, he noticed with surprise. "Yes. When I was Summoned here, I was a short, fat girl with severe acne; you may feel free to laugh, if you choose."

"Laugh?" Topher blinked in surprise. "Why would I laugh? Have you looked at me lately?" He swept his hand to showcase his protruding belly, his wild beard, and the long, filthy hair that dangled down from his balding crown. "Lady, I make goblins look like Tom Cruise."

The girl blinked in response, and Topher had the abrupt and very uncomfortable feeling that she was really seeing him for the very first time; that every interaction they'd had until now had been colored and shaded by his Class, his spells, and his accomplishments, and he was mildly shocked to realize the degree to which that had probably altered her perception of him. Slowly, she backed away a step and bit her lip. "You... no, Bailey-sama. You are..." She shook her head. "I am very sorry. I have been a very poor hostess." She bowed very deeply from the waist, and he could see her mouth twist wryly as she acknowledged the irony. "Would you care to bathe? There are bathing facilities and a hot spring in the basement; I am sure that you would find them very relaxing."

Topher gaped, then smiled beatifically. "Oh, hell yes."