Topher was pulled out of unconsciousness slowly and jarringly; he was lying on something rough, and being intermittently jostled or thumped by something. He squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to interact with existence if he could avoid it.

A particularly hard thump slammed him across the entire left side of his body; he groaned and forced himself to sit up, more to get away from the source of the pain than to do anything else. He heard a startled exclamation from behind him, but couldn't bring himself to care.

A sudden force jerked him backwards, and he toppled over with a squawk; his entire body felt broken and scraped. He lay there for a moment, looking up at a clear blue sky; at least the jostling motion seemed to have stopped. He closed his eyes, hoping he could go back to sleep. He heard murmuring around him, but couldn't figure out how it could have anything to do with him, so he ignored it.

Suddenly, rough hands picked him up; he fought feebly, but couldn't even make sense of what was going on. He'd lost his glasses somewhere, and he was covered with dirt and blood. Wonder what happened there. Then, mercifully, he was put back down somewhere softer but very itchy; he didn't have the energy to complain, though. He murmured through cracked lips, unsure of what he was even saying, and someone else murmured something back in return; he couldn't make it out, but it sounded reassuring, so he relaxed. After a while, a cool cloth touched his forehead, then wiped his mouth; someone pulled at his shirt, but it stuck to something and hurt. He groaned, and the pressure eased; after a moment, the cool cloth came back, and someone trickled a little water into his mouth. He murmured a thanks, then dozed again.

When he awoke next, it was dark; he was lying on some straw. At first, he thought there was no one else around, but after a moment a stocky little man with a huge, flowing beard appeared at the corner of his vision and climbed up from some lower place onto a surface level with Topher's back; the ground rocked and shook beneath him a little, then steadied. He tiptoed softly over next to Topher and sponged his face with a wet cloth, then held up a small bottle of water for Topher to drink; Topher managed to raise his head and do so. Laying back down, he murmured. "Thanks, I was really thirsty."

"Oh, so you can speak now." The man had a deep, rumbly voice, shockingly gentle, and he had dark patches around both eyes like he'd been punched in the face repeatedly. "Don't suppose you've got a name?"

"Topher," Topher managed. "Topher Bailey." I'm on disability, he started to say, but the thought seemed strange to him, so he didn't say it out loud.

"Mmm. Well, I'm Tok Rockbrand, and I'm very interested to hear what you were doing in the back of my wagon." He gave Topher a little more water.

Topher drank, swallowed, and shook his head. "Don't know. Don't remember... can't find my glasses." His hand groped feebly at his chest; there seemed to be something coarse and thick along his upper left chest.

"They were in your pocket, but they were broken; we'll see about getting them fixed later." Tok stoppered the water bottle and put it away, then began pottering about with other things below Topher's eyeline. "You were in bad shape; wounded, very dazed. This is the first time in two days you've been able to talk coherently."

"Was I? That's weird." Topher frowned. "I don't get into fights."

"Well, you got into at least one, though it looks like you survived it; which is better than not, win or lose." Tok stood up, holding a backpack. "Just rest; we're still about two days out from the next village. Hopefully things will come back a little by then." He hopped down -- I must be lying in a wagon, like he said, and Topher drifted. He smelled hay and flowers, then nothing.

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

When Topher awoke next, it felt like early afternoon; he felt well enough to sit up and move around a little. There was a large bandage on his upper left chest, which he didn't understand; he vaguely remembered getting slashed there by something, but the details were hazy and made him uncomfortable to think about. After a bit of work, he managed to get up onto all fours, then look around; he was still in the back of a straw-packed wagon, but now he noticed other things -- crates, boxes, and barrels -- stacked around him. Tok must be in shipping. He crawled forward a ways until he reached the front of the wagon.

Tok was sitting up in front, in a broad, carved seat and holding the reins of a placid-looking horse; Topher noticed the stout little man wore black goggles, like a welder. "Up and about, eh? Don't overdo it; falling from a moving wagon isn't a pleasant experience."

"I'm being careful." Topher cautiously managed to lever one leg up and over the back of the seat, then found he couldn't quite finish the job; it took him both hands and several false starts to get the other leg over, and it left him winded and buzzing with pain. "Thank you, though. I'm sorry for... well, for whatever."

"No apologies needed, beanpole. Humans are fragile; I don't mind fixin' 'em up." Topher blinked. He squinted, still barely able to see the other man even though he was only a few feet away; I really need my glasses. Eventually, he managed to figure out what was bothering him; the other man's arms and legs were stumpy and corded with muscle, and he was probably only about four feet tall. Dwarf, thought Topher, oddly.

He looked around; the world seemed smeary and overly bright without his glasses. "Where are we? If it's okay to ask."

Tok grunted. "About halfway between Strathmore and Frostford; maybe another two weeks to Wanbourne." The names meant nothing to Topher, but he felt foolish for having asked, so he didn't pursue the topic. "Where you from?"

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"Pensacola." Topher rubbed his head. "Wish I could remember what happened." His beard was way overgrown, and it was making his face itch something fierce.

"It'll come back. Don't rush it." The dwarf handed Topher a small round object wrapped in soft cloth; Topher fumbled open the wrapping to discover it was a small, hard bun. "You'll have to wet it a little to eat it; I didn't bring human food. There's water under the seat." Topher essayed a nibble and found that the bun was definitely made of bread, but some sort of strange ultra-hard bread that seemed like it would break his teeth; hardtack, he thought. "I've had this before," he mumbled to himself, and wrapped his mouth around the dry bread; letting his saliva soak into it would be gross, but he knew that it would work.

"You've had dwarfmeal before?" Tok looked like he was still staring straight ahead, but he was probably cocking an eye at Topher behind his dark goggles. "That's unusual. Most humans can't stand the stuff."

"It's delicious," Topher mumbled in protestation around the mouthful of hard, dry bun. "Just hard to eat." His saliva had soaked into the crust enough that he could gently nibble a few crumbs off; just like he remembered, they were salty and chewy. He swallowed, smiling, then kept at it; in a few minutes, he'd chewed away enough of the outer shell to pull off small pieces that he could suck on.

The countryside that passed them by was beautiful, even without his glasses; Topher found himself staring for long periods as he worked his way through the dwarfmeal bun. About a fifth of the way through it, he was surprised to discover that it had filling; dry, salted meat and cheese, kept fresh by being sealed inside the bun. He ate entirely too much before discovering he was about to choke on the dry mass in his throat; he scrambled for the water and just barely managed to get it wet enough to swallow before he choked. He gasped for air, frowning at Tok's chuckle. "It's not funny. I damn near killed myself."

"I'd have saved you," the dwarf sniffed. "Probably." He seemed very calm, much like his placid carthorse.

After finishing the bun, Topher dozed; he'd been very hungry and weak, and guessed he'd been without food for at least a couple of days. When night came, Tok stopped the wagon and unloaded a few things, including a large axe; "The roads here are pretty safe, but there's always the occasional bandit or critter," he confided to Topher. "You should sleep; I'll stand watch." Topher noticed that the dwarf had taken off his goggles when the sun set; he must be sensitive to the light.

"That's not fair," Topher complained. "You've been driving all day. Why don't you get some sleep, and I'll wake you if anything shows up."

Tok shook his head. "You can't see in the dark, human. Unless you've got a light, I don't think --"

"Ehn Ehf Zefekk Zraqq," incanted Topher absently, and a staticky gray flame appeared above his palm. He jumped, staring at it. "Whoa."

"That's interesting." Tok peered at the flame, then glanced up at Topher. "More than meets the eye, I suppose. You a mage?"

Topher shook his head. "No. At least, I don't think so."

"Check your Status," Tok prompted. Topher nodded, muttering "Open Status" to himself.

Name:

Christopher Bailey

Level:

2

Class:

Otherworlder

Strength:

Rank F

Dexterity:

Rank F

Constitution:

Rank F

Intelligence:

Rank D

Wisdom:

Rank D

Charisma:

Rank F

Skills:

Literacy (Rank D)

Mathematics (Rank D)

Cooking (Rank F)

Customer Service (Rank D)

Data Entry and Filing (Rank B)

Packaging and Shipping (Rank D)

Home Appliance Repair (Rank F)

Pen Spinning (Rank A)

Special Skills:

Disrupt Illusion

Mage Shield (Rank F)

Mage Light (Rank F)

Unique Skill:

Attract Object

"Doesn't look like it," Topher hedged. Something told him he shouldn't admit to being an Otherworlder, whatever that was. "I do have a couple of Special Skills, though -- Disrupt Illusion, Mage Shield, and Mage Light."

"Mage Skills, but no Mage Class," contemplated Tok. "That's not unheard of; usually when you have a hybrid class that you haven't unlocked yet. What level are ya?"

"Two," grunted Topher. "I don't know what that really means, though. Is it two out of ten? Two out of a hundred?"

"Levels don't have an upper limit," grunted the dwarf, setting his axe down and kneeling down beside it to take off his boots. "But the more you get, the harder it is to increase it; most people top out around level 7 or so unless they kill monsters for a living." He lay down on the bare dirt, using a rock for a pillow; Topher blinked, but didn't say anything for fear of looking uncultured. "You'll do for a watchdog, I guess. Wake me if anything other than a squirrel comes into the light. Dwarves sleep lightly." In a few seconds, he was snoring; Topher envied his rapid somnolence.

He squinted out into the night for several hours; he had to recast his Mage Light spell every time it expired, but remembered to visualize the Lesser Yashfii configuration after the first few times which kept it burning for the rest of the night. He also found that doing so made the light into a sort of extension of his will; it would drift up on its own and hover as normal, but would also dart towards anything he wanted to inspect, which scared off a few small animals several times during the night. He could also make it swoop and soar through the air just by thinking about it, which was very entertaining but probably wasn't terribly useful. I wonder if it drains my MP, Topher thought to himself curiously. He vaguely remembered learning a few things about magic in a classroom, but the details were fuzzy and he had a powerful urge not to think about it too much; the only thing he was really certain of was that he wasn't a mage. Weird. Why would I be so certain I'm not a mage?

Eventually, he got sleepy enough that he began to be worried he wouldn't notice if their little camp was attacked; he gently woke Tok, who instantly sprang up at the slightest nudge. "What we got?"

"Nothing," said Topher tiredly, "but I'm falling asleep. I didn't want to doze off on guard duty."

The dwarf nodded, pulling his boots back on and picking up his axe. "Sensible. Take a rest in the wagon, then; you've earned it."

Topher felt a small surge of pride, as if he had accomplished his first meaningful task. Well, probably my second, he thought to himself as he climbed into the straw in the back of the wagon; My first was probably whatever I did to get to level two. It took him a while to get to sleep, but when he did, he didn't dream; and somewhere deep inside, he was glad of it.