She Who Walks With Yaks

Genevieve always thought she understood how the whole reincarnation into a fantasy world thing was supposed to work. She’d been led to believe that if you got hit by a bus, or a car, or accidentally tripped in front of a subway train, that there was a chance you’d wake up in a whole other ass world with mystical powers that would lead you to become the next great hero from whatever game or book you might have been into at the time. That’s how this was all supposed to work right? You die in some cliched, sudden way and you're reborn as an important character, or maybe even a tertiary character, and get the chance to re-write the story in some meaningful way. All the skills that you had in your old life, which were nothing really special, end up being vital - and your knowledge of how the original story played out gives you an edge over all your would-be enemies. Unfortunately, as she found out, this vision of a glorious second chance in new life did not always play out as expected. Sometimes, you were reborn into a life just as boring and insignificant as the one you led before - in her case, a life even more boring and far less hygienic. The farm house she lived in now didn’t even have indoor plumbing, for pity’s sake. For some god forsaken reason, Genevieve had been reborn as the plucky young daughter of a yak farmer. She had no powers, other than being adorable. She didn’t live even remotely near the cities where the action was taking place, and it snowed three quarters of the year in the Frostpeak Mountains where her family yak farm was located.  Even worse, she was pretty sure she was an escort quest NPC in a game she’d only played a few times before giving up the losing battle against adulthood. Sometimes sleep was more important than having fun, especially when you had to be up at the ass crack of dawn to do a home visit in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. She occasionally wondered if all the elderly folks she checked in on, who often claimed being around her made them feel young, only felt that way because they were syphoning off all her energy. She certainly felt as if she’d been growing old before her time, anyway. Now she was young again - which was honestly amazing - but she had no beneficial foreknowledge that could help her make an impact on the main storyline, and she was everybody’s least favorite kind of NPC. Genevieve still wasn’t sure whether this rebirth thing had been a good trade or not. Youth for her old, comfortable, if lonely life. At least she had tinder in her old life. But, she supposed it beat being the nothingness of death. She still had yet to meet any of her neighbors, but the few adventurers who had shown up so far weren't the slightest bit interested in her. She didn’t blame them; even she didn’t find herself interesting. She was fairly certain that if it had a choice, her shadow would leave her in search of a better gig. After all, no one likes escort quests. Not even Genevieve herself, and she’d slogged through pretty much every side quest in every game that she played before her life had been consumed by her work. Social work was heartbreaking, emotionally soul shattering work - but more rewarding than any game she’d ever played, and that was saying something as games had been designed to get people addicted to the feeling of accomplishment they’d get from completing quests. That feeling of accomplishment had been her motivating force in her previous life. As a gamer, as a bit of a completionist - willing to spend the time it took to immerse herself fully into a situation before figuring out how to solve or beat whatever she was confronted with. She’d taken that into her career as a social worker, and although it made her damn good at her job it didn’t seem to be doing her any favors now. How could all those animes have lied to her like that? Raising up her hopes, only to have them so cruelly dashed. Light novels had seriously done her dirty, too. Though perhaps not as dirty as this bandit was doing her. Currently, she was being kicked into the ditch by the side of the road she walked every day in a vain attempt to take her yak and its pack to defense outposts along the mountain pass, and eventually on to market in the town on the other side of the pass. The sad part was, this guy wasn’t even a good bandit. He was sort of weedy looking, and she probably would have fought back if he didn’t have a nasty looking curved sword out. Even Genevieve, in her current form as a rather short, freckled girl with long black braided pigtails and a worn but well mended homespun shift dress with a thick yak hide cloak over it, could probably have taken the bandit if he’d been alone and unarmed. Of course, that wasn’t the case. Bandits never travelled alone, and even though she’d originally been fighting just the one bandit, as soon as she showed any sign of resistance two more of his friends turned up to help him out. That’s right, y’all. It took three grown men to toss just one skinny farm girl into a ditch and high five each other before grabbing her yak’s rope and making off with it. Genevieve stayed down, having learned from previous experience that it was better to stay down until the bandits were out of sight. “I was so close this time…” Genevieve muttered softly to herself, shutting her eyes against the brightness of the sun which was hanging high in the grey blue sky above. It wasn’t exactly true; she had gotten close to the defense outpost - a rather lonely tower along her trade route that was rarely ever manned - but was still only about halfway through her route. Still, it was the farthest she’d ever managed before. Strangely, as she lay on the ground with her eyes closed, slushy snow seeping into her thick and somewhat scratchy woolen stockings, Genevieve thought she heard the sounds of fighting.  That was impossible, of course. In the many months since she’d arrived in this world, she had not once been escorted. The few adventurers who had turned up at the farm had left almost immediately, and none of them had even approached her to offer aid - which is usually how quest chains like hers started out. She’d even tried to chat up the last adventurer who turned up, but he just gave her a strange look before pointedly turning away - ignoring her completely. The jerk. As the sounds of conflict grew closer - and louder with the added doleful lowing of her poor yak - Genevieve shut her eyes. She was not going to get her hopes up; not again. Not until she was absolutely sure that whatever was happening was something worth getting worked up over. She didn’t think she could handle any more disappointment. Luckily, when she did open her eyes again, she was greeted with one of the least disappointing faces she’d ever seen. “Miss, are you all right down there?” called a gentle but still very deep and notably masculine voice. Genevieve scrunched her nose up a little wiggling it a bit before finally opening her eyes to take a look at her potential saviour. He was backlit up the noon day sun, but it didn’t make a lick of difference as the man practically glowed with divine power - including his long cloth robes, which were probably enchanted. She couldn’t think of any other explanation for the way that they swirled gently around him as if stirred by a non-existent breeze. He was handsome in the way of elves, with a long face and smooth, delicate features including a nose that turned up just a bit at the end lending him an aristocratic air, and had chin-length blonde hair that was cut with precision into a sharp, angled bob. Stunned, Genevieve only remembered that it was her turn to speak when the man knelt down next to her, a slightly worried expression marring his beautiful face. “I’m...I’m ok! Er, thank you.” Genevieve sputtered, shoving herself up into a sitting position. She looked about, folding her arms around herself nervously as she took in the rest of the men - who were now gathering around her. They were all looking at her without the greed she was accustomed to seeing on men’s faces, men who actually noticed her anyway, but with what she thought must be curiosity. “Don’t you know it’s dangerous to go alone, little girl?” one of the men finally asked. He’d stepped up to the semi-circle last of all, and had a rough look to him - scarred and bearded, with sharp hazel eyes that glittered in a way that could be mistaken for malice if his tone of voice didn’t say ‘mischief’ instead. There were four men around her now, all of whom were wearing gear that denoted them as being different types of adventurer. The man kneeling beside her, for example, looked like a pretty typical cleric - though she couldn’t be sure since she hadn’t actually seen him do anything cleric-y yet. This must be a party - and Mr. Bastardized Zelda Quote was more than likely their party leader. “More dangerous for some than for others.” Genevieve replied, unable to keep the tartness from her tone despite the fact that she was thrilled to finally have escorts. “And I’m not a little girl. I’m perfectly proportional for my age, thank you very much.” At least, she hoped they were there to escort her. It was difficult to balance her excitement at finally having interaction with someone who she wasn’t blood related to - or who could communicate with words instead of just grunting - against her fear of disappointment. Even if it was only for a short while - the journey from where they currently were to the market - having company it would still be something. A man in full leather - from jerkin, to bracers, to pants - barked a laugh, and shook his head so that long, thin plume protruding from his leather cap swished about. “I like her. Can we keep her, boss?” “Don’t call me that.” growled the party leader. “I told you, I’m not your boss. And no matter how often Astredian asks, I’m never taking over for him. Too much fuckin’ work.” Genevieve glanced up at the big, broody looking, heavily armored party leader, then at each of the other men in turn, before noticing that the elf cleric had stood back up to his full height. “Come with us...” the elvish cleric said in a tone of reassurance before offering her his hand. “...and you’ll never have to worry about bandits again.”