“Can you believe this?” Mark said, his voice laden with awe. “We live here now.”

He and Angela stood in a busy thoroughfare staring at the city as they waited to cross the street. As much as Mark had expected Palmyre to have a dark age or Camelot feel, their first daytime looks at the city proved it to be more in line with Renaissance Florence. The roads were constructed in the same Roman style of irregularly shaped interlocking stone that he’d experienced on the coastal road to the city, with intersections that tended towards wide, circular piazzas rather than crisscrossing grids. At least, that’s what the Garden District looked like. Their home had appeared at the southeasternmost point on the Cirque that day, letting them get to the wealthiest part of the city by simply heading north over the Incus River. For all they knew, the poor district was a far cry from what they were seeing.

“Dude, this is AMAZING!” Angela said for probably the tenth time since they left the house. “Who pays for all this?”

Good question, Mark thought. The huge, vaulted arcades that ran between buildings showed off sculptures that would have been at home in the Louvre; while galleries, theatres, and auditoriums were also plentiful, each more grandiose than the next. It had to cost a fortune. It wasn’t just the arts, either. There were also green spaces set aside, each with its own theme. Some were blooming gardens, others were ornate water fixtures, while some were forest groves with trees that had to be centuries old.

Mark looked at one of the statues nearby. “This stuff isn’t cheap, and when rich people foot the bill for something they usually like to stick their name on it, so…” He walked over to the rather grotesque piece that appeared to depict one man beating another with a severed head—hopefully it wasn’t meant to be taken literally—and glanced at the plaque mounted below.

“Mandrival Slaying Ferrin,” he read. “Sculpture by Gallin Atall through the patronage of Merrin Fornax.” He looked at the sculpture again. “Geez Murphy, did that actually happen?”

“Check this out,” Angela said, pointing at a nearby building. “This theatre says, ‘Casúronian Public Theatre, courtesy of House Glass.”

“Huh. Well, we know the Families are the heavy hitters around here, so I guess House Glass is one of them? Do you think this Merrin Fornax belongs to one as well?”

Angela shrugged. “Who cares? It’s just rich people doing rich people things, and I saw enough of that on Earth. I want to see magic people doing magic things!” Her stomach grumbled. “Actually, let’s get something to eat. Hey, do you think it will be like in LitRPG books, where food always tastes sooo good? I bet it will. Man, I can’t wait!”

Twenty minutes later, Mark and Angela were sitting on a park bench. Mark was picking some sort of bird meat out of his teeth—probably pigeon, given the cages in the alley—while Angela sat next to him, gritting her teeth angrily.

“How does everything have meat?” she said, throwing her hands in the air. “We went to five different vendors, and everyone had nothing but meat pies! Isn’t meat supposed to be expensive?”

“I don’t think the contents of my pie were expensive,” Mark said, already regretting his choice of meal. “And for the record, it isn’t like the books. That was not an enjoyable eating experience.” There was a gurgle in his stomach that had him hoping some rich person had branched out from artwork and paid for a public lavatory.

“I am inventing curry pies, damn it. This is unacceptable,” Angela grumbled.

“Or you could start eating meat,” Mark noted.

“Shut it. You’re not Grandpa Jack,” she said, giving him her best stinkeye.

Mark laughed it off, then cocked his head. “Hey, do you think tracking spells are a thing here? Maybe someone at the mage’s college can just wave their hands and tell us where he is.”

Angela’s face lit up. “That’s an awesome idea! Let me just finish my nothing burger and then we can go.”

Miming the act of chewing and swallowing, Angela wiped her mouth with an imaginary napkin that she proceeded to shoot in the direction of a nearby trash can, only for her face to fall dejectedly. Shaking her head, she stood up and walked over to the trashcan, pretending to pick up the imaginary napkin before dropping it into the can. “Man, I am a terrible shot. Let’s go see some wizards and cheer me up.”

“Hang on there, Tex,” Mark said, gesturing to his tattered clothing. “I look like the hobo who had to sleep on the roof of the train because he was too low-class for the other hobos. No way am I showing up at the Mage’s College dressed like this.”

Angela looked him up and down. “Yeah, you do look like hell. You should get new gloves while you’re at it. Those ones are way too big.”

Mark gave an exaggerated wave with one of his big-gloved hands. “Heidee ho, Angie!” he said in his best Mickey Mouse voice. “Yeah, I can barely keep a grip on this staff with these things. Let’s see what we can find.”

They asked around to see where they could go shopping, but it soon became clear that the Garden District was where you went for a tailor, not the kind of generalist they needed. They did eventually manage to get proper directions to a shop that sold off-the-shelf clothing, though, and were surprised to discover that the best place for mid-range goods was the Chance District. Apparently it was just the dead centre of the district that was still home to gambling halls and other sundry entertainment. The area closer to the edge had developed into more of a general shopping region, its flavour varying based on the nature of the adjoining district—a byproduct of the pedestrian traffic that utilized the unusual road.

It took them a half-hour to hike across the city—thanks to more than a little backtracking—but they eventually found the place recommended to them. It was a medium-sized store attached to two other shops in a style that was less Florence and more 18th-century London. The front door had a small symbol of a horse posted above it, one that Mark recognized from the shop that had recommended this location. It made him wonder if the owners were related.

That notion was put aside when they entered and discovered that, unlike the Nordic-looking guy who had sent them this way, the swarthy fellow behind the counter was clearly not related. Mostly because of the horns.

The man looked up from the book he was reading. “How can I help yooou… what are you wearing?” He looked Mark up and down. “Did you pick those clothes out of the garbage?”

“Err, no,” Mark said. “I got in a scrap with a dire rat.”

“A dire rat?” He leaned over the counter and looked at Mark’s leg. “It ripped off your pantleg and left the leg behind?”

Mark’s mind went blank. He’d never been able to think up a lie on the spot, and he was kicking himself for not coming up with something beforehand. Fortunately, Angela had no such issues.

“He has me to thank! I’m a druid. Nice to meet you,” she said, holding out her hand. The man looked at it awkwardly for a moment before giving it an uncertain shake.

“Thank you for humbling my shop with your presence,” he said once he overcame his initial hesitancy. “You must truly be blessed. I have never heard of one of such low Renown possessing that level of healing skill. And to come here from so far away! Your abilities must truly be remarkable.”

Angela darted a glance at Mark, who could only shrug.

“Uh, yeah. Thanks,” Angela said. “So, clothes?”

“Of course,” the horned man said. “Do you need armour, sir? Perhaps some greaves for the next bite, should your friend not be available? I am a humble clothier, but I can recommend another Equus establishment if necessary.”

For the second time, Mark and Angela exchanged confused glances.

“Equus?” Mark asked.

Now it was the shopkeeper’s turn to look confused. “Aren’t you in service of House Equus?”

“Um, no? Is that a problem?”

The man looked flabbergasted. “Of course it is!” Then he seemed to come to some realization. “Ah, that explains why you shook hands instead of breaking spines! You are new to town… recently arrived on a ship, perhaps?” He shook his head. “Look at me prying. No need to answer that.

“Now, here is how stores work in Palmyre: Every store is owned by one of the Families. Fornax, in the case of this establishment, as they are the ruling Family of House Equus. Technically, you can shop anywhere you like, but shopping at an establishment not owned by your employer is not recommended. You would have to pay additional fees back to your employer for shopping outside the Family, plus out-of-Family city taxes. Have you already taken service with a different Family, perhaps?”

Mark held up his hands. “Man, I barely understand what you’re talking about. We literally just moved here.”

“In that case, things are much simpler,” the shopkeeper said. “All you have to pay is the out-of- Family fee, which works out to 10% on top of the list price.”

“10% sales tax isn’t great, but it could be worse, I guess,” Mark noted.

“Ah, perhaps I wasn’t clear,” the shopkeeper said. “That’s 10% on top of the 15% sales tax.”

Mark’s jaw dropped while Angela snorted loudly.

“25% taxes?” she said incredulously. “Holy crap, maybe we should take a job with these Equus guys just to get in on the discount.”

The man’s face screwed up and his eye started to tic. He glanced around the empty store as though ninjas might be lurking behind the underwear.

He leaned across the counter.

“Never work for the Families,” he said, his words coming in a whisper so soft that Mark could barely hear him. “Not even as a last chance. If you do—”

The door to the store opened and a smile appeared on the shopkeeper’s face.

“Yes, of course you need clothes!” he said cheerily. Yanking a random bag of clothes out from behind the counter, he shoved it in Mark’s direction. “Here are some nice garments. Have a wonderful day!”

Mark looked awkwardly at Angela, but she didn’t say anything, opting instead to simply count out payment for the shopkeeper. There was a chance she was trying to cover for the horned man, but it was equally likely that she simply thought it would be funny if Mark had to scrounge clothing from a random bag of mismatched goods.

“Uh, thanks for all your help,” Mark said, waving to the man as they left. It took some doing, but he suppressed the urge to say anything until they’d put some distance between them and the store.

He turned and looked at his sister. “So…”

“Yeah, that was super weird,” Angela agreed, glancing back towards the store.

“No doubt. I think mom’s onto something with her ‘stay clear of the Families’ thing.”

“Def. There’s something weird about this city…”

She paused, letting the sentence hang in the air.

“What?” he asked.

“Wait for it…” she said, holding up a finger.

Nothing happened.

“What am I waiting for?” Mark asked, but Angela waved at him impatiently.

“No, I refuse to accept this,” she said, crossing her arms. “We just randomly walked into a store where a weird shopkeeper started to give us a warning but got cut off before he could finish his sentence. It is GOING to happen.”

Mark waited.

And waited.

And waited.

He sighed. “We’re not getting a quest.”

“Aaargh!” she said. Pointing at the sky, she shouted, “You suck, magical Tome people!”

Mark cringed. “Geez, Angie. Quests are cool and all, but screwing around with the Tome guides is probably a bad idea.”

“You worry too much,” she muttered.

“You worry too little,” he noted.

“And that’s why we stick together! C’mon, what’s the worst that could—”

Mark mashed his hand onto Angela’s face, her eyes going wide.

“Angie…?” he growled, glaring at her. She snrked out a giggle and nodded, so he removed his hand.

She shook her head. “I can’t believe I almost said that.”

He pursed his eyebrows and frowned at her. Pointing at the bag, he simply said, “Clothes. Now.”

Angela nodded and loosened the string holding the bag closed. They both looked inside.

“Oh… oh wow,” she said once their eyes took in the contents. “This is too good. I didn’t think my Luck was high enough to bring me such joy.”

“Something tells me your Luck isn’t what’s at play here,” he said with a scowl.

Simply put, the bag was an awful, insane assortment of wildly coloured flamboyant clothes. They looked like the illicit love-child of a travelling circus and a rainbow.

“At least there’s gloves?” Angela said with a shrug.

“Seriously?” he said, holding up the flower-print gloves. “I’m going to wade into battle with gardening gloves?”

“Beats the alternative.”

He frowned. She had him there.

“Let’s just find an alley I can get changed in,” he said, snatching the bag out of his sister’s hand and storming off down the street, doing his best to ignore his sister’s laughter.

There weren’t many good places to hide and get changed, but Mark eventually found an enormous statue of what looked like a beaver in plate armour fighting a dragon. There was a bit of space behind it and the alley wall, so he squeezed into the gap and swapped out his clothes for the best he could find in the bag’s admittedly pathetic collection.

He stepped out into the open and looked at his sister, whose face split into a wide grin.

“Yeah, yeah, I look like an idiot,” he said. He beckoned to himself with both hands. “Come on, get it out of your system. The sooner you’re done your jokes, the sooner we can go.”

Angela frowned. “Aw, that’s mean. If you’re willing to take the abuse, it sucks all the fun out of it.”

“Seriously?” Mark said. “Man, I gotta mentally bookmark this approach. It’s—”

He stopped the moment he felt the seizure, raising a finger to his sister to signal what was happening. It wasn’t one of the grand mals that had plagued him since arriving on Arenia, but one of the smaller, simple focal seizures that had made up the bulk of his episodes before he got them under control. They were a bit of an oddity in the seizure world, manifesting as a complete stripping away of all means of communication until the seizure ended. Verbal, auditory, written… anything he said would come out garbled, and anything said to him would sound the same way, so there was no point talking. Instead, all he could do was stand there.

Feeling stupid.

Something occurred to him. Gesturing as best he could for Angela to stay on lookout, Mark ducked back behind the statue and pulled off one of his gloves. Taking a breath he grabbed the smooth wood and watched as the whorls sprang into being across his skin and staff. He closed his eyes, searching for the connection he’d found during the fight with the nimh.

His eyes snapped open.

It was there. The staff’s hunger for the resonance within Mark’s seizure.

In an action he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to describe, he let that resonance release, feeling as it flowed through his whorl-encrusted hands and into the staff.

The seizure ended.

Holy shit, did that work?

Mark struggled to tamp down his excitement. He knew there was one more important step left, but he was already way further ahead than he’d expected after one attempt. Still… in for a penny, in for a pound.

Bracing himself for what could end up a catastrophic magical explosion, Mark yanked his hand away, breaking contact.

Nothing. The lights faded—maybe a bit slower this time—but other than that, there were no signs of change whatsoever.

“You okay, bro?” Angela called out.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice shaky. Why hadn’t anything happened? Had it really been that easy? On the road it had felt like he’d created a bomb, but now the staff looked, well… inert.

The implications were profound. If the backlash he’d experienced in the fight against the nimh had simply been from overloading the staff’s capacity, that opened up the possibility of using his staff as a kind of magical battery.

It was a complete game-changer.

Angela joined Mark behind the statue just as he was putting his hand back on the staff. “What are you doing?” she hissed. “Someone could see you.”

“Shh…” he said, focusing on the staff.

The resonance was still there, buried inside the wood. The only question was whether he could use it.

He glanced at Angela. “Keep talking.”

“What? Why?”

“Seriously?” he said incredulously. “Usually, you won’t stop!”

“Fiiine,” she said. “There once was a man from Nantucket. He lived home alone with a bucket. He… no, wait. Was it a bucket? Of course it was, it’s a limerick. But bucket doesn’t rhyme with mid-air, so how did that go? I think it was…”

Mark stopped paying attention to what she was saying. All that mattered was if he could understand it. After all, his whole plan hinged on being able to pull stored resonance out of the staff. If that resulted in his seizure returning, it would have significant implications for his magical aspirations.

Bracing himself, Mark focused on the resonance in his staff, pulling it towards him.

A thread broke free.

Mark grunted as the disorientation hit him. There was a brief, almost hallucinatory sensation of being surrounded by a twinkling of stars, like when you got hit on the head too hard, but his sister’s words stayed clear and legible.

Confident that the seizure wasn’t going to return—if somewhat disoriented—he focused his awareness on that field of stars and how it felt like he was travelling through them; how some of those lights seemed to slide into his path while others disappeared to the wayside. Mark tried to get a better look at one of the stars before it vanished, but the moment he did so, the wild resonance inside of him reached out and grabbed the light, pulling it from the wider field of view and into his path, causing a shudder in the reality around him.

His pants fell apart.

HIDDEN QUEST “Touch the Primal” COMPLETED

What? I didn’t do that! I don’t even know what… oh, gods, please don’t tell me you call your you-know-what “the primal.”

Reward: 1,000 XP

NEW CLASS SKILL LEARNED

Warp – Skill Level 1 (Tier-0)

Okay, I’ve never even heard of that Skill before. This is getting ridiculous.

50 XP Earned

“…and so the guy says, ‘No, I’m laughing because Bob was carrying a water—” Angela’s monologue cut off abruptly. “Uh, bro?”

Mark looked down, barely processing the message that had appeared. Somehow, all the threads in his pants had decayed into nothing, leaving them a tattered ruin at his feet.

“Uhh…” he said, summarizing his feelings with appropriate eloquence.

Realizing that he was now standing in the street in his underwear, he picked up the bag of clothes and scrambled to find something else to wear.

“Did you just make your pants fall apart?” Angela asked.

“Not on purpose!”

“Kind of a weird spell.”

“It wasn’t a spell, it was like a… a…” Mark shook his head. “I can’t explain it. I don’t think I could make it happen again.”

“Too bad. I can think of some instances where it’d come in handy.” She waggled her eyebrows.

“God, you’re weird,” he muttered, shaking his head as he rummaged through the bag.

“Not as weird as your spell list.”

He snorted out a laugh. “You don’t even have a spell list.”

“I’m different. I have runes.”

“No, you have a 4-piece puzzle that’s still in the box.”

She scowled at him. “Fuck, whatever. Can we go?”

He grinned. “She can dish it out, but she can’t taaake it,” he sang in a country twang. “She thinks she’s so smart, but can’t faaake it. She’s Aaaangela!”

“Oh fuck right off,” she said. Snatching the bag of clothes from his hands, she headed back into the street. “Let’s go, bro! Daylight’s burning!”

“Angie!” Mark shouted, peeking out from behind the statue.

“I’m walkin’,” she called over her shoulder, her voice fading as she disappeared down the street .

“Angela!” He gritted his teeth. “Goddamned it, Angela, I STILL DON’T HAVE ANY PANTS!”