The two men were exhausted. Dastilan offered the man a drink and a once over with a cleaning spell. Cameron eagerly thanked the man, wondering just how bad he smelled, before skulling the mug of liquid in front of him.

"That might be the best beer I've ever had." The light brown concoction was light, yet underset with hints of nuts and berries. He sunk into the chair in satisfaction, before looking up and examining his companion's outstreched hand, with it's flexed fingers pointed in his direction. The detritus and particulates of the day seemed to tingle on his skin, before dematerialising, leaving him smooth, and comfortable. Even his pores seemed emptied. He had used the well outside beforehand, to wipe off the mess and to consume half his body weight in water, but the coldness and lack of soap left a thin, oily slick surface of blood on his body. He was overjoyed to have it taken away.

"Did you even taste it? Good grief, it barely touched your tongue." Dastilan lightly tiraded the outworlder, before giving him a small understanding grin. He had a sea of questions, but no energy to ask them. He had reapplied the spell to his wounds beforehand, and attempted to use it on Cameron as well, with no success. The implications of his spells having no direct effect on him were numerous, but Dastilan's mental reserves were on empty.

"My curiousity is aflare, my strange friend, but I believe I will collapse if I don't return to my bed. You're welcome to stay the night, if you will help me with my nephews' burial in the morning." Dastilan moved each leg one by one to his bed in a exaggerated shuffle, and collapsed dramatically in the sheets before turning over and drawing them over himself.

"If you wish to kill me and take my belongings, I'd appreciate a quick death." He sardonically chuckled to himself . Cameron grimaced.

"I thought we were past that?" He spoke to the man, tutting. His words fell on deaf ears however. Dastilan was out. He must be shattered. Cameron unwillingly extricated himself from the cushioned chair, before turning to the door in search of an empty bed. You and me both, buddy. Questions could wait.

Cameron awoke, his head face down on the noticeably poorer quality of pillow that Dastilan enjoyed. Not that it mattered much to him. His body felt remarkably better than the state the previous day's violence left him in. He fell to the side to examine his injuries once more. The healing spell Dastilan attempted to use yesterday didn't take hold, and he was worried as to the state of his forearm.

It happened again. I wonder if I'm even strictly human, any more?

The wounds were surrounded by purple, inflamed skin, bruised from the impacts of the instruments inflicted on them, but the entry holes themselves were small, scabbed over and healing. A normal person would need stitches for that. And why doesn't it hurt? He poked at the tusk injury, before recoiling at the pain it caused him. Ow. That was a stupid idea.

His stomach rumbled. It moved and flexed of it's own volition, and the hunger pains jolted him, the last of the sleepy atmosphere jettisoning away from him. Cameron realised that this body had never actually eaten anything. It was like it was crying for nourishment, a baby screaming for a bottle. He'd eat the hard straw of the bed padding, if he had to. The feeling forced him from his mattress, and out of the bedroom. Upon opening the heavy wooden door, he found Dastilan chewing over a bowl of what was most likely some sort of oatmeal, in the central room of the large cabin that was a mix between living room, work room and kitchen all at once. His head was down and his shoulders were slumped, as if he was suffering from a hangover. He teased the wooden spoon in and out of his meal vacantly, his mind focused on more important things. Cameron's arrival didn't even register to him.

"Are you alright? Yesterday was a shitshow. How are you feeling?" Cameron attempted to suss out the man's mood. They were both in the heat of the moment the day before, and he wondered if the man was still so amenable after time to process the reality of his kin's death, as well as his own assault.

"A redundant question, don't you think?" He looked up, wearing a scowl on his haggard face.

"They're all I really had left, my nephews. Vultures, but still family. Or are you talking about my physical wounds? Because they still hurt." Dastilan stared vacantly at Cameron, a slight look of derision on his face caused by the outworlder's stupid question.

"I suppose it was. Sorry, I'm not really a people person." Cameron felt like he was walking on needles. Dastilan released an audible breath.

"Neither am I, really. Apologies. None of this is your fault. It's just... events have been taxing."

He motioned for Cameron to sit in the chair opposite him, and stood up to move to the cast iron metal stove behind him. The smell eminating from it was a simple oaty smell, yet it sent Cameron's appetite into overdrive. His tongue salivated. It screamed at him for release, for nourishment after what felt like a lifetime. A gentle taste, first. His body confirmed the contents. A gate opened in Cameron's body, manners were pushed to the side in favour for shoveling mound after mound of the sweet, earthy porridge into his gaping maw, and it spilled from the corners of his lips. He knew he looked like an animal, but he didn't care. He'd never felt such satisfaction. Wordlessly, he looked up with doe eyes at Dastilan, appreciation over his face towards the angelic chef in front of him. Dastilan recoiled at first, then sniggered, and stood up to bring the whole iron pot over for Cameron to eat from.

"You eat like a pig, but I'm not surprised. I had postulated, if your body really had been reconstituted, it's likely you have no energy reserves at all. You're all muscle, no fat. Eat what you will, but not too much. If you vomit in here, you're cleaning it up."

All Cameron really took in was 'eat what you will' while his spoon darted from the pot to his mouth. A minute later, he reclined back, his hands on his stomach and his body nourished. Dastilan had finished brewing some sort of tea, and had poured two cups for them and placed it on the rounded wooden table between the two. Cameron took a sip. Delicious.

"So... what are you?" Cameron opened the floor to conversation, but realised the bluntness of his question.

"Uhm, like race wise, I mean. Is that rude to ask?" The question had been playing on Cameron's mind, but it never had a good opportunity to be spoken.

"I'm a Cervidian. It's not rude to ask, no, but you have a strange way of doing it." Dastilan looked at Cameron like he was a child.

"Sorry for being so awkward. The only sapient life on my planet is Humans. You're the first other intelligent species I've ever met."

"Only humans? How horrifying. What a strange world it must be." Dastilan remained in thought at such a world existing. He broke out of the speculation a minute later, refocusing on the unique man in front of him. He took a breath, and slapped his knees on the exhale.

"Right, I've been thinking of your predicament. Specifically the total lack of mana, and I have some good news, and some bad news. Theoretically, anything targeting you, or more specifically your unique mana signature, won't work because there's simply nothing to see. Anything from Reveal or Analyse, to targeted offensive spells, or mind manipulation magic, cannot work without a target. If you can find a hole to hide yourself in, you would be essentially invisible to any magical identification."

"Wow. That's... reassuring." Cameron contemplated the man's words. That makes staying away from anything that can kill me more feasible. With a long gun, I'd be untouchable...

"Don't think yourself invincible, however. Anything not relying on a mana signature will work just fine against you. Unfortunately, that's most offensive magic. Freely aimed spells will work fine such as Fireballs, Windblades, Icedaggers, Earthstakes, all magic that you could concievably be on the end of from most people. Everyone knows at least one simple trick to defend themselves."

"I know that, trust me." He rubbed his palm over the tusk wound on his arm. Dastilan immediately continued.

"That's not all. You have no anti-magic defenses. You can't use any Manashields, physical OR immaterial, and you cannot cast any health-based magicks, nor can they be cast on you."

"Mana signatures, right." Cameron sighed. The odds were stacking even more against him.

"In addition, any magically created effect, like poison gasses, or artifical darkness will still have an effect, just like real poison, or real night would."

"Okay, I might have something for that." It occured to Cameron that gas masks, and NODs (or NVGs) were likely under the umbrella of his sanctioned kit. I'll ask that bastard about his wonky kit checklist, someday.

"I'm curious about that, but that isn't the end of the list. I have serious doubts as to whether someone like you could use anything produced by Magical Alchemy. No health tonics, no performance boosters, definitely no mana tonics. You will have to test that." Cameron audibly groaned. Health potions are a classic! A solve-all red liquid ambrosia that heals anything and everything, and I can't use it. He wore the disappointment publically, but Dastilan ignored him and kept going.

"Which leads on to another thing, you will never be able to utilise Magic Technology. That IS a massive loss. It would've complimented your lack of ability to cast, but without a mana signature, you cannot activate even a light, let alone a shielding device, or even a guardsman's Identification Orb. That one will give you trouble at the gates." Dastilan threw his hands up with outrage. What a strange situation.

"I can't even get into the cities? How do I buy anything?"

"There are always other ways in, but they would cost you, and you can buy the basics at any villages, or lightly guarded towns, I imagine. Only cities, or millitary towns would care enough to Orb every single traveller." Dastilan screwed his face at the mention of the millitary. Cameron understood why. Even without the previous day's events, he'd avoid soldiers like the plague.

"Am I some sort of criminal for existing or something?" Dastilan's eyes fell into a dull gaze.

"Not a criminal. An abberation. They would take you into custody for further tests. They'd probably think you're somewhat highly trained in Magic, and are giving them the runaround by clouding the Orb's information. They wouldn't appreciate having to deal with you. And it's not like you can tell them how you actually got here, or explain that you have no mana. It's completely unheard of."

I can't even exist without getting jogged about? He felt sick. Dastilan didn't register the shadow over Cameron's face. He just continued listing all of the ways Cameron would be negatively affected for his existence.

"I wonder how sprites would react to you. They ignore the untalented, and adore the powerful. Hoh, I imagine you would make them cry, or maybe they would just spit in your face." Dastilan grinned at the scene in his head.

"Ah, and a bank account is off the books, if you'll pardon the pun. They track expenditures and transactions through a mana signature-binded metal plaque. Same thing with all the guilds, too... That makes earning money difficult."

No money? How am I supposed to eat? Dastilan didn't register his guest's discomfort. Nor his horror. He just continued to rack off his theories like it was a game, a small satisfied smile on his face.

"Ah, and these Beacons you must visit. Will you actually seek them out? I've never heard of them before, but they would surely have a Magic-based activation sequence. An object of such magnitude wouldn't have a purely mechanical operation, it must be Magic. Why you would be sent without a way to use them remains to be-"

"Please, just shut up for a second!" Cameron exploded. His breath came difficultly to him, and he started massaging his temples with his fingers, head down almost in his lap. He couldn't listen to his vulnerabilites being theorised any more. Dastilan looked at the outworlder with a blank look. A few seconds after, a warm blush spread across his face. He realised he was revelling in his speculation. Speculations that, if true, put Cameron lower on the food table than children. He apologised to the man, who was running his hands through his hair vacantly.

"Oh dear." Dastilan pushed his palm over his forehead, brushing into the soft fur of his crown.

"I'm sorry. I used to do this kind of thing, you see. Theorising, that is. To think of ways someone could strike my employer and negate them. Some of them were even correct. A good thing to happen when your employer pays you for the service. Uh... not so much in this situation." He felt like a fool. The both of them felt like that a lot around each other. A post-battle fog didn't lend well to their impromptu cross-cultural exchange.

Cameron sighed. He'd been doing that a lot, lately. He recomposed himself, and emptied his head.

"Dont worry about it too much. I think... I already knew how likely I was to succeed here. I saw this as a second chance, believe it or not. I thought God was giving me an opportunity to 'atone for my sins'. Hah, like that would happen." Cameron felt it was only a matter of time till he died, even before the event. He wasn't explicitly suicidal, but if a speeding car flew towards him in the street, he doubted he would have moved. He felt as if a self imposed invisible timer was ticking over his head. He had no real reason, or compulsion, to make a better life for himself, but a whole new world? A fresh canvas. No one who remembered your mistakes. No lives he had taken. No one who had ever betrayed him. Even a job sweeping streets here would have been more fulfilling than his old life. A universe away from his old missteps.

The awkward silence between the two stretched on. Dastilan, however, had an important question.

"How... how have you survived until now? The boars, the soldiers?"

"Ah. Well, I was given something before I got here. It's probably best just to show you."

"Gods. No magic involved? Not even in it's construction? This is incredible!"

Cameron had led the man towards the stable, after asking permission to further damage the collapsed structure. Dastilan doubted the man could cause any more damage than the fire did, and gave his consent. He had not expected the man however, to materialise a pointed metal device in his palms, and press his finger into a concave protuberance to instantly splinter a hanging, charred piece of wood 20 metres away.

"This is just a pistol. It's meant as self defense, or as a secondary... an accompaniment to the primary firearm." Cameron smiled, the Glock 17 sitting comfortably in his hands trickling smoke from the barrel after discharging the rest of the magazine. Ah. The smell of Cordite. The little demonstration was effective; Dastilan's mouth held agape, hand on his chin and his eyes wide with amazement. This is an accompaniment? What could the 'primary' do?

Cameron exchanged weapons, instead calling out in his mind for an assault rifle. More specifically, an American wartime movie classic, the M16A2. He'd always liked the aesthetics of the large, beefy looking stock, and the long, rounded handguard. He'd never actually had the opportunity to use it, but that didn't seem to matter now. He forced down the excited thoughts in his head. Focus. Demonstration now, 50. Cal later. That's gonna be fucking cool.

He switched the rifle from Safety to Full Auto, and depressed the trigger. Round after round flew out of the barrel, a rhythmic thumping ringed the two's ears as splinters and coals jumped from the ground. He drew the rifle slowly across the last remaining wall, punching holes into the woodwork. The wall groaned from it's punishment, and leaned inwards before collapsing to join the rest of the structure. All in all, it took 4 and a half seconds for the alien weaponry to obliterate the building, before emptying itself completely.

No mana. No magic. Just pure mechanical ingenuity. The Cervidian was giddy.

"This is an Assault Rifle. Every soldier is trained in it's use, and most of them use them on the battlefield, save for tank crews or the like. In some countries, civilians are allowed to own them, for defense and sport." Cameron briefly tried to summon a tank beforehand, with no luck. He expected it, but he was still a little disappointed. No other vehicles either, he found out.

"And you can just... conjure these? From thin air? No magicks involved?" Dastilan's mind kicked into high gear again. His eyes glowed, literally, as he activated Mana Analysis and looked for any explanation as to how this actually worked.

"Yep. Don't ask me how it really works, I have no idea."

"This contractor of yours, he must be directly creating and transporting these weapons to you. The ambient mana in the area hasn't been disturbed, at all. Or... maybe you're doing it yourself? Some internal force changing reality itself? The implications are terrifying. Even magic can't create something from nothing. But you can?"

"Dude, I said don't ask me. I really don't know. I don't feel anything when I do it, other than whatever I ask for landing in my hands. The Cartographer said it was a 'soul-bound armory', I think. I wasn't really paying attention."

"Soul bound? What an interesting concept. You can't easily alter the soul, but I suppose it's second nature to a God above Gods."

"I didn't even believe that they existed, a couple days ago. Or Gods. Or Cervidians..."

"They're all very real, I assure you." He paused for a second. "Hmm. Armory...? That would insinuate more than one set of weapons, at least in this world. Do you have anything else?" Cameron grinned like a child on Christmas.

"Absolutely. We haven't gotten around to the explosives, yet."