CLAY

Clay

Clay stopped and looked back at the work he had been doing. He had successfully weeded the little plot of land. The things they had planted at the elder's advice were sprouted and growing well. His gardening skill felt like it was growing. He was doing well enough that the villagers had agreed to let him help with the boon work this afternoon.

Technically, Clay was a noble. The land grant that the king gave to him and Clover made him one. All summons were nobles even if they did not have land. Clay was one of the summonsed heroes from one of the most successful callings in the history of Duran. So successful it has almost bankrupted the kingdom. All King Duran wanted was a party of four to six travelers to harvest dungeons, subjugate monsters and intimidate the local demon lord. What he got was a lead team of six, a 'B' team of six, two dungeon specialty teams amounting to another dozen. Then he got another twelve supporters, healers, magic crafters, magic smiths, herbalists. After that was a group of oddballs with weird or useless skills or weak ordinary ones. A total of forty-eight heroes. Clay was in the last group. He had the skill, gardening, which was weak and rare. The only gardeners that scholars found were people who liked growing flowers. He also was a very weak wind mage. Most of the summons started with five or six skills, he had two.

The world Clay was from would have gone nuts over any kind of magic. In this world mages with air magic were scorned. Wind, Water, Earth then Fire the elemental magics from weak to strong. There were powerful spells like air blade out there but it would take decades of fighting in the dungeon to cultivate them. The only practical use he had found so far was 'breeze'. He was using the gentle bit of fresh air to cool his face right now. Not too impressive in a world where might was right.

He decided to check with Clover and see if there would be lunch. This world did not seem to get the idea of three squares a day. But as lord of his estate that was what he was pushing for. Clover was doing something with a hide. It seemed she had hunted a rabbit.

King Duran had Clay leach his way up to a level three combat rating, then it was decided it was too big an investment to go on. Clover's combat rating was much higher than his. He had told the captain of the guard he thought she was twice as strong as he was, the captain laughed and said "you mean three times!"

As a goat person Clover was mostly vegetarian. But she had no problem killing monsters or hunting meat for others. Her body was shaped pretty much like a human but covered from head to toe with fur. She had golden eyes with pupils shaped like minus signs. Her fur was white with patches of brown, surprisingly it was very soft. At the palace she wore fancy dress like the other princesses. Here she wore a skimpy brown leather miniskirt, vest and short boots. She had been sent to the king as sort of a hostage to guarantee her father's loyalty. Technically, she was under the protection of the king. As a cost cutting measure the king put Clay in charge of her safety. It was unclear if she was his wife or not, her name was on the land title next to his though.

She had no problem with lunch if he cooked it. In a moment he was grilling veggies and chunks of meat on skewers. Most of their living was done outside. The original farmhouse had long been turned to ash, ages before they moved there. They ended up having to build their own shelter.

Clay based it on aborigine homes he had seen in documentaries. He removed a circle of turf, then dug down to about hip deep to form a dirt cellar. Digging was easy thanks to his gardening skill. He gathered young willows, cutting them close to the ground then sinking their trunks in the hole and bending them to form a dome. Then he wove in what he could find to create a thatch barrier. It was drafty, but summer was approaching and they might be thankful for the draft on a warm night.

The first night they spent in it was pretty miserable. He had cried for himself again when it got bitterly cold. Clover had wrapped her arms around him and lent him her considerable warmth. He had cried when he first got here, after realizing he had actually been kidnaped. He had a lot of company there, perhaps because of the age regression. All of the summons had morphed in transit, he felt like he looked like a sixteen-year-old boy, his schoolmate jeered and said "sixteen going on fourteen". This world considered you an adult at age thirteen, on the other hand most normal people would not live past fifty. In addition to being younger his hair had gone from straight dark brown hair to curly light brown hair tinged with copper. There seemed to be a lot more of it on his head than ever before also. As if to compensate there was no sign of sideburns, or a beard, no hair on his chest or arms. He thought of a friend who was a competitive swimmer and shaved and waxed everywhere claiming it improved his time. Yes, he had even shaved there. Clay did have hair down there, but it was no longer the bird's nest that almost covered everything, it was a refined modest showing that concealed nothing, even his scrotum was bare. He would no longer be called the hairy ape.

He had also cried the day the forty-eight of them met and shared their research of a way home. Clay had not done much more than ask people if they had ever heard of a way. Some of the others were brilliant researchers and had really put effort in it. Their conclusion was they were going to be here for a long, long time. That time he had cried in private and promised himself not to cry again.

The first days on the estate were bad, but things gradually improved. He slowly converted their hole, building a stone wall inside to replace the bare earth wall (the top also doubled as a counter), a stone step down, laying flagstone flooring, a villager used earth magic for him to put in a drain so it would not accidentally become a swimming hole. He had purposefully left a few stubs of branches to act as hooks to hang things from. On the outside he had built a low stone wall that actually touched the willow dome and wrapped around it. It was the right height to act as a bench for those sitting outside. In front of the door was a small slightly raised landing. With sleeping rugs on the floor, it was really kind of comfy. The stars you could see through the gaps in the wall were blocked out now, if you positioned yourself just right you could look through the small gap he had left to allow the smoke to escape on those times they lit a small fire. In theory smoke percolating through the thatch would drive away vermin.

On the outside, the shape of the hut made him think of an igloo. One built with rocks and growing plants. The green willows had taken root and were growing. The green sprouts on the inside he wove into the walls to strengthen them, or pinched them off. Clover climbing around on the outside kept the dome shape with pruning.

He was pretty sure goats could not climb, but Clover had an affinity for it. On their roof, into trees, up rocky cliff faces as if she were on a well-maintained sidewalk. Part of it might have to do with her role as a ranger, sniping her prey with her short bow from the high ground. She was also good at gathering eggs and picking fruit. The occasional blood spot in his egg was a reminder he was not in his world anymore.

The villagers were quite leery of them when they first arrived. Or perhaps they just did not know what to make of them. A summons and a princess (a beast kin princess, but princess none the less) living in abject poverty. They literally had it worse than the poorest villager when they arrived. Most of the peasants chose to steer clear of them. Then one day the alarm bell rang and Clover knowing what it was grabbed her sword and short bow and ran to help. Clay followed with his long knife on his hip.

A pack of devil dogs had treed a number of village children and while the villagers were rallying the dogs were attempting to pull a few from their insecure perch. Devil dogs were a low-level monster rarely seen outside of the dungeon. Their chief danger was flanking their enemies, while you faced one, two others would be sneaking up behind you.

Clover took a stand on a low rise overlooking the scene and began sniping the monsters. After the third one went down, they turned and charged her. As they charged, she continued to stand her ground and fire at her foes. With her last arrow gone her last foe with mad eyes and razor-sharp teeth was almost upon her. I cut him from stem to stern! He died with a startled look on his face, I was quite insulted to be completely forgotten.

To be honest, if I had not been there, Clover could take him down with her short sword. But why should I give her all the glory?

After that the villagers warmed up to us. We started trading excess from our overgrown garden with them and meat from Clover's hunting. Before long I was regularly working alongside them.

This might seem strange. We needed to build up our resources and I was doing volunteer work with villagers and boon work for the king. There was a simple reason for it though, ignorance. I did not know enough to survive here on a farm. I needed them to teach me all that they could. They might say they were glad of my help, but it took much longer with me helping then it would take to do it themselves. My goal was to acquire the farming skill. My status as a summon meant I would learn much faster than natural citizens. My problem was my gardening skill, almost everything I did with plants ended up as gardening points, once I got Farming both skills would benefit from overlapping areas, but right now gardening seemed to be stealing the experience points.

I had to be careful how I did things too. When I helped with an irrigation ditch, I got farming points. I decided to put in a little irrigation on my estate and added a couple features to make it slightly decorative and ended up with all the points going to gardening.

Clover

I did not like to cook. Give me a bunch of vegies to use for dinner and the chances were that I would wash them, cut them up and serve them raw. I tended to graze throughout the day. I would even chew on green shoots of trees. Because of this I did not really understand the point of meals at all. The unneeded preparation seemed like a total waste. Cutting, chopping, dicing and then frying, grilling, boiling or even baking. The effort, the materials, the equipment needed all seemed like a huge investment for such a trivial reward. Right now, Clay was drying things out in the sun for winter. It was a testament to his faith we would be alive in winter, I hoped we made it until then- but monster hunters without backup did not usually last long.

To be honest I thought the transfer outside the wall was supposed to be a death sentence. I wondered if something happened to my father or if the king had just tired of having me around. Humes were not fond of beast kin that looked too beastly. If I only had goat ears, horns and a tail my popularity would be much higher. Being entirely covered in fur was not enough, I also had a long face that humes assumed made me unhappy. Or critical. Or filled with distain. Or something else, when it was just that my face was actually long. Of course, it did not help that I tended to ignore everything else when I concentrate.

Cat women and dog women tended to be more popular with humes. The men liked to call cat women "Pussy" for some reason. Mysteriously, that would get them hit by their wives or girlfriends. If they called the dog women bitches that would cause groans and have their girlfriends elbow them in the ribs. It was a mystery to me, I wondered if there was a similar thing with goat people.

There was a villager who claimed I got his goat and when I explained he was mistaken everyone laughed. Maybe it had something to do with that? Humes were a mystery. In addition to that I was learning summons were an enigma inside of a mystery.

When Clay told me his name, I had assumed it was a cruel joke the humes had played on him. He insisted it was his real name from the other side and I began to think he was making sport at my expense. "And I am sure you have a brother Mud and a sister Dust." I had learned if you did not push back when humes made fun of you they would torment you mercilessly. Clay only looked puzzled.

"Mudd is more of a family name. I have never met anyone named Dust, but there is a singer who goes by the name Dusty Trails. I am not much into country though." Clay said. "Stardust, might be a pretty name for a girl."

Apparently, he thinks I am enough of a bumpkin to believe this nonsense. I can tell when I am being toyed with.

Clay was an odd kid. After he learned wind magic was incredibly weak, he began practicing almost constantly. He had a spell where he formed an air ball and threw it. The ball burst in a small puff of air when it finally reached its target. He also had a spell called breeze that made a very gentle wind (almost a breath of air), he kept this going almost constantly. Usually on his face, or back, or narrow chest. He should be promoting his combat skill instead, in this world a level three for combat was a very good start. Practicing swings with his long knife would repay his diligence much faster.

He also kept returning to our hole to improve on our home. After hastily throwing together the lodge, I thought he was done, but every day he would add a feature or enhance something. Picking herbs selected with his gardening skill to hang inside, driving away bugs and giving a welcoming smell to where we slept. I sleep on his left.

His days were spent puttering, helping a villager deliver a calf, tagging along with me on a hunt, collecting seeds, harvesting things from our messy garden twice a day. Gathering herbs in the forest. He seemed to lack any focus, but over time, things got done. Things got better.

We got called out to another devil dog ambush. This time the pack had treed some travelers and most of them had died before rescue got there. It was quite grim, even though only humes were taken down. There was one small child dangling from a rope high up in the tree. The dogs had tried for her, but been unable to reach her. They circled and jumped, but fell just short, though she did have to pull up her feet a couple of times to keep them from clamping onto her. She even managed to kick one on the nose. They were easy for me to pick off as they focused on their prize and ignored their surroundings. I simply sniped away at them from the outside in. Even Clay was able to take down a few of the distracted dogs.

No one from the village wanted a small child, so they awarded her to Clay, a serf, essentially his slave. She had green hair and blue eyes, was perhaps as much as ten years old, she had a lot of those small spots on her skin humes call freckles. She wore a simple tan one piece like all children wear. Her name was Sommer. She tagged along behind Clay like a ducking following its mother. She learned quickly how to pull weeds and harvest the garden. For some reason as he taught her, Clay felt his own experience increase. Summons really are not fair. The two of them spent a week helping Dairyman milk his cows and Clay finally got his farming skill.

Oddly, instead of focusing on farming and gardening now, Clay built his first tower in the field the village elders had advised him on. It was a low tower standing a little taller than my waist. Even Sommer could clamber up on it without assistance. It had a small flat area large enough for the three of us to stand. I told the hero several times that it was great. It gave an improved view of the surroundings and was a big advantage for a bow wielder. Even a mound of half a meter helped my fighting style, this was wonderful. He said that if we had been growing stones like the Irish, he would have built walls everywhere, instead he concentrated on towers and observation decks. Apparently, in his world rocks grow from the ground.

Fighting monsters so far has turned out all right. The guard gets called to deal with the stronger ones. The villagers help with the others. Most of the common ones are weak: devil dogs, slimes, goblins, kobolds, and crawling hands. We are even given credit for the ones harvested from the unclaimed forest. After helping the guard bring down a couple of orcs Clay leveled up his combat skill to four.

Shortly after that, his strength went up to five making his combat ratings unequal but he gained the skill, stone mason. At that point he started preparing a second field for planting next summer. Dragging mulch, rotting leaves, from the forest and working it into the soil. Using a travois, two sticks lashed together to haul the muck on and muttering about a wheelbarrow. Harvesting a great number of stones, he built the first towering tower. This one was about four meters tall and could easily accommodate a half dozen archers. He lashed together a ladder of bamboo to climb to it, since I was the only one who could get to the top otherwise. The ladder was light and even Sommer could pull it up after her.

Actually, Sommer is not so weak. The three of us form a permanent party and she travels with one of us at all times. Her combat rating has reached at least one, making her as strong as an adult male hume. She is basically leaching off of us. Well, technically I am leaching as well. I have gained the farming and gardening skills, even though I don't do either one. Sommer's weapon is a club, or short stick. She will take the time to find the perfect stick, then she leaves it laying around and one of us will throw it in the fire thinking it is firewood.

Her blue eyes will flash and she will start angrily tossing her head as she gripes about losing her weapon. It is not like she has done anything to it to distinguish it from a stick. The way she loses her temper is actually kind of cute, I think sometimes Clay might have thrown the stick in the coals just to see her response. It is mean, though I think he intends more of a teasing. He always helps her find a better one afterwards.

Our party has grown a little in size and strength. Sommer is of course the weakest. Clay is next. When we first came to this place, I was three times higher than Clay in level and I keep inching further ahead. I have leveled combat twice to his once, even though it is more difficult each time you level up. I wish he would focus a bit more on fighting. He also has odd ideas. He won't fight goblins unless they actually raise arms against the villagers, they can even steal a cow and he will not act. They have built a couple of huts in the wood behind our house, but he refuses to do anything. He says they are not monsters, that they are people who wear clothes and use tools and unless they harm someone, he will not act. I even reminded him how they reproduce, but he won't listen to reason.

I think that is what we were debating when Jane Dodd arrived.

Jane Dodd POV

We were organizing a "Yes Means Yes" campaign at the student union on nude day when the summon call came. I found myself in the land the natives call the Real World. I had morphed traveling here. I now have long dark purple hair and flashing violet eyes. My body changed in the flight too. My loose t-shirt and baggy jeans were now painted on my body. My figure had changed from a board to a coke bottle figure, or is it an hourglass? My jeans were now high waters that revealed the crack in my ass. My newly generous butt strained against the jean material and made the rivets work to hold it all together. Even my pudendum seemed to have swollen and was clearly outlined by the tight jeans, my mons was peeking over the waistband. It was bare, my full bush of pubic hair had not made the journey. The waist was so tight I had to pop the button open on the fly, but there was not the slightest fear of the pants falling down. My t-shirt had become a joke, revealing abdomen and even lower ribs. Without ever going to a gym, I now had one of those ripped athletic bodies. My boobs, my breasts, I had stopped thinking about them years ago, no need for expensive bras. There was nothing there. Now they were officially huge with dark purple nipples, the areola faded to blue on the borders, the nipples themselves were always erect, not just pencil erasers but closer in size to the tip of my little finger. My little inverted nips were only a fleeting memory. The comfy old retro t-shirt with the faded logo, "Give a hoot, Don't Pollute!" that should probably have made it to the rag bin was now stretched beyond all reasonable limits. My nipples gave the owl's eyes a crazed look and my boobs stretched his smile into a hideous smirk. If I had grown any taller or raised my hands over my head my under boobs would show. My paste white skin was now a rich golden color that actually seemed to glow. Even my feet had grown with my heels overfilling my sandals and ending up on the ground. When I started at college, I joined the chess team. Now I could get a scholarship in women's basketball.

My previous self had often been mistaken for a boy. On nude day last year I sat in front of the administration building topless and my most mischievous friend did not even take a picture. It was not that I was sexless, or a virgin, there were a number of guys that wanted me to dress like a child. I could have wrapped them around my little finger. Unfortunately, in addition to being perverts they were also idiots. Since I was getting a master's degree in chemical engineering, I had a low tolerance for idiots. I still do.

The physical changes were superficial compared to the others. I had a combat rating of five (each of the skills that go into combat rating were at five), I had elemental magic: wind, water, earth. I had lightening magic, and healing light magic. I had alchemy, herblore, scholarship and crafting. My intelligence was too high for them to measure. I could make tools appear out of thin air by just wishing for them. But these were things we would find out later after our orientation with the king.

While I was evaluating the level of threat posed by the armored men with pikes most of my fellow travelers were, puking, hyperventilating or making inane comments like, "What happened, how did we get here? What happened to me?" Or my favorite, "Is this some kind of prank?"

Clay approached me and asked, "Jane, are you alright?" Which prompted me to ask him how he knew it was me.

"I guess the degree in fine arts is paying off." He answered. He and I were both in graduate programs. He was probably the only friend I had who was not a hard science major or a feminist.

I decided on my own that he recognized the t-shirt when he surprised me by pointing out the people he knew. It was unsettling on several levels, he knew a lot of people, he recognized them despite radical transformations and age regression. Most of them were from the Yes Means Yes planning session, I felt a little guilty for a moment. Well, we did not say yes to this. Clay himself seemed a lot younger, but otherwise unchanged.

Mine was not the most radical transformation. That probably went to the blue woman with silvery hair and bat wings. I wondered what would have happened if the dress she was wearing was not open back. At the same time, I did a rough estimation of her aerodynamic qualities and decided she could not fly. A moment later she took to the air, giving everyone a quick peek at her pink panties. The obvious lesson was physics is trumped by magic here. I also realized this would be a major fashion fail day for most of us. As if on cue Clay's pants fell to his ankles carrying his underwear with them. He was no longer hairy.

By the way, he identified the blue lady with wings as Mary Bolls. Her cheek bones and body mechanics were the same according to Clay. The fact that her flying was probably a major change in her body mechanics did not seem to bother him. Because of my wide range of skills, I ended up in the support group. Clay was with the losers.

It had been a while since I had seen Clay. The last time he was boosting in the dungeon or something. They had tried to get me to raise my combat skills, the trip through the dungeon was interesting but the mind-numbing boredom of endless battles was more than I could take. I left them to it and returned to the surface, for some reason they thought it was dangerous for me to travel on my own. It was simple really to avoid the hazards. Later I would return on harvesting trips for minerals and treasure box drops. I raised my thieving from zero to fifteen in short order and ended up with an invisibility/stealth skill as well.

I had reached an impasse in my work, so I decided to visit Clay and catch up with him. Frankly I needed some fresh air and a day off. In the old days I was mindlessly ignored by the opposite sex, now I was mindlessly pursued by them. So honestly, I was escaping the capital as much as I was seeking out a friend.

His place was definitely off the beaten track. Anyone using normal transport for this area would take a day to get here. My escort and I made it in a little less than an hour by using extraordinary means. I was not planning on viewing the scenery.

The estate stone markers and a little footpath were about the only identifying features of his estate. He had an outdoor grill, a beehive oven and some patio furniture. There was a green mound that resembled an igloo in shape that turned out to be the dorm room.

Princess Clover was wearing a brown leather mini with matching vest and boots. She had been tanning leather and protecting villagers. It was the first time I have seen her look happy. The outfit was skimpy, but since she was covered with white fur and brown patches the effect was a little like wearing a bikini over long underwear, pointless.

Clay had acquired a slave named Sommer, a cute kid with freckles who looked like she already thought of the two of them as her parents. Clover sent her to the cellar to bring us each beer. (I tried calling Clover princess, but she refused. Probably because I refuse all titles. This 'real world' does not have any I respect.) They called their cellar the fridge, it was similar to their dorm: a hole in the dirt, sod house walls, with a sod roof supported by sticks. He had a lot of sod to work with when he built the dorm. One strong rain storm will return it to the earth if they forget to cover it.

The beer was nice. The fridge managed to make it cool but not cold. I gathered the four mugs together and used wind magic on them until ice crystals started to form. We started drinking again with renewed appreciation. Clay had me explain how to do the cooling, apparently, he is goofing off on his mage practice.

"Each of the elemental magics can be cast at different thermal levels. Body temperature is the most common starting point. You are casting wind at room temperature. But wind can have a number of qualities. You can use it to warm or cool." I told him.

"Can fire be cast at different thermal levels?" Clay asked

"It can. There is 'cold fire', but that is meaningless because fire is not an element. It is radiant energy, light. Treating it as an element is a mental trick to help the caster manipulate that energy." I lectured. "I think wind is a weak element because most people in this world have difficulty visualizing it. In a sense air does not seem real. Fire is literally power, or energy at least, so it's simple to make the jump that it is the most powerful element."

Somewhere along the line I had slipped out of my robe. In my previous life when I had the figure of a board, I was a bit of a naturist. Now with a defense level high enough to challenge leather armor and magic support superior to any bra, clothes are accent pieces that serve no useful purpose. They can interfere with sensing and manipulating mana, which is troubling if you are a mage. Before I ditch my threads, I think about who I am around. Clover and my escort are beast kin, every day is clothing optional for them. Sommer is a girl. She should not have a problem with seeing another girl. If she does, now is the time to work on it. Clay has seen me nude and seminude many times in the past. The body has morphed, but the soul is the same. It would break my heart if the rules changed because of my transformation.

I had switched out Sommer's beer, it was obvious she had not acquired a taste for it. I washed her cup with magic and filled it with water, then added a powdered punch I had concocted in my lab. Finally swirling and freezing the solution I created a frozen treat for her and apparated a long-handled spoon for her to eat it with.

Clay was grilling some skewers for snacks. My escort started moaning from the blanket he was resting on. "Everyone, this is Don, he is my escort" I introduced the turtle person.

Clay smacked his head. "You named him after the artist, didn't you?"

"Of course!" I responded.

"That's why he has a purple head band and carries a quarter staff? One word: plagiarism!" Clay declared.

"I prefer the term homage." I responded, "Also that is a mage's staff and for all you know the artist could be Don Johnson."

"The actor?"

"Aaanyway, I came out to update you on what's happening." I said before biting into some grilled quale and zucchini on my skewer, it was still too hot to eat, but with my defense level it was not a problem. The sound of it sizzling in my mouth was a little disturbing though. "It might be another five years before we start to age. This is delicious by the way."

"Thank you. What do you mean start to age?" Clay asked.

"Pretty much that, the summoning did not just regress our ages, three of the summonses are still growing younger by the way, but most of us are frozen right now. A quick survey of the literature showed on average heroes take around five years before they start ageing. Once we do the fifty-year limit will kick in. Raising hit points or magic power enough can extend your life or eliminate death from aging. So, food for thought."

I grabbed a little bowl of sauce to try dipping my grill in. Spicy, sweet- pretty nice. I brought out some nan to share.

"Dick Power, the leader of the 'A' team is reinstituting the student council. All of us will be involved. He made himself president, but there are plans for an election. Your student rep is Mary Bolls." I told him. "Contact her if you need anything or have any problems."

"The flying fox, huh?" he had generated that nickname to offset 'batty Mary' and it worked. He does not like bullying. "I thought Dick was going to be busy with subjugating the demon lord."

"He finished that task by himself, it seems demon lords are pretty reasonable if you are not trying to steal their land or water rights. He went and visited the guy, who turned out to be a gal by the way, and wrote up a treaty, then came back and had the king sign it." The sauce tasted good on toasted nan as well.

"That did not cause a problem with the king?" Clay asked.

"If he wanted to run his country himself, he should not have invited forty-eight of us over here." I sighed. "Aanyway, the king will be benefitting from the student council advisory committee from now on."

"There was some talk about one of the guys marrying one of his daughters, but nobody is up for it." I pointed out. The hero group is heavy on the female side with only ten males out of forty-eight. "You want the job?"

"I don't think the king would like his daughter living out here with me." Clay.

"I don't think there is any plan to offer him a choice, or any concern about what he wants. Kidnappers don't deserve sympathy." I told him seriously.

"As romantic as having a hostage locked in the closet to peel grapes for me sounds, I will pass." Insisted Clay.

Sommer had refilled our beer mugs. I think I love this girl. Don is showing signs of life, nibbling at the vegies. Clay is looking totally domesticated with Clover leaning on his left shoulder and Sommer parked on the ground leaning on his leg. Her face looked really cute as she shoveled orange slush into her mouth. I should warn about brain freeze.

I stared into my beer, as if there were answers there. No words floated up saying 'the signs are good'. I sipped my beer.

"You heard about the assassins, didn't you?" I asked.

"No, what's up with that?" Clay was petting Sommers's hair.

"Some real-world guys are planning to kill all the heroes." I told him, "So watch your back."

His response was a burp, which got Sommer laughing, which got me laughing with beer shooting out my nose, and then all of us were laughing.

We had all drunk too much. We were sitting around, nearly falling asleep. Bees buzzing. Birds singing. People thought nature was quiet, it is not. It is not peaceful either, but we can still relax. The girls were sawing logs, Clay's eyes were drooping. I walked over to him and leaned down.

"I have been wanting to do this for some time." I pressed my forehead against his. We shared a few beery breaths.

After a moment of conspiring the magic began to flow and I awakened earth magic in him. My skill as a scholar enabled me to teach skills I know. He was my first student. How much I can teach is dependent on my knowledge of the skill and my scholarship level. I was able to impart level three earth magic. I kept my head in contact with his while observing the integration. Just as the integration finished a new skill popped up for him, mining. I kept contact watching it integrate, it stopped at a high level one, and then was copied to my file as well. Looks like scholarship is an insane skill.

I turned and stumbled back to my chair. Was it the beer? Was it weariness from teaching? Mind down?

Don had been sitting behind me while I educated my friend. He was bright red. Should I call him a painted turtle? Is the beer doing this to him? Just as I was about to tease him Clay caught my eye.

"How are you doing Jane?" ah, he knows.

"Not so good, I am having a lot of trouble with this new reality. Some days it does not feel real. Other times I don't think I am real. The metamorphosis really jacked up my head." I wanted to stop there. "I am worried about becoming a cutter." It was out. Would he hate me? Would he mock me? Would he think less of me?

"It has been a while since I sketched you, I wish I had some art supplies." He said with regret.

"I will have to bring some the next time I come." I told him. I cannot be that bad if he still wants to draw me.

That was when the alarm began sounding. Monsters were troubling the villagers. I cast detox. Clay and his party grabbed their weapons and we headed over to see what was happening.

A medium sized caravan was being attacked by a pair of ice wolves. An escort of about a hundred warriors was trying to block them while the caravan attempted to escape. It looked like they had been playing this game for a while. The pair of ice wolves looked pretty amused.

The villagers had showed up to help and were throwing rocks in the direction of the monsters. It was not working. Clay ordered them to fall back to the pass and set up a line of defense there. He was basically ordering them to safety.

Ice wolves, also known as verglas wolfen, have a name that does not really express their combat potential. It leads people to imagine blue tinted German shepherds. Think of a wolf somewhat larger than an African elephant. Jaws capable of crushing oak trees. Claws that are incredible curved weapons. A monster designed to drag down retreating victims. The type of creature that leads people to throw their children from the sled for a chance to escape.

The male just swept the front line. Three armored warriors who were too slow went flying into the fields. We should probably help out. This sort of monster is a normal meal for any of the dungeon team school chums. As a supporter this is totally out of my league. If I saw them on my own, I would probably just move on. Clay is not likely to stay back though so I guess I should at least fake some sympathetic action.

"Don, annoy them!" I commanded my escort. In a moment all of the monster's ire was directed at Don. He is a very aggravating guy.

He is a tank. Huge defense, high agility. No real attack at this level. This is probably good experience for him. His defense XP are spinning like the numbers on the debt clock. He even manages to dodge a few of their attacks.

Clover is bouncing arrows off their clear ice armor. I guess I should at least try something. I pull out my wire gun and expend half a spool of white steel wire. I concentrated the rapid fire on their faces with a few dozen finger length bits of wire lodging in their eyes. Once they were blinded, I threw a huge sapphire blue water ball at the Luna. I was afraid she would evade it. Instead, she attacked and the water ball burst into steam. I concentrated the steam around her head, causing it to track her movements and increased the energy levels a bit.

For the male I sent three of the clear hyperthermal water balls circling in from different angles, hoping one would land. The stupid thing attacked just like its mate had. In a moment it was being hideously burned by steam.

The female was already losing hair from her face and throat. I recalled they would parboil hides to remove hair. Clover chose her most vicious arrow and finally landed a shot on the female's bare throat. Luna swept the arrow away with a claw, creating more damage than the arrow had on its own. Her neck was fountaining blood.

It was a bit taxing to keep the steam encircling their heads, maintain the atmospheric pressure and keep feeding energy into the attack. It looked like I had cooked their eyes. It was equivalent to having their heads in a pressure cooker. Their painful wails were dying down, either because they were weakening or because their throats were swelling shut.

The caravan guard had managed to loop restraints on them so they did not escape. With the damage done to their airways they would certainly still die, but since they are monsters, they would rack up a lot of damage until then. The male seemed unwilling to leave the Luna's side. Even monsters can be devoted.

A couple of the stronger mercenary guardsmen were counting coup on the bare necks of the wolves, following Clover's example. They were mostly using pikes, although one had a huge double headed axe. Clover tried a few more shots, but did not have an arrow capable of doing any damage.

The female fell to her injury's first. Then the male gave up and covered her body with his, shielding it from any more insult.

The caravan was called back, negotiations were done, and the bodies were harvested. The villagers and Clay's party were awarded minute prizes to avoid becoming a target for bandits. I hung around long enough to see what was in their stomachs then we went back for a beer. I had arranged the experience sharing so that Clay's party and Don got the lion's share. Everyone seemed pretty happy with what they got.

It was painfully obvious I needed to come up with a finishing move. I am a supporter, not a fighter, but something like that just takes too long.

"What was with those water balls?" Clay asked.

"Super-heated water, hot enough to turn to steam when it bumps. Compare it to a cup of coffee vaporizing when you try to take it out of the microwave." I told them.

For some reason they seemed impressed with the clumsy way I took down the verglas wolfen. I personally thought it only illustrated my weakness.

The biggest win for Clay and the villagers was that the merchants would be sending out a wagon to trade in their square once a month during traveling season, they guaranteed it for ten years. It was like a promise the town would grow.

"What was that machine gun you were using?" Clay asked.

"Machine gun?" I laughed, "That was a wire gun, really weak. Fires snips of white steel wire. Horrible accuracy, but insane rate of fire. Uses electromagnetic force to move the wire. It was sort of an experiment to see if my lightening magic could be useful. Originally it was going to be a nail gun, but I kept going through the wood. I finally said fuck it and ended up with this."

"It's a rail gun!" Clay declared.

"It's not a rail gun. It is a wire gun." Let's keep clear of rail guns. "I held the firing rate down to about half speed. Full out it has the accuracy of a man's penis, even standing behind it won't guarantee your safety. The rounds that do the most damage end up flying sideways. I thought about putting some loops in the barrel to expand the length like a French horn and increase the speed of the round, but you quickly reach the point where you are firing molten metal"

Clay

I tried to get Jane to spend the night. Told her she could do a sleepover with the girls. Don and I could sleep under the stars. She refused. She had politicking to do, experiments to look after, and wanted to try out her mining skill in a high-level dungeon. She did take a raincheck though. At times it felt like we had been in the real world a long time, summer was coming to an end, preparations for winter were getting serious. In this world preparation for winter starts at the end of winter, but gets very serious at harvest time.

I used my new mining skill to pull some marble out of the earth and found I could mold it like clay. Under the light of the full moon, I began to model Jane's figure using the battle with the ice wolves as inspiration. By the time Clover got up it was pretty much finished. I had Jane 'casting magic' at the unseen foe. She was in a heroic pose, like a character in an action movie, or a manga. One of the village children was clinging to her leg for protection. Jane's face was reflecting fear but determination. The straining muscles, the veins standing out showed the desperate effort she was devoting to her task. I made the statue slightly less than three-fifths ratio. If the statue had been one to one Jane would have seemed like a titan, I wanted the feeling of a delicate woman wrestling with a monstrous fate. I marveled again at how warm and smooth the marble skin could be crafted, this stone is a wonderful medium.

I now had a sculpting skill and I had already leveled it up. Creating statues this way is an incredible cheat. Maybe I should add Don and one of the mercenary's as well.

I fixed tea and Clover and I sat down to view my work. Clover showered praise on it, but I let her comments flow off like rain from a roof. She did not know anything about art, she did not know Jane, and there was no way for her to understand me. Her words were pleasant fluff, I enjoyed hearing them, but in the end this message is for Jane.

Objectively, I had to admit, this was awfully good for something I just threw together. On the other hand, being able to rework it as if it were clay made it hard not to go back and rework it. One of the challenges to an artist is figuring out when you are done. I probably need to get it out of here before I end up ruining it.

Jane Dodd

I got word that Clay had placed a statue commemorating the merchants battle outside of town in one of the little parks sponsored by the merchant's guild. Most of the guilds in town had a couple of them. Little grassy areas with shade trees and benches and little islands of flowers.

The statue had a plaque in front of it explaining how the merchants were returning home, laden with riches from foreign lands, when they encountered a huge pair of Verglas Wolfen and a battle ensued outside the gate to this city.

I was wearing my red robe with the hood up. No one would associate me with the dainty gal facing gigantic monsters. The white marble with hints of pink was closer to my coloration in the other world, instead of the golden me now. On the far side of the park were Don and the axe wielder from the mercenaries. They were both larger than life. If they were tanking in the front line like their pose suggests then the monster that I was casting magic at must be twice the height of the original based on the angle of my arm. I found myself crying for the little one with such an overwhelming task.

A dirty little girl whose playground is the streets came and took my hand. "Don't cry mama, they beat the bad guys!" She quietly held my hand while I sobbed for myself.

A little girl whose curly hair was decorated with flowering weeds crouched down and took the other leg of the heroine. She fixed a terrified look on her face and pressed herself against the marble leg. Then she laughed and called out to the girl holding my hand. "Mattie! Come hide from the monsters with me! The hero will protect us!" Without another thought the girl holding my hand took off to cower with her sister.

One marble girl and two meat girls relying on a hero that is not even a fighter.

The nobleman who brought me here took my other hand. He had been inspecting the front line. I wanted to wipe my eyes, but the hand the girl had held was sticky.

"The artist did not do his research; he has Don using a quarterstaff not a mage's staff." He commented.

"Well, it was obviously thrown together very quickly." I responded. There were places Clay had not completely smoothed out his thumb prints. I was on the verge of crying aloud for myself. My lover does not understand, this is not about a battle outside of town. Clay understands, but he is not my lover. Just before I burst into tears the girls brother ran up, clasped his hands together with his index fingers pointing out to form a gun, and goosed my butt. I mean my statue's butt.

I snickered, then I laughed. Suddenly I was laughing so hard I could not stop.

"Are you all right?" He looked at me with concern. He is a big man he hardly has to look up to meet my eyes. "Are you crying?... Jane?"

"No, I am fine. These are not tears, it's just rain." I said under the cloudless sky.

It would become a tradition for the girls of the capital to take pity on the naked hero on holidays. They would dress her in the appropriate dress for the holiday or the season. When the rite of spring arrived for instance, she would wear a spring green dress with a wreath of flowers on her head. They had to be fairly inventive to get clothes on an unbending statue, or perhaps they just sewed her into them like they did with the bombshells from the silver screen. I would find myself going out of my way to see what 'I' was wearing now, ironic on so many levels.

[Reminder, Jane Dodd is a genius. Ironic: 1. A statue does not need clothes. 2. Clothing subverts the will of the artist. 3. The clothes celebrate holidays and events that are meaningless to the subject, a traveler from another world. 4. The capital has people dressed in rags while they decorate a statue with fine new clothes. 5. The poor citizens would never think of stealing her clothes. 6. The subject is philosophically a nudist. 7. The subjects only interest in fashion stems from people dressing her image. 8. Nothing they dress her in would be worn in battle. 9. The subject is a powerful important woman who divides her time between politics, inventing, researching, teaching, compounding potions and administering medical treatments- In short, her time is gold. Viewing the "Kindershield's" latest outfit is frivolous. 10. Clothing the statue is vandalism. Let me know if there are any others.]