Elli was standing against the wall, watching as the elderly instructor gently corrected a young woman's stance.

Carol-Ann and Harv had dropped him off, Harv having extracted a promise not to do anything overtly magical, while they went off to purchase chemistry supplies. Elli understood better than most the issues with obtaining quality glassware, but Harv's enthusiasm was almost unnerving.

As the first class of the morning wrapped up, the instructor approached Elli.

"Good morning," he greeted Elli with a short bow. "I'm Henry Schofield."

"Elli," Elli answered, bowing as well.

"You have the balance of a master, young man," Henry smiled warmly, "what brings you to my humble Dojo this fine morning?"

"I was at the convention center last night," Elli began, "and I saw you demonstrate your skills. I was very impressed, and I wanted to seek you out and ask if you would be willing to instruct me."

Henry's smile grew sad. "We don't normally instruct students in the use of weaponry until they've built a solid foundation," he explained, "only once they've learned the responsibility of practicing the martial arts and understand that they should only ever be used in the protection of one's self or others, do we introduce them to weaponry."

Elli nodded. "Often knowing the why is more important than the how," he agreed, "I've spent my life learning the intricacies of the blade, as it is the legacy of my family. While I remain a novice, nothing would bring me more joy than to bring another stone of knowledge that we might lay on the eternal path toward perfection."

"If I might demonstrate a few of the forms I practice each day?" Elli asked.

Henry pursed his lips as he considered Elli's words. "I'm not inclined to make an exception. However, I do have an hour before our next class, and I've got my morning students well trained when it comes to cleaning up after themselves," his smile returned, "so I suppose ultimately it wouldn't hurt to see a demonstration of your form."

Elli nodded, hiding a smile. He'd been warned by Carol-Ann that they didn't normally teach students weapons right away, but he'd marked this instructor as a fellow swordsman, and he was certain that once he'd seen Elli's skill, he'd change his mind.

He shrugged off his suit jacket and pulled off his tie, neither of which was conducive to fighting, happy that the Dojo required him to remove his shoes before entering, as they also weren't suitable. He would have been most comfortable in his armor, but Harv had told him not to display any magic, and equipping his armor from his inventory would have certainly qualified.

Henry took a wooden sword from a rack on the wall near where Elli had been leaning and handed it to him silently, gesturing to the center of the large room.

Accepting the practice blade, Elli moved to the center of the room and shifted the blade in his hands, feeling its weight. It was surprisingly well balanced for a wooden blade.

He would need to move slowly. If he utilized the full extent of his attributes, even without the enhancements provided by his armor, it was doubtful that Henry would be able to perceive his movements well enough to appreciate them. It also might alarm him.

Focusing, Elli began to move.

Henry Schofield was a second-generation American. His father had moved to the United States after the first World War, where he had opened a furniture shop, plying his skills as a carpenter. He had also opened a Dojo, where he taught jiu-Jitsu. His furniture shop did rather well, as he focused on quality and detail and was fortunate enough to be noticed by a wealthy easterner who had moved to California and became rich from the gold rush.

Henry had only been four years old and an only child when his family had been forced into an internment camp as the second World War raged, and distrust of his father's homeland became full-blown paranoia.

He could still remember seeing his father's tears when they'd returned home. They'd heard the horror stories from others in the camps. Farms burned, then repossessed for unpaid taxes. Businesses looted, with every eye around turned blind. But their shop, with their home above it and the Dojo behind, stood untouched. As they approached, one of their neighbors, a young man who had attended classes at the Dojo, stepped out and greeted them with a smile. John Schofield had, with the help of his family, operated the store on their behalf, even paying their taxes.

Young Henry had never forgotten that kindness. His father had been certain that John Thompson had strengthened his natural sense of honor at his Dojo and had declared that any young man who wished to attend his Dojo could do so, free of charge. Until they were eighteen, of course. His father had gone so far as to change their last name to Schofield, which had eventually caused a bit of a furor when his younger sister had married John's youngest son.

It had taken years for the distrust and hostility towards the Japanese had dissipated, but Henry had followed in his father's footsteps. When he'd taken over the furniture business, his father had retired and opened the morning and afternoon classes at the Dojo for the children. As more and more women entered the workplace, the local trend was to drop their children off at the Dojo in the summer.

The furniture store was defunct, although they'd converted the building into a series of apartments, which several members of the Schofield clan called home, and the workshop had been converted to extra space for the Dojo. Henry was retired now and had been for nearly fifteen years.

His father had taught him many lessons, but he'd always said that one of the most important ones had been taught to him by John Schofield. Never presume a man's honor.

So, when a stranger appeared at his Dojo, carrying himself with the grace of an advanced student of the martial arts, and asked about his swordsmanship, he was willing to see what the young man could do.

Henry watched as Elli moved, his steps slow and sure as he moved his blade from strike to strike, to parry, and back again. He'd never seen this particular form before, which was saying something, as he'd spent his entire life training.

Elli shifted, and the form changed, the footwork more involved, fewer parries, more ducks and dodges, the strikes almost entirely directed at a higher angle, as if the imaginary foe were substantially larger than he was.

Henry frowned. Taken as a whole, this form represented a man pitting himself against a beast, not another man. Nothing else explained the movements.

The form continued, and he became more and more certain that this was an expression of a battle against a massive predator. Elli's footwork was superb, his balance shifting perfectly to allow him to flow into a dodge at any moment while he moved and struck.

Then the form changed again. Now Elli was standing his ground, his blade flicking down, low cuts and sharp piercing strikes interspersed between parries with flat of the blade. The form reminded him of something he'd seen in Manila, a re-enactment of a folk hero who fought off a swarm of giant rats, preventing them from destroying his village's food stores.

As interesting as the unknown forms were, what was more so was Elli's movements. Each step, strike, parry, and dodge were all perfect. No hesitation, no adjustment, just the smooth, flowing movements that he recognized as being formed from decades of practice.

Elli was moving into a different form when Henry called out. "Stop, please."

Elli looked at him questioningly.

"Could you go through those again, but a bit faster?" Henry asked.

Elli nodded and began again.

Henry watched carefully. He'd known students who had been dedicated and could perform their forms flawlessly, but when speed was required, they lacked control. Elli proved that he wasn't amongst them as his movements were somehow even smoother as he increased his speed.

When he reached the end of the forms Henry had already seen, Henry called out again, "Faster!"

Elli obliged. The blade was nearly a blur now, and Henry could barely make out his footwork. It was a thing of beauty, Henry thought, to witness a man so devoted to the blade.

After the third repetition, Henry called for a halt. Not a drop of perspiration showed on Elli's face, despite wearing a long-sleeved button-down shirt.

"You are very skilled," Henry bowed deeply.

"I'm yet a novice," Elli disagreed politely, "but I train every day. Perhaps you could show me a few of your forms?"

The hope was clear in his voice. "I must ask why none of your forms seemed to involve fighting against other people?" Henry asked.

The second repetition, combined with what he'd seen during the first, had provided context for the first form, and it was clear the parries weren't meant for other blades.

Elli smiled, and Henry could see a touch of sadness in the man's eyes.

"Where I come from, people cannot afford to fight one another," he replied.

Harv was in heaven.

He'd never imagined the heights to which alchemy could rise, but it was clear that it shared its roots with the Chemistry of Earth.

His initial foray into Earth's glassware supply had simply been for vials. Then he'd explored the catalog and come away somewhat confused by the variety. He'd been directed by an exasperated Carol-Ann toward an introductory Chemistry text meant for children. He'd blazed through that, then gotten the next one. And the next.

"The precision of it all!" He gushed happily as he finished his current book and beamed up at Carol-Ann, who was watching some sort of movie on her television.

"Yeah, that," she replied with disinterest.

Harv ignored her lack of enthusiasm. She'd grown up with all of this, so of course, it was normal for her. But he could see how the entire field of Chemistry could apply to Alchemy, and it delighted him. He'd always known that he could use ritual magic to purify or distill the substances he needed, but that required an expenditure of mana crystals, and honestly, they'd be better used by infusing the potion with Animancy.

He was jolted from his thoughts by a massive nose that appeared over his shoulder. "Hey, buddy," Harv grinned as he turned to give Carson a hug. The golden retriever, now closer to the size of a pony, wiggled excitedly and let out a woof. "I know," Harv said sympathetically, "Carol-Ann said she'd take us someplace we could go for a run this evening."

Carol-Ann huffed.

Harv decided that Carson needed a belly rub, and set about making a happy puppy. He'd only been able to keep Carson in his inventory for so long, as there wasn't that much room in there. His decision to level Carson up had come back to bite him, as the super-sized puppy was too big to take anywhere on Earth.

Redfang had been remarkably accepting of the whole situation and was sunbathing in front of the glass doors that led to the balcony.

"So the tests will be run tomorrow?" Harv asked, taking a break from rubbing Carson's belly.

"Yep, but I talked to Sharon, who covers my beds on my days off, and she said that he was up and around, feeling like a new man," Carol-Ann grinned. "Apparently, he's adamant about wanting to be off the ventilator, but even though his o2 saturation is fantastic, we aren't willing to risk it, so he's making a nuisance of himself."

"I can't imagine that being confined to a bed, forced to rely on a tube to bring me air, would be a pleasant experience," Harv shook his head.

It sounded like a nightmare. He wasn't eager to die, but better to die during a tide than to have to waste away slowly like that.

"It isn't," Carol-Ann agreed, "but assuming your potion works, you could free millions of people from that fate."

"Adventurers Guild," Harv smiled broadly, "happy to be of service."

"Of course, you're going to need to find people to delve for crystals, and take the Alchemy skill, and take the Necromancy school, and learn the Necros Blast spell, and then learn my special version. It won't be quick or easy," he warned.

Carol-Ann scoffed. "It'll take a few months," she disagreed, "and believe me, you won't lack for volunteers. I know I'll be doing it."

"Really?" Harv asked. "I thought you were still on the fence?"

"I was, but the truth is, I'm just procrastinating," she shook her head. "I'll take a healing path that doesn't forbid Necromancy or Alchemy, and as soon as I've got the basics of what I need to be a healer down, I'll focus on those two."

"Congratulations," Harv replied, "making the decision to become an Adventurer is the first step. And I'll certainly welcome the help when it comes to making those potions."

"Will I need to be at the level cap to do the full hundred at once?" Carol-Ann asked.

"If you're fully geared with level twenty enchantments, you could do it at level twenty," Harv mused. "The trick is that you want to make sure the spell casting value is still one hundred after you've divided your total spellcasting score, after ritual modifiers, by one hundred," he explained.

"I can do that," Carol-Ann agreed, then looked at her phone and sighed. "But it looks it's time to go get Elli."

Harv nodded, saying a little prayer to Logos that Elli hadn't done anything too impulsive.

Eric looked around the crowded basement. He'd put the word out, and it had spread like wildfire. Men with little hope might look suspiciously when it was offered, but when presented with real, tangible evidence, they grasped it with both hands.

This particular group of veterans were mostly older than he was, most from the first gulf war, with a smattering of Vietnam veterans and two men wearing dirty old ball caps that proclaimed their service in Korea.

These men wouldn't be waiting. They were, to a man, homeless. They'd fallen through the cracks, forgotten by the people for whom they'd sacrificed so much. But not by everyone.

Marines took care of their own.

"Gentlemen," he called out loudly, gathering their attention. "I promised each of you that I would get you the same treatment that I got," he gestured to the six-foot square photo of himself sitting in that damned chair.

"We're going to move as a group, and you'll be treated one by one, in front of everyone," Eric stated firmly. "Treatment won't take but a couple of minutes, and you'll be back on your feet, at which point it'll be hot meals and hot showers all around!"

He could see the anxiety on their faces, conflicting with the hope they didn't dare to express.

Eric opened the portal to Thayland and motioned the first of the men through. Hesitantly and slowly, they trickled through. When the last man had passed through, he turned to follow them. Eric knew that Bob would be hard at work on the other side. "Oorah," he said quietly and stepped through the portal.