I think the duergar could tell how close I was to freaking the fuck out.

Probably because I was already doing it.

I had no idea how long the young orc woman had been quiet as death. But as I stared at her, laying there limply on the too-short bedroll, I realized my hands were shaking. I could’ve sworn she’d been muttering to herself, murmuring in her strange language, just a couple minutes ago. How long ago?

I was wracking my brain, but did it really matter? What mattered was that her breath was stilled and her heart wasn’t beating. There was no pulse in her throat, nothing in her wrist. I clenched my teeth together and blew out a harsh blast of air.

“Can’t you do something?!” I growled.

But the pale dwarf just looked at me, chewing his lower lip thoughtfully.

“Fuck!” I swore. I turned back and bent over the girl, my mind racing as I tried to call on my limited knowledge of medicine.

I knew how to bandage. And I could do some basic — extremely basic — first aid. Back home, being extremely careful had been my most potent panacea. I avoided getting injured as much as I could. When shit happened, I usually just wrapped it up tight with gauze, bandages and duct tape. With limited supplies and unlimited time, I usually let the human body take care of itself. But now I had no time. If I didn’t help this girl immediately, she would be dead. I couldn’t let that happen.

Not again. The thought flashed through my mind unbidden. I swallowed, clenched my teeth, forced myself back to logic.

Assets. I glanced around, but couldn’t see anything in the duergar’s camp beyond what I’d first noticed. What did I know about venom? Had I seen anything on TV, ages ago? Some episode of Animal Planet or a National Geographic documentary?

Webster had swooped over the wall and landed on a nearby mound of broken rock. He watched me, strangely still, the end of his tufted tail the only thing moving as it flicked, flicked, flicked from side to side.

Nothing.

Wait! I had more. My character sheet! It came up in front of my eyes even as I brought it to mind, and I desperately waved my hands, slowly managing to scroll in starts and stops until I reached the relevant section.

Skills

Combat > Strength > Polearms (Lvl. 5): You have moderate skill when it comes to wielding polearms. (This includes spears, quarterstaffs and improvised, pole-based weaponry.)

Non-Combat > Wisdom > Tracking (Lvl. 5): You have moderate skill when it comes to finding things that don’t want to be found, tracing things that don’t want to be traced.

“Crap.” I had nothing. I was about to force my mind down another path when something else jumped out at me. Just beneath my Skills tab, in Abilities.

Arcane Framework: You have a deep understanding of the nature of reality. Thus, you better know how to bend it. Provided you have enough Mana, you can cast spells that you don’t know. You have a 25% chance for success with spells you’ve never seen cast before, and a 50% chance of success with spells you’ve seen cast before. On a success, a new spell is added to your Spells list. On a failure, there is an [unknown] chance that something unexpected will happen.

“Spells…” I muttered. Magic. My brain spun, latched onto the image of the hulking duergar, his hand slicing the air and my body smashing into the wall like a rag doll. But if there was magic to hurt, there must be magic to heal.

My heart was beating faster, and my focus had narrowed to the young woman before me. There was nothing else.

I knew, dimly, that it didn’t matter if I gave up. There was no one to blame me. The duergar, in fact, would probably congratulate me, before rolling this poor girl’s body off the end of the bridge. I had done everything I knew how, and if she died anyway… Well, people die. That’s how life goes, sometimes, and it doesn’t matter if you’re on Earth or in some strange, underground cave world several dimensions down the street.

But I also knew that I couldn’t surrender to this. I had failed way too many times already. I had given up on the people who mattered most to me. I knew it didn’t matter, on a cosmic scale, if I gave up on one more. There was no reason for me to be attached to someone I barely knew. Didn’t know at all, in fact. But while my inner Survivor crossed his arms and scowled, the rest of me racked my memory. It did matter.

For the first time in a long time, I had the chance to remake a decision. This time I was going to make it right, dammit.

And so I searched my brain for some inkling, some idea of how to tap into the magic that I knew I possessed. The Spells section of Jondalar’s character sheet might be empty, but I had an unfair advantage. I had spent a year preparing for this game, and I didn’t have to know a spell in order to cast it.

I stared at the girl and then leaned forward, placing my hands gently on her shoulders. I was nervous, and my palms were as clammy as her pallid skin. I seemed to remember that touch was useful to healing magic. Remember… What a silly word to use. I’d probably read it somewhere. In a make-believe book from someone’s imagination. And now I was trying to use it to save someone’s life. I shook my head and tried to focus, like I was meditating, tried to let my breath flow easier.

You know it’s there… I told myself. Your character can cast spells…

The girl’s face was so still, not a shadow of breath. But I ignored the panic that was crashing over me. I focused deep in my core, trying to draw on… Something. A few seconds passed in, my heart pumping loud.

Come on.

Come on…

But… I couldn’t wrap my head around it.

“Fuck.” I swore, softly. I had no idea how to harness magic. Was it like flexing a muscle? Was it like doing a math problem? Was it something else, something I’d never before experienced? How do you call on a power you’ve never… imagined in reality?

I hesitated a second longer. Then, I gave in. I had no idea what I was doing. And I was out of options. I sighed, and started to lift my hands.

That, of course, was when I felt it, a flicker of heat in my gut. My tongue prickled. I smelled rain. Wet leaves. And my vision flickered dark. I gasped. Eyes open and seeing nothing, I fell into the flowing tide of impressions that flowed across my senses.

Shadows moved before my blind eyes. The soft trickling sound of water dripping from rain-spattered trees pricked my ears. My mouth tasted of mint and fresh grass and cinnamon. There was a bright snap of lightning that cut through me from shoulder to hip.

Far away, I felt movement beneath my palms. A slow rise. A fall. Nothing more.

I wanted to open my eyes and see what I’d done, but they were already open and seeing nothing. Another crack of fire across my body, through my chest, and I was falling. The ground was gone and there was nothing beneath me and I was pitching through the abyss.

“Move.”

The duergar’s big hand hit my chest hard enough to knock me on my ass. My eyelids flickered and I gasped, scrambling. I could see again and I shook my head, pressing one hand to my forehead as a wave of nausea washed over me, crawled up the inside of my throat.

What the fuck? I swayed sideways, off balance. But then I was shoving myself up onto my knees and scuttling around to watch.

The warrior bent over the girl, mumbling into his short, dark beard.

My fingers plucked uselessly at the ground, found a broken knuckle of stone and gripped it tightly. The rough edges of the shard pressed into my palm. If he tried to hurt her, I was going to lift the rock and… But I was overreacting, right?

“Not dead.”

The words surprised me enough to snap me from my murky thoughts. I glanced up into the warrior’s dark eyes.

“Almost dead.”

I swallowed. My eyes traced the orc girl’s waxen cheek. I could swear her pine needle skin was paler than before. “What do you mean?” My voice was hard and sharp. I could still taste the spices on my tongue.

“The venom slows the body, preserves it. Keeps it fresh. Her pulse is almost gone. Her breath is minimal.”

I swallowed. I’m no doctor, but it sounded bad. “What just happened?”

“She was almost gone and you were fool enough to try and save her.” The duergar’s face darkened. “I know not if you are less an idiot than you act, or just incredibly lucky, but had I not stepped in you would have poured yourself into the spell and slipped away with her.”

My mouth had gone dry, and I realized my fingers were trembling around the ragged stone. It was like there were pieces of sand and grit filling the spaces between my teeth and tongue and up my cheeks. “Can you…” I coughed, leaned against the floor to try and still the spinning. “Can you finish what I started?”

The dwarf considered me for a moment. His jaw clenched as he turned his gaze back to the young woman and I remembered his harsh grunt. Orc. I remembered the instinctive thrust of his knife.

“Not for her,” he grunted.

I waited, sensing there was more.

“For you, Undying.” He used the word like a title, capitalized. “I will do what I can.”

I waited. Nothing is free. There was still more.

“And in return you will help me leave this place. To go home.”

At this point, I almost wasn’t surprised when the gold-scripted notification flickered in front of my eyes. In fact, this time, I managed to control it with a thought, shunting it to one side so it only filled part of my vision.

[????] has offered you a QUEST!

Tit for Tat

In return for attempting to save the life of the young orc female [????], the duergar [????] requires your help. Help him return to his home, no matter the perils that await.

Reward for success: XP and [unknown]!

Penalty for failure (or refusal): Probable death of the female. Certain sensation of guilt.

Yes/No

I swallowed. My first quest, huh? I frowned. Were they usually so light on the details? And so heavy on the passive aggressive digs at my guilty conscience? I was already pretty committed to saving this girl, but was it enough to justify—

“I’ll do it.”

My voice firm and confident, despite my roiling nausea. I met the duergar’s dark orbs. Enough thinking. The girl didn’t have that kind of time. And what did I have to lose anyway? It’s not like I had other plans that would get in the way of helping out my new, freakishly-pale ally.

The notification dissipated as I agreed, and the ashen-skinned dwarf jerked his head in a nod before I could second guess my decision. He held out his broad hand to me. A handshake? I wondered. When I tried to shake it, though, his hand slid forward and grabbed me by the forearm.

Got it. Medieval style.

Only when I tried to pull my hand away, the duergar’s pale fingers sank firmly into my skin. He held me tightly, and his teeth bared in a grimace. “Do you have magic left, elf?”

I swallowed around the sensation of sand lining my throat. I had no idea, but I nodded, slowly.

“Good.”

And then came the pain.

The hand clamped down around my forearm was suddenly icy cold and scorching hot. As I fell forward, palm smacking down on the stone, I wouldn’t have been surprised to see steam or smoke rising from my skin. Pale fingers like iron bands crushed down, but I didn’t yell, scream or even cry out. My body was tight, wound up, my jaw clenched too rigid to open. My tongue was glued to the top of my mouth.

Then there was a yank deep in my gut, and a crackling sensation up and down my skin. My vision warped, sparked, light dancing across my gaze. When I managed to raise my head, the duergar wasn’t even looking at me any longer. His heavy features were a scowl of concentration and his voice was a low, rhythmic rumble. One broad hand was wrapped around my body and the other was pressed flat to the young woman’s bare, flat midriff. The tattoos on his knuckles flared darker.

This was not like any videogame I’d ever played. Right click to cast Heal. Press X to use a Med Kit. This was some next-level, deep-underground, chanting-like-a-cult type magic. And despite the pain…

It made me feel alive.

If my first attempt at magic had been a drugged-out shroom trip, with Magnuus at the wheel it was like I’d injected a dozen shots of caffeine straight into my nervous system. I snarled, my entire body pulsing. I felt like a battery. Like a surging electric wire. Like the goddam Energizer Bunny.

Then, something clicked.

I couldn’t have said what it was. There was no movement except for the flex of muscles beneath my taut skin. There was no sensation but the burning frost of his hand and the scalding heat that boiled in my body. There was no sound but the duergar’s toneless chant. But something had slotted, silently, into place.

Evergreen skin heaved beneath a broad, pale, tattooed hand.

There was a hacking, sputtering, wet cough.

Black veins of poison melted away.

And then the orc girl’s eyelids snapped up, teeth bared in a feral scowl as blue eyes the color of the open sky regarded us with dazzling ferocity.

If she could have, I had no doubt that the orc would have torn our throats with her teeth, kicked our bodies into the crevasse and stalked away across the glowing cavern with hardly a care in the world. She probably would have taken the duergar’s bent fork, too, purely out of spite. Or maybe I was just misinterpreting her vibe. Who knows, maybe if I woke up half-naked surrounded by strange men with my last memory being of a swan dive out the window of a rapist’s castle into the web of gigantic fanged horror… I might have been bitchy too.

Okay, let’s be honest. Three-quarters naked.

But luckily for us, and the duergar’s well-loved utensils, the girl simply heaved, twisted onto one side and retched. She spat up a sludgy pile of dark goop. It looked black and slick, unnatural. I swallowed down the wave of churning heat that made me want to retch, myself. Then she lay slowly back, chest rising and falling shakily. She scarcely seemed to have the energy to move.

The duergar frowned. His low, heavy chant had cut off abruptly at her first movement. He glanced at me, then slowly released his grip on my forearm. I looked down, expecting to see a shiny red handprint burned into my bare skin. But there was nothing.

The orc’s surprisingly bright gaze met mine first, as I lifted my head, then twitched to the squat, bearded man looming over her. Her eyes widened. Her lips curled back in a weak snarl, but when she tried to push herself up onto her elbows her expression twisted into a mask of pain.

She muttered something. A threat? A question?

I looked at the dwarf, raising my eyebrows, but he shook his head. Then, to my surprise, teeth showed through his tangled beard in a ragged smile. “Your problem now, elf,” he grunted. With a wheezing sigh, he shoved himself up, palms on his knees.

“Half-elf,” I muttered, too quiet for the warrior to hear. I heard him stagger to the edge of the bridge, boots rattling against loose stones. I guess magic takes a lot more out of you than fiction leads you to expect. I sighed, then turned back to the woman I’d just Quested myself out for and — according to the duergar — nearly killed myself trying to save.

She blinked, then her expression tensed in a look of recognition. If there was a look that meant ah yes, this is the stranger who fell through the ceiling, slashed open some faces and then needed me to save him from torture by helping him make a cliché window escape, she gave it to me.

“Yeah,” I muttered. “That’s me.” I tried to give her a reassuring smile.

What had I gotten myself into?

We stared at each other for several long minutes, both of us seeming to come to the conclusion that speech would be a wasted effort.

It was Webster who broke the stalemate.

The cat-sized microgriffon had been watching quietly, but now he fluttered over from the crumbling wall of the guardhouse. He landed next to me with a ruffle of feathers and the gentle click-click of tiny claws.

“Hey, buddy,” I said quietly.

The dwarf hadn’t come back yet, and the glances I’d thrown over my shoulder told me he was sitting right at the edge of the crumbling precipice, short legs dangling out off the edge. Either he trusted me enough to know that I wouldn’t give him a little push, or he trusted my general incompetence enough to know that I wouldn’t Sparta kick my host into a crevasse when I had no idea how to survive in this underground wilderness. I wish I could say I was sticking with the first assumption, out of my general high level of trust in humanity and strange associated humanoid races. My Survivor instincts were telling me it was the second.

The microgriffon chirped in greeting, padding forward and tucking his wings down along his back. I hadn’t gotten a good look at him yet, and the ambient glow of the cavern was finally giving me the gift of color, so I took a second to admire his long, handsome feathers. They were dark brown, some edged with white, like an eagle. His fur beneath had the red-brown hue of a squirrel. I reached out to stroke down his back, and he arched up, catlike.

The young orc woman moved, and my eyes were on her immediately. But to my surprise, she was simply lifting one hand and staring in wonder at my small companion animal. She reached out, murmuring softly in her language. Webster stepped forward, butting his head into her palm and, to my surprise, radiating a soft, contented purr.

Was it my imagination, or did it sound vaguely like the sound of a small cleaning bot vacuuming crumbs and dust from a tiled kitchen floor?

My musings were interrupted by a sound.

A soft, surprised giggle.

I blinked at the girl. Her big blue eyes were shining, and her fingers scratched between Websters bobcat ears with a gentle expertise. Her skin was still waxy and pale, her hair scattered around her face in disarray, but the soft edge of a smile turned up her lips. I noticed that they were an even darker blue-green color than her skin, but I was starting to realize that her alien features weren’t at all off-putting. Was this the same girl who only moments ago had been on the edge of death?

My only explanation is that no matter in which planet, universe or realm of reality you find yourself, women feel better around small, soft, fuzzy animals.

I nodded, feeling like I should say something. “His name’s Webster,” was the best I managed to come up with. Not bad, I’d say. I’ve never been great at talking to beautiful women. Except for Annie.

I swallowed at the thought, coughed down a black cloud of regret and sniffed. Except for when it really mattered.

The girl glanced over and raised one dark eyebrow.

I gestured at the microgriffon. “Webster,” I repeated.

The girl scratched under my animal companion’s chin thoughtfully. “Webster,” she repeated, her accent thick. She had some trouble with W, and her R was unnecessarily harsh, but she obviously understood the point I was getting across.

I nodded.

She glanced back down, fondling the microgriffon gently with her hands and murmuring in her own language. I caught my tiny friend’s name, but nothing more.

Webster was definitely purring now, big black eyes half-shut and blissful. I wanted to scowl at him. Until recently, the creature had been relegated to eating garbage on the blasted-out shell of a fallout world. Now, he got to snuggle contentedly in the elbow crook of a beautiful, alien woman. Some of us have all the luck.

“And I’m Col—... Jondalar.” I shuffled closer on my knees, trying to keep my expression open and unthreatening. I held out my hand.

The girl looked up, eyes narrowing. They flicked from my hand to my face. Then, very slowly, she held out her own, small hand. She seemed uncertain, so I simply shook it briefly and then released. Her skin was warm and soft, very much alive, and I regretted having to let go.

But I pulled my hand back and tapped my chest. “Jondalar.” The name was growing more natural each time I used it, but I still hadn’t quite gotten the feel for it yet.

“Jondalar…” Her nose wrinkled, like she didn’t recognize the name, but she seemed to have an easier time with it. She pressed her free hand to her chest, never ceasing the important task of Webster-petting. “Aleesi.”

I nodded. “Pleased to meet you, Aleesi.”

The young woman seemed about to respond, but then her eyes flickered over my shoulder and her lips abruptly snapped shut. She pulled Webster closer, holding him to her like a security blanket.

“So… Jondalar and Webster.” The low, rumbling voice of the duergar sounded behind me.

I turned, looking up at the stocky dwarf. His face was solemn. I heard Webster chirp, like he recognized his name.

“My name is Magnuus. I have been deep in thought. And now, it is time for us to speak of what we must do together.”