Zeroth Moment: My Cheat Skill Is Stupid, So I'll Just Ignore It

By the next morning, Topher was feeling a little more like himself; he felt less weak, a little less confused, and was starting to remember a few more things about what had happened to him. The big one was that he'd been summoned from Earth to this magical world and was apparently pretty much stuck here; that didn't bother him as much as he figured it probably should have, which bothered him more than the other thing by a significant margin. He also vaguely remembered running away from a city -- Strathmore, he supposed -- after nearly being killed in in some kind of battle, but the specifics of it were still fuzzy; his brain kept shying away from the topic, like there was something there he didn't want to remember.

He and the dwarf rode in silence for most of the day; as noon passed, the temperature began to drop steadily. Tok didn't seem chatty, and Topher didn't feel like forcing him; he wanted to ask a lot of things -- where dwarves came from, what other races there were, and what the subjective experience of being a dwarf was like -- but he forced it down. He didn't want to give away his ignorance.

Selfish, useless, and lazy. Ignorant and incurious. The words floated out of the abyss of his memory maliciously; Topher shook himself. Fuck you, he growled into his own mind, a little of the old spark of his anger warming. I'm just being cautious.

"Something on your mind?" Topher flinched, then looked over to see Tok cocking his head at him a little; he cursed.

"Sorry." He struggled a little, but eventually managed to force it out: "I've lost a little of my memory. Going through some stuff, I guess."

The dwarf nodded. "Happens sometimes, in a bad situation. You were obviously in combat; had you been so before?"

Topher shook his head, very decisively. "Never. The worst situation I've been in before this one was getting beaten up by my Dad or some bullies."

Tok grunted, nodding again. "How much do you remember?"

"Not much." Topher closed his eyes, drawing his legs up and wrapping his arms around his knees. "There was a knife, and a lot of fire, and too much blood; I don't think most of the blood was mine." He tried to remember who he'd been fighting, but his mind kept avoiding it; it was like trying to chew with a sore tooth. "I don't even remember how it ended."

Tok shrugged. "You survived; bury the past."

"Bury the past." Topher felt a cool feeling wash through him. "Yeah. I like that."

"Old dwarvish saying. Real profound." Tok didn't elucidate. "What's your plan after this, stretch?"

Topher shrugged. "I dunno. Riding with you is about as far as my plan goes, right now."

"Well, I can take you as far as Frostford; but Wanbourne is no place for a level 2 without a Class. Zombies and the like."

Topher blinked. "They have zombies in Wanbourne? What the hell kind of place is it?"

Tok chuckled. "Big city, built on top o' the ruins of an ancient necropolis. Freaky place, but lots o' higher-level adventurers an' merchants do business there, so you can make some serious gold. There's always expeditions and whatnot delvin' into the ruins, so business springs up around all the activity. Eventually, folks started putting down roots there, and now you have suburbs on top of a massive dungeon." He shrugged. "Just the way o' the world."

"Huh." Topher hunched down into his filthy hoodie. "Well, guess I'll be hanging out in Frostford for a while then."

"Worse places for it." Tok tugged on the horse's reins a little, guiding it around a hole in the road. "Though you might need some better clothing to stay there; like the name says, it can get cold."

Topher abruptly started; he realized, belatedly, that his clothing might give him away as an Otherworlder (and thus as an F-Rank). Tok hadn't seemed to notice or care -- maybe dwarves don't know much about human fashion? -- but he didn't want to press his luck. "I don't suppose you've got anything I could buy off you?"

The dwarf grunted, then reached back into the wagon and pulled out a long brown robe. "Priest's robe. I got it last time I was in Wanbourne; been tryin' to sell it for a few months, but no takers. Give it to ya for a gold."

Topher nodded, reached into the front pocket of his hoodie for his gold pouch, then froze in horror. Shit. My coin pouch. He was broke. He felt panic begin to crawl up his guts like snakes. "Uh, don't suppose you have my coin pouch, do you?"

The dwarf nodded, then handed it to him, along with his broken glasses. "Didn't want 'em falling out while you were unconscious. But I suppose you're capable of looking after 'em now."

Topher let out a huge sigh of relief, checking the pouch's contents; he couldn't see very well without his glasses, but he could tell he still had quite a few gold coins inside. He dug five out and handed them to Tok gratefully. "There you go."

Tok snorted. "Humans can't do math? I said one gold."

"One for the robe, sure; four more for saving my life and putting up with me all the way to Frostford." Topher took the robe and put it on; it was practically an open-front Snuggie. The sleeves and hood were so massive he could wrap himself up in them entirely, but could also be shoved back with ease; he felt incredibly comfortable. "Wow, hey, this is really nice."

The dwarf's bearded mouth ticked upwards a little at one corner. "Glad you like it. Has a mild enchantment on it too, but might not work for ya; supposed to only function for Priest Classes."

"Can't hurt to check." Topher opened his Status.

Name:

Christopher Bailey

Level:

2

Class:

Otherworlder

Strength:

Rank F

Dexterity:

Rank F

Constitution:

Rank F [+1: Rank F]

Intelligence:

Rank D

Wisdom:

Rank D [+1: 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)

[Cold Resistance (Rank F)]

[Heat Resistance (Rank F)]

Special Skills:

Disrupt Illusion

Mage Shield (Rank F)

Mage Light (Rank F)

Unique Skill:

Attract Object

"Hey, nice." Topher was shocked; having any kind of good fortune seemed very out of character for him. "Looks like it increases my Constitution and Wisdom a little, maybe? And gives me Heat and Cold Tolerance? Not enough of a boost to increase my Rank, though."

The dwarf nodded. "Good to see it go to use. I was about to repurpose it for a horse blanket."

Topher's mind spun. "So... I guess my Class is some kind of Priest Class? But I also have Mage Skills?" His head was starting to hurt. "I damn sure don't feel religious."

"Not that weird." Tok gave another shrug. "Lots of Classes share Skills. Rangers and Rogues both get the Stealth Skill; Merchants and Crafters get the Appraise Skill. Heretic is a Priest class that also gets Mage skills; there are probably others too."

"Ugh. Sure hope it's not that one -- Heretic Class sounds like they don't make too many friends." Topher wasn't exactly sure what a Heretic was, but he definitely knew it was something he associated with getting burned at the stake.

"It's just a Class, beanpole. I knew an elf with some kinda Axe Murderer Class who was the most friendly and polite person you can imagine." Tok smirked again. "When she wasn't murderin' people with axes, anyway."

Topher remembered the huge axe Tok had produced when they had stopped to camp. "Is that your class? I saw you use an axe before."

Tok shook his head. "I'm Frontier Merchant; Level 14. The axe is a dwarven thing."

"Sorry." Topher retreated back into his robe; he felt like he'd just said something culturally insensitive. "I don't know much about dwarves."

"Most humans don't." Tok's expression was hard to read; his mouth being hidden by his beard and his eyes being hidden behind his dark goggles didn't help, either. "But most humans also don't know how to appreciate dwarfmeal, so you get a pass." He guided the horse around a large bend in the road, and the sun struck Topher in the face like a wet towel. Shielding his eyes, he blinked into the glare as best he could without his glasses.

They were rounding the side of a cliff at the top of a low hill; below them, Topher could see a large valley, spread out across a large forest of what he thought might be evergreens. There was a small town a few miles ahead of them; a collection of wooden structures clustered around a handful of stone buildings in the center, from which issued forth a continuous thin stream of light smoke. Topher could abruptly smell potatoes being cooked.

"Frostford," grunted the dwarf. "Last stop for humans named Topher."

Topher was abruptly glum; he realized he'd miss the dwarf. "Yeah." He wanted to say more, but didn't know how, and Tok didn't speak any more after that. Topher watched the trees roll past as the wagon made its way down into the valley, through the outskirts of the town, and into the town square where a few merchants were waiting. As they approached, Topher was again struck by the sense that the scale of things in this place was wrong; he saw two small farms and one miniscule orchard, but this town obviously had a population of more than fifty. How the hell are they not starving to death?

Gently drawing the wagon to a stop, Tok hopped down and hobbled the horse, then began to unload a few crates from his wagon; Topher tried to help, but he was mostly just in the way. He drew back, feeling awkward, as the dwarf made conversation with the other merchants, received gold, and took on additional cargo for what Topher supposed must be the next leg of his trip to Wanborne. In less than twenty minutes, he was unhobbling his horse and re-mounting the wagon, and Topher realized he was about to miss his chance to say goodbye.

"Wait!" He hustled over to the dwarf, unsure of what to say. "Are you... coming back this way? Later on?"

Tok nodded. "It'll be a few months; I gotta take a leg up through Three Streams and back around to Whitebridge before I head back this way." He didn't elaborate.

Topher felt abruptly ridiculous; he let his hands drop from the wagon. "Sorry. Thanks for everything, Tok."

"Don't mention it." The dwarf snapped the reins gently; the horse began to plod away, slowly at first and then with a speed that seemed much faster than when he'd been riding in the cart. Less than a minute later, Topher was alone again.

He wanted to stand there feeling sorry for himself for a few minutes -- perhaps pose wistfully and dramatically in the wind -- but it was too cold and Topher was too old for that sort of nonsense. Time to find a place to sleep. And somebody to fix my damn glasses.