Izac Glin, Unknown

From the setting sun, a fresh cooling chill breezed over Grimfall's lush coast; foliage lining its edge rustled in the wind, parting a few leaves that began coasting along.

What began as a sigh, turned into a calming and heavy intake of air. The faintly sweet unfiltered afternoon air was calming enough to nearly settle the discomfort given from my toiling amidst the fields from sun up to sun down. Leaning my arms against the rickety fence, prepared to give anyone lacking sleeves in their top a splinter, I found momentary solace in the consolation offered by the God's parting breaths.

But, my pleasure was cut relatively short soon after I spared a brief shut of my eyes. The sound of a bag tipping behind me brought realization back to the forefront of my thoughts, though it was rather too late.

"Shit," was all I could muster; I sighed, hands dropping to my sides, as I watched the large pile of seeds spill out onto the recently tilled soil. The rest of which flew through the wind, which was strong enough to carry a few haphazardly across the field.

"My word! I-" Kinnard Rembos quickly took note of my blunder, as seems to be the case from my employer. From behind the fence, clicks and clacks warned of the arrival of the gruff-looking middle-aged farmer sitting at the front of his horse-drawn cart. "Kid, how did this-"

The well-mannered man held his tongue. Not one to use vulgarity, even in situations where such would be justified, he turned to avoid the act of speaking entirely when faced with anger. A gentle nudge signaled the horses to halt in their walk, and he leaned his head against the backrest of the carriage to stroke his temple.

Beside him sat a young red-headed woman, someone I didn't recognize before this point. That's definitely odd, considering how long I've worked at this farm. It didn't feel like we needed any more hands around the yard, more so anymore, hands that Kinnard could afford.

The farmer class is certified as the most middling-tier profession one could go with. Calling it a class seems somewhat of a stretch, to begin with. Compared to the multitude of other options available it isn't the most sought after. Yet its obscurity in most parties doesn't make choosing it anything special or unique either. The skills and increased stats that come with the farmer class work well with the profession of the same name. And since the farming job is an easy and somewhat reliable source of average income, many people who have no interest in questing or doing anything noteworthy with their lives just settle with the farmer class to make easy money. It is also popular with folks who'd like to settle down and form a stable, modest living.

A couple of farmers might end up making a fortune using their class wisely, but in most cases, every farmer will just be as average as the last. None of which makes the money needed to hire too many employees. My boss included.

So the idea of him hiring extra hands doesn't seem to mesh well. But lately, my mind has been out of things more often than not. It's entirely possible that we've had a higher turnaround than usual, and I've just been missing out on it.

The redhead was cute, with a sprinkle of freckles adorning her face. She had a thin frame that was cuddled together, appearing more so put off by the awkwardness of the situation rather than being caused by the cool air around us. A small hand hesitantly scratched at the side of her arm; the small freckles that spilled down her arm shifted slightly with her skin that moved from the action.

"That's my last set, too, isn't it?" The man put himself together enough to speak steadily, "That means... I'm going to have to go back out," he sighed, murmuring something below his breath.

"I- I-" I scratched the back of my head. Being young with an average unathletic build and messy black hair that matched my raven-coded eyes, it was easy to view me as just another teen that couldn't wait to stir trouble. "I was.. I mean, I was tired and, my head-" I tried my best to appear apologetic, as it was a genuine accident. Mostly out of my hands due to the surprising of the wind.

"Yeah, yeah. Right," The man scratched the chiseled shape of his chin, "I know. Y'er whole, uh..." he raised his right hand, accidentally knocking it against the girl seated next to him, "..sorry ‘bout that..." he muttered to her and used his raised hand to circle around his temple. "..y'er... psyche has been messin’ with you... but, g'uh..."

Again he leaned back with a sigh, giving me pause as to what was going on in his head. He'd usually just wave his hands off and say to clean it up and keep moving. Maybe today was just more taxing on him than the last. Or there could be something on his mind that is just as taxing as it is for me.

I suppose it is relatable.

There's that feeling, the kind that persists well past its welcome. In the manner in which it remains a present reminder, waiting near the side most parallel walls of your consciousness. Not deep enough in the recesses of your mind to stay mostly unnoticeable, yet current to the point where it remains impossible to forget.

Never ignorable nor comfortable. But, always memorable. For better, or more likely, for worse, few things exist in that specific void. Impossible to be established; the only option left is to live with it.

That could perhaps be an expected standard in one's mundane life, regardless of status, race, age, or class. I may just be the next in the endless line of young men ill-prepared to experience that one itch that can never be scratched.

I am only eight-teen; my birthday passed only a couple of days prior to today. Naturally, there is still much left to learn. But, with or without that knowledge, it still remains to be odd. Some things I could expect to remain in that void, such as an important , birth, or permanently staining occurrence, but nothing close to those suggestions has ever transpired to me. Considering that to be by virtue of luck or not is irrelevant, I don't believe I am in a position where this should be an issue.

The of my father befell when I was far too young to distinguish the meaning of the very concept of life and . Not even the day in which my mother made it evident that she had only raised me due to a lingering legal precedent rather than genuine love was something that loomed over me in this manner. The warnings that she didn't truly care for me were evident; neither she nor my two sisters tried to hide the fact. Due to such, I didn't form much of a significant bond with them to even care when I was dropped the second my age hit the legal end of her marriage contract. Varying from faction to faction, the age at which parents are obligated by law to care for their young can range, which is why she left me on the road with a sack of coins at the age of sixteen. Even that sprinkling of currency wasn't the idea of my mother; if I were to reckon, I'd presume one of my sisters had an inkling of a desire to leave me with something.

But, even an experience like that was something I grew to accept. Sulking amidst myself would lead to nothing but my own demise; I could either stand up, and continue forward, or the world will move on without me.

From Bearbrook, to Grimfall, the coins I was granted helped me move on foot and by carriage. The past was the past, I moved on, nothing from my past really stuck with me enough to cause any issues. Getting a job, albeit not too high paying, and a place to stay wasn't too difficult.

At a sluggish rate, I was actually making more than I had been spending. In a few years, I'd even make enough to leave the inn where I reside. And, while not classed as a farmer, I have enough prior experience to qualify me for any of the beginner class courses available at the local guild. All of which would be achievements I'd have claimed on my own.

Up until a couple of months ago, the future seemed bright.

"Kid we've gotta’ talk,"

Yeah. "Seemed" is a good word here.

The unnamed redhead looked past the man who was dismounting the carriage to offer me a sympathetic look. Though it certainly wasn't reassuring as the meaning behind it remained undefined.

But, that didn't last for long.

"Y-You're.. no," I took a reactionary seat on the rolled-up ball of hay behind me.

"Right... Izac.." Kinnard exhaled heavily; he scratched the side of his face through a heavy beard. "I suppose if y’er not paying attention, this would uh... come as a surprise.. For sure.. But, the... that's th’er reason I have to let you go. Y’er not performing well enough to be worth the money." With a shrug, he crossed his arms, leaning his back against a wooden post behind him; he used it to scratch an itch. "This year has been more profitable, but that wasn't b’cause of you."

The man's efforts to be nice failed to stop my spirits from cracking, "What?! I might've been a bit distracted lately, but I've seen the results. Our output has nearly doubled last year."

"That is because everyone else has been pulling y’er slack and overperforming while doing so." The man pushed himself away from the post and moved over to the window of the barn that overlooked the pasture I had just been working on. "I plan to use the extra coin we accumulated wisely by investing in someone who can do the work I'm not around to get to."

"Wait," I followed Kinnard out the window he was gazing through, in the midst of the field was the redhead from before. Resting on her knees, she moved her hands through the mess of seeds the wind had created. The speed at which her fingers were shifting was hard to determine from here, but it appeared rather blurry. "Is she a farmer? Y-You hired a farmer class? So you're firing everyone who isn't classed as fucking farmer?"

In a swift moment, Kinnard spun his gaze towards me with a clear frown.

"Sorry, sorry," I relented, "It's hard not to cuss when you're just getting rid of us when we aren't the specific class you need after two years of this."

"Getting rid of sounds rathe’r coarse.." He paused to cough into the palm of his hand, "And I am only asking ya’h to leave. I don't expect everyone to class themselves for this job." rubbing his hand against his pants leg, the man looked out the window again. "She enjoys the class. The adventurer's life ain’t what she wants. A young woman who relishes ‘er class, and wants to pursue farming as a profession is rare for her price range. Expensive but affordable. And well worth it."

It's hard to imply that the money wouldn't be well spent; it was hard to see exactly what she was doing, because she was using one of the farmer classes' signature skills. Planter's Vision, I'm fairly confident that allows the individual to distinguish and pick out seeds from anything that has them. Pretty useless outside of its one situation in farming. Except, it comes with the ability to move quickly and see things in slow motion while it's active. Crafty parties might use it to avoid surprise attacks. As long as it is active, they can react to things around them quite quickly. After going a set amount of time without seeing any seeds, it cuts off, but as long as there is a seed in sight and enough MP to be spent, it can stay active indefinitely.

"Okay, so I can go to the guild and get the farmer's class. I have the experience! So-"

"No, no, no." The man shooed away my words with a wave of his hand, "I know you don't want that. And changing classes is a process in and of itself. But it ain’t matter if you did or didn't. You have to focus on y’erself." His finger raised to tap my head a couple of times, "Whatever is going on in there needs to be worked on. Ya’h can't sleep, ya’h don't focus on y’er work, and it reflects on you as a person. It's hard to have a full conversation with the way y’er mind wanders off."

"I can just- stop thinking about it- I- look, I need the job." Without much more of an idea of what to do, I could only plead, "Please just give me another shot. If you catch me zoning out one more time, I'm gone. Rent is due, and I haven't paid it yet because-"

"Ya’hve skipped work days from y’er lack of sleep. I can see it in y’er eyes. Ya’h lack sleep. Y'er tired and distracted." Kinnard sighed and stepped forward to pat his hand behind my back; the scent of moist dirt and sweat washed an unpleasant quiver up my nostrils. "Work on y’erself first. Then we can talk about getting ya’h back here, hm? I'll give ya’h y’er last payment. Hopefully, that can cover y’er rent. But for now, ya’hve got to go."

---

God damnit!

What is wrong with me? I can't get my head together enough to do something as simple as farming. All because of those dreams.

Those damn dreams.

They are what put me in this situation, to begin with; before them, everything was going fine. Better than fine; I was saving coins every week and enjoyed my work while doing so. Never once had I been behind on rent, and bothered to stress out the sweet woman running it. Only recently, that being that last four months or so, had anything remotely negative come about. Here I was hoping my birthday would be a tipping point to change things; here we are. Looking back on it, not a single person even cared enough to remember, which was probably just more of that horrible luck piling atop each other.

Status.

S-Status.

Fuck. I had to stop walking down the road for a moment just to gather my thoughts. If I can't gather my thoughts enough to pull up my status menu, of all things. There's a real problem. As if there isn't one already.

Stopped in place and took a rest on a nearby tree stump, only a few feet off from the road. Licking my dry lips, I sighed audibly to help clear my nerves and placed down the sack of coins that served as my final payment besides me.

I closed my eyes.

Status.

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Menu

Izac Glin (lv. 2 Classless)

HP: 78/95

MP: 99/99

Stats…

Skills...

Inventory…

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Stats

Izac Glin (lv. 2 Classless)

Attack: 22

Defense: 7

Resistance: 5

Agility: 16

Luck: 5

<>

Of course, expectedly, my luck is sitting at its default state. Most people don't have their luck stat very high; anyone who doesn't invest anything in it has theirs sitting at a typical low number. As long as it never reaches the negatives, you should be relatively fine. A positive number means that something satisfactory may occur, whereas a negative number of any kind does the opposite. You'd be lucky for anything good to come by, to begin with; the only positive outcome would be to not have worse luck.

My "Luck: 5" should be more than acceptable. Then, it should have no bearing on why exactly so many negative things are occurring. But, at least if it were negative, I'd have a reason. Maybe I was cursed at some point by someone who thought it would be a hilarious practical joke; then, I might even be able to get my job back.

But I suppose having negative luck, in this instance, would involve me being lucky. Because then I'd have something to blame.

As it stands, none of this is bad luck...

I opened my eyes and faded the menu away.

This is just... me.

With a sigh, I swiped my hand down to snatch the little bit of cash I did manage to secure. I had checked, and it was just enough for this month's rent. Or more so, last month's rent, as it was past due.

I guess my luck isn't all bad. There’s at least enough money to pay Rela.

My hand passed by nothing but air. I blinked and stood up, looking down at where the sack was.

Or had been.

"No! No! No! No! Shit!" Above me, the leaves capping the thick woods I was in rustled like a rather heavy bird had fluttered from its perch. But that wasn't a damn bird. "Come on! That wasn't even a lot of money!" I shouted up into the trees, though the only response given was a rustle even fainter than the last. "I need that! That's my rent!! Fuck you- fucking thief- Fuck- Fuck- Fuck- FUCK!"

---

*THUMP*

The double doors to the inn flew inwards from the thrust I gave it. My level of anger, depression, and a toxic combination of the two amassed into an amalgamation of emotions that left no room for courtesy. It was a slow decline, but in one day, I was placed from a bright future to being fucked all the way over.

And it was all because of those damn dreams. They wouldn't stop. Almost every moment I close my eyes to sleep, that dream will flash into my head. Every time, it's vividly real. Not just a dream I can sleep off and forget as the morning comes. It is always as though I am physically in the dream, but I can't do anything. No ability to move, talk, or even look around.

It's almost like I'm watching a playback of someone else's life through their eyes. And this other person sounds exactly like me.

I can't forget it, yet at the same time, I can't fully remember what happens; I remember most of it, but not enough to have a solid grasp on what is happening. Even still, I feel as though I am learning some things from these fabrications of my mind. Random words and things like the internet, cars, fucking Twitter are stuck in my consciousness. I don't know what they are, don't know what they mean, and don't know why I keep dreaming of these random things.

It's slowly ripping me apart.

Destroying my damn life!

I can't sleep it off, I can't work it off-

Shit!

"Oh my, Izac!" A startled voice, soft and delicately creamy to the ear, spoke up, growing louder with the sound of heavy feet patting against the hardwood floor. The woman behind the voice was quick to step, with her head lowered she had ducked under the doorway as her height made most that encountered her feel inferior in more ways than one. "What was that noise? My goodness.. are you alright?"

"Shit, I'm sorry," I looked back towards the door, and turned back to find trouble finding my voice as I saw her, "I-'m I-"

Rela Hillgrain, stood rather tall after walking out. The pace at which she was moving carried a threatening, albeit brief, momentum. Largely due in part from the two large horns sticking out both sides of her head, though the thick gray and black hair. It draped down her to shoulders, as her hair was rather natural in size, but what she had was kept up in a bun that stayed around her left shoulder. The backmost of her hair stayed mostly black, though it was hidden by the gray hair that adorns her front, parting on both sides of the front of her face in two thick tendrils that framed her soft facial features nicely.

Assumed by the aforementioned horns and very tall stature, she isn't entirely human. Rela is a subspecies of Kemonomimi, a race that evolved through many generations from specific animals to gain a large human appearance. Their blood had to be considered mostly human, more so than the animal they are tied to, if they wanted to classify as a Kemonomimi. As for the species itself, there are many subspecies, such as Minotaurs, which is where my innkeeper is classed. From what I know, they vary in specifics, but under the Minotaur umbrella, they are two popular “breeds” : the Cowfolk and the Bullfolk. One is known for its ability to produce large doses of milk; the other cannot produce nearly as much, and typically are hot-headed, both have extremely heightened strength. Unlike some others, I did pay attention to what I learned in my classes.

Not that they taught me the details of her species, I learned the majority of that on my own.. research.

Not that I can be blamed. I like to imagine that I'm not a perverse deviant, but I can't say I didn't have my fair share of fantasies surrounding her. Right. I'm not kidding anyone, I suppose if I were to class myself as a subspecies of human, I'd be a deviant of the pervert variety. But I kept everything to myself and never let anything detract from my personal goals.

Until those dreams...

Rela's increased height meant it only took a few strides for her to reach me in the rather small main hall. Small considering her size, that is. Onis, and especially even the smallest of giants, would surpass her, but most other species fail to reach the height of Minotaurs. Though they have their growth spurt at random times, as up until then they can be rather small. When the growth spurt hits they can skyrocket to their final height in less than a week. Such is what happened to Rela after she made this inn, not anticipating her growth spurt properly, she had hers very late and now has to duck through most doorways.

"You gave me a fright. What's the matter?" The naturally caring, motherly nature Rela exuded made me feel all the more worse off. It wasn't right to lead her on. The last couple of days had consisted of me searching for excuse after excuse in regard to my rent. And I most certainly don't have it now, after my encounter with a thief that I never even met. This woman goes above and beyond what is required of her; occasionally, she will prepare food for the tenants, do any and all repairs herself for no extra cost, and is just a kindhearted person to talk to. Apparently, something rare for her kind, given that most Minotaurs, even the Cowfolk, are often aggressive. Their breasts are often in need of milking, and due to the sheer size, it's hard for them to do such themselves without much help. It doesn't help their case that the taboo of revealing one's breasts doesn't just dissipate for them. It is still one of those areas that is seen as a key sexual point, so they can have trouble revealing the stress, which equates to their typical unpleasant attitudes.

But for Rela, I don't think I have ever seen her throw any kind of fit or even yell, for that matter. She has her emotions in check; how that is, I cannot be sure.

"I didn't mean to uh-" I had to gulp down the contents of my moistening mouth when she bent down to her knees to at more to my level. It was distracting because her tits were... big. That simple term is the best that can be used to describe them. In actuality, perhaps massive, gigantic, or gargantuan would be better descriptors, but the point is made clear. From what I've read their tit sizes often vary from M-Cup to Q-Cup which is just unreasonable levels of huge, except they can make it work due to their significantly larger size. Akin to petite, dwarfed baby giants in the womb, they are large enough that the mass of their udders don't appear unsettling; and "udders" is rather appropriate here, given the literal setting of her species. By evolution, her species lost their actual udders and made use of their tits to serve as their milk production.

With how big her rack was, she has expressed how hard it was to find appropriate clothing, so she only wears the same kind of dress top that she had tailored for different colors. It's low cut, due to a necessity more so than her wanting to show off, revealing about 80% (estimated) of her cleavage at almost all times. Right where that deep thick line between her boobs meets the front of the dress, there is a cute miniature tie that serves as the glue keeping the entire dress from breaking apart. The rest of which is allowed to flow freely, making it seemingly comfortable for her; today, her dress was themed with the primary color of gray and black lining the top of her dress and the plunging neckline.

The color matched nicely with her eyes. Like most Minotaurs, Rela's eyes present two different colors. Their specific pertains to the exact bovine that they are related to, but in Rela's case, her irises typically pose a primary sky blue color, with black hiding deep within. The second color isn't something that many would want to see, as they don't typically live the happiest life after discovering what it is used for. Still, Rela has warned me quite a few times that if the black speck in her eyes ever enlarges and washes out the blue, I need to get as far away from her as possible. My assumption is that when their secondary eye color comes to light, they enter a more animal-like state run by only instincts, which in most cases could be to attack. Which is a horrifying, if admittedly somewhat interesting, thought coming from a woman that is kind to her core.

Speaking of kind to her core, the way her hands felt soft to the touch as she ran them through my hair was far too soothing, given how close her giant spilling mass of cleavage was to literally suck in the upper half of my body. I swear, only giants would have her beat due to them, well, them being giants.

"Did something happen on your way back from work?" Her tender voice breathed into my ears. I could feel one of her horns pressing against my head as she leaned closer. The woman's wide birthing hips lowered, bringing her more aligned to my level, and ass closer to the floor

This is precisely why no one wants to leave. She has a genius strategy going on here; be far too nice, caring, and comforting that she could charge whatever she desires, and people would just enjoy her presence. So it's a damn crime that her prices are so low.

And it's even worse that I can't pay her.

"I was... someone stole..." She could have very well been using some honesty spell on me, but the warmth, the soothingness of her voice, and the strange protected aura felt with her this close all added to a scenario where I'd spill my heart out.

"Stole?" Her caring voice quickly flatlined. The large pointy ears below her horns twitched, "What?" She leaned back in a moment, and a hand tilted my chin. "What happened?" In a far more directly inquisitorial tone, she looked me dead in the eyes, which was when I noticed that black spot deep within her iris' looking suspiciously larger than normal.

Shit. Did I piss her off in some way.

It's possible she thinks I may have brought a thief to her inn, or maybe she's not mad, and I'm only seeing things.

No. No, definitely, that black speck became more of a dot, something I set had gotten her agitated.

"S-" I blinked and stagged back, "Someone stole from my crops at work. It sucked cause the boss man chewed me out, but.." One fake laugh and a shrug later, I stepped back, trying to avoid looking at the enormous cleavage jutting bosom her rack presented as she stood up to her typical towering height. "Nothing I can do about that," I said after a gulp, something I tend to do after looking at or trying to avoid staring at her udders. I do wonder how big her nipples are or how far her nubs stick out when she's aroused and ready to be milked. The sound of her sultry voice moaning as I grab onto those udders like handles with my meat between them had me nearly pitching a tent right in front of her; it's a miracle it hadn't been so evident up until this point, shit.

"But, Izac.." The woman frowned. Her hands met in front of her, causing her arms to squish both of her gigantic milk-carrying melons inwards. Such made her already deep cleavage squish out into something so large and deep I couldn't even...

_Fuck, I can't even...

I..._

"I'll get your rent money!" I blurted while my legs carried me out and away from the situation.

It's a very odd feeling to describe when I am both fearful of the power hidden behind her kind, nurturing exterior and aroused by the very thing. And there was now an entirely different form of stress on my mind, though mostly amassed in my groin region. If these are going to be some of my last days within the walls of a place I could call home, I might as well enjoy them and deal with this...

''Problem''

---

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