Kelfir slept for nearly ten hours; Hana spent most of the time off by herself, doing what Topher imagined to be a lot of emotional soul-searching and frustration management, while Zanasha merely cleaned her weapons, did a few exercises, and read furtively from a small book she kept in her backpack (Topher didn't know what it was, but thought he could detect a small blush on the half-orc's features when she caught him watching and left her alone afterwards). For his part, Topher did as many exercises as he could without access to Remove Fatigue (which was not very many), then contented himself with fidgeting and poking around in his Ledger while Kelfir slept; he was grateful Conjure Light didn't cost any MP when cast on an object.

To his frustration, he still couldn't figure out how to use his Metaphrasty skill in any capacity -- which was a massive disappointment, since he was hoping he could use it in some way to speed up the grunt work on his transformation calculations. Bitterly, he worked his way through another six transforms into Hognat-space, and was just about to grimly start preparatory calculations on cross-factor Kuus-Rosh identities when he noticed Kelfir stirring in his bedroll. Banishing his Stylus, he sighed and struggled to his feet. "Well, good morning, sunshine."

The elf's eyes blinked open, then closed with the distinctive frown that Topher recognized as indicative of a nascent headache. "Master Bailey. You will forgive me if I had wished to awaken to a prettier sight."

"God," Topher chuckled, ambling over to the elf with a shake of his head, "I don't know which is weirder -- that all elves are assholes, or that you're so adorable despite it." Extending his hand, he helped the elf to sit up, then handed him a few rations and a canteen of water. "I'd make you something with Create Food And Drink, but somebody made me use up all my MP and I haven't had a chance to sleep yet."

The elf took the rations, squinted at them disapprovingly, then shrugged and began to eat; Topher noticed that his movements were dainty and delicate, despite the rough fare. "Perhaps you merely see a kindred spirit amongst, as you put it, 'assholes'."

Topher laughed again. "Varissian said almost exactly the same thing. Good to know where he got it." Grunting, he sat down in the dirt next to Kelfir, leaning back and stretching out his sore legs. "How did you know my name, anyway? From him?"

"My son," acknowledged the elf, "as well as an individual you may know as Dakath Xyrmaer. We correspond occasionally on... professional matters... and he mentioned the curious case of a middle-aged human neophyte mage who, and I quote, 'went into an embarrassing fit and started blasting my inventory with class-four akasha uncontrollably'." The elf took a sip of his water and grimaced, then continued. "As you may have intuited, Metaphrasty is not a common capability -- particularly since most with the potential tend to suffer fatal accidents early in its manifestation."

Topher winced. "Yeah, I almost set Varissian on fire with it when it first started happening." He looked up at the starry sky, wishing like hell he understood literally anything that was going on. "Does it have anything to do with my Class?"

"Quite likely." The elf carefully set down the flask of water, then began eyeing the biscuit Topher had handed him suspiciously. "The Clerk class is one of the very few with the potential to unlock the Metaphrasty skill -- although the circumstances by which one may or may not gain it are, as you might imagine, somewhat shrouded in mystery." He took a small bite of the biscuit, seemed to approve, and began chewing more heartily before swallowing. "Only five Classes have thus far been known to manifest it -- the Clerk, the Scribe, the Archivist, the Sage, and the Archmage. There may be others, of course, but if so we are not yet aware of them."

"Uh huh." Topher closed his eyes. "Don't suppose anybody's ever figured out why yet?"

"We have not." The elf's voice sounded dour. "As a newcomer to our world, you are doubtless unaware that only a small handful per generation are born with the potential for the Archmage Class -- the Class best-equipped to study and exploit the more esoteric aspects of magic -- and fewer still achieve it. Currently, there are only three of us, and one -- Quint Aumraham, whom you doubtless encountered at your Summoning -- is understandably occupied with other matters more pressing than such research. Thus, it is left to myself and Sahlerra Siukh, Archmagus of the Black Tower in Pioren, to make such progress as we can on the frontiers of such questions when we are not engaged with other duties." He took another bite of the biscuit, chewed for a long period, then swallowed again. "Such as putting down the Demon Lord's minions."

"Yikes." Topher frowned. "I'm guessing that probably doesn't leave much time for a home life."

"It does not." Kelfir finished his biscuit, then mimicked Topher's posture, stretching out his legs and leaning back. "My wife... I have not seen her for quite some time."

Topher swallowed. "I'm sorry. That's got to be tough, with... everything you guys are going through."

"No." The elf frowned, then looked up at the stars along with Topher. "But it occurs to me, with my new sense of perspective, that I have made it tougher by attempting to avoid dealing with it. I have been 'in denial', as humans are often wont to describe."

The two of them sat there in an uncomfortable silence for a few seconds, then Topher cleared his throat. "What's that like, anyway? Mind-controlling yourself?"

Kelfir sat up a little, and ran his hands through his long, golden hair. "At first, it was very painful and disorienting. I felt as though I were being seared each time I contemplated a course of action." Slowly, he brought his hands up and looked at them, then placed them back in his lap and looked back to Topher. "But, having slept, I am able to articulate the situation a little better: it is more like a refractive self-awareness. Stated another way, I have been granted additional self-control at the expense of an uncomfortable amount of empathy -- which, I imagine, will be somewhat of a career impediment for an archmage who must occasionally make difficult choices."

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Topher winced. "Yeah. What are you gonna do? Can you dispel it, or whatever?"

"Possibly." The elf seemed contemplative. "But I suspect that if I do, I will do so some time from now. It is a... personal growth opportunity." Slowly, he rearranged his legs under him, then bowed so low to Topher that his forehead touched the ground. "Master Bailey, I deeply apologize. You have been poorly treated by many, and definitely did not deserve to be attacked and enslaved after risking your life to defend the innocent. I beg your forgiveness."

"Whoa, stop," Topher half-shouted, jumping painfully to his feet and flapping his hands in embarrassment. "You can't, like, not be a dick! You're gonna ruin it for elves everywhere."

Kelfir chuckled and rose to his knees again, his eyes twinkling. "It is rare that my people are so well-understood." After a moment, his gaze turned contemplative. "I would beg a boon of you, if you are willing to grant it."

"Uh." Topher winced. "Depends what you ask, I guess."

The elf was silent for a few seconds, choosing his words carefully. "How did you achieve your progress so quickly, as an F-Ranker? Master Xyrmaer told me that you were able to independently derive runespace identities in less than a year, inventing your own mathematical system in the process. For anyone below C-Rank, that is, quite frankly, impossible without external factors."

Topher groaned. "A couple of things." He raised his forefinger. "One, I'm from a planet where every kid is taught basic math in school, whether we like it or not -- and I might have been a crappy student, but I graduated able to do simple calculations and that was enough for a solid basis." He raised a second finger. "Two, I had the luck to sit in on the magical instruction that some dude -- Alkran, I think his name was -- was giving to the C-Rank and D-Rank mage Otherworlders, which gave me a broad context to place my own research in." He raised a third finger, his eyes slowly widening -- most of this stuff was news to him. "Three, the bullshit Varissian taught me -- the weird elf perspective on the runes -- gave me enough of a cross-section of information to independently figure out the interrelations between them, and that's what triggered my first Metaphrasty trance." He held up a fourth finger, now marveling at the words coming out of his mouth as though they were being spoken by someone else entirely. "Four, the Clerk Class can cast both Mage and Priest spells, so I had the further context of the Priest runes perspective to bounce both Varissian's and Alkran's ideas off of, and that broke me out of the box of thinking that runes were simpler than they actually were." Finally, he extended his thumb, and turned his fist so that the thumb was pointing downards. "And five -- I didn't fucking give up, despite everybody and their mother telling me that I was a stupid worthless F-Ranker who was wasting his time trying to do literally anything other than bitch about my Status, especially including every other elf I've met including you." He let his hand drop back to his side in frustration and leaned back again. "Jesus, you people are snooty."

To his astonishment, Kelfir laughed -- a high, clear-throated laugh of uncomplicated pleasure. "We are. We most assuredly are." Wiping a small tear from his eye, the archmage composed himself once more, assuming an introspective expression. "That is... informative." Slowly, he began to rise to his feet. "I must return to my duties. I have... quite a lot to do."

"I'll bet." Topher nodded, rising as well. "For what it's worth, I hope things get better."

"A sentiment I appreciate," the archmage returned, bowing again. "Before I depart, have you any boon you would ask of me?"

Topher blinked, surprised. Then, shocked at his own temerity, he raised three fingers. "Three, actually."

A frown flickered across Kelfir's face, followed by an apologetic expression. "Of course. Name them."

"First of all, and this one is the most important:" -- Topher pointed a finger at Kelfir -- "stop being a dick to Varissian. Maybe give him a chance to figure out what it is he wants to do with his life without the crushing weight of disappointment and a looming funeral bill he has to foot himself, and then, like, actually help him instead of stomping all over him and telling him what to do."

Kelfir's eyebrows shot up in surprise, but after a moment, he nodded. "Logical. I cannot promise that I will succeed, but I shall most certainly try." He squared his shoulders. "The second?"

Topher hooked a thumb over at Hana, who was standing a ways away and staring off pensively into the night. "If you can teleport us to her safehouse or whatever, that'll save her a lot of time moping and traveling through dangerous areas. She's just had her whole life kind of blow up on her, and a little support would probably be nice."

Kelfir chuckled. "You are quite the altruist, Master Bailey. I expect for your third request, you will ask me to teleport some blankets to some orphans?"

"Screw that." Topher rolled his eyes. "Tell me how I can use Metaphrasty. Up until now it's only ever activated when I was having some kind of epiphany about runes, or something else trippy, and I'd rather not have to take drugs to use my Skill. How do I use it correctly?"

Kelfir's expression bloomed into a smirk, although not an unkind one. "That is using it correctly, Master Bailey. If you continue to study the structure of the relationships between runes, you will naturally become able to channel akasha in a more controlled fashion; once you have developed such a capability, you may construct a runic sequence to bind and shape it into a Wyrd -- a self-sustaining form which will execute the behaviors which you have defined." He raised a finger in an elocutionary gesture. "As you may have intuited, the primary benefit of a Wyrd is that, once formed, it does not consume MP to maintain; with sufficient effort, they can be quite versatile if you are creative in your design." He frowned again. "That said, I would caution you not to experiment recklessly -- recall that the majority of Metaphrasts perish from an excess of creativity, not its inverse."

"Goddammit," grumbled Topher. "It couldn't be easy, oh no, a nice magic word to initiate Metaphrasty mode..."

"If only, Master Bailey. If only." The mage stepped off of Topher's bedroll to allow him to roll it up, then waited with an air of only mild impatience as the rest of them gathered up their camp; Hana and Zanasha were astonished by Topher's apparently miraculous promise of a teleportation elsewhere, but wasted no time in taking advantage instead of asking questions. Finally, the mage bid them all gather round, listened to a few terse descriptions from Hana, then gestured; there was a somewhat anticlimactic flash of golden light, and then they were somewhere else.

Topher, looking around, noticed that Kelfir was already gone; Two teleports at once? That's just showing off. Instead, the three of them found themselves atop a hill that overlooked a sizable swamp, with an abandoned-looking cottage below. "Shit. Did he take us to the wrong place?"

"No, Bailey-sama," Hana demurred, eyes downcast. "Welcome to my home."