Wynter awoke to the sounds of trucks loading, tents being taken down, and people yelling orders.

Already a horrible morning, stepping out into full sunlight only made it worse.

“Perfect timing Wynter! I was just coming to wake you.” An all too cheery Sergeant Jones greeted her. Holding out a breakfast wrap to her was all that saved his life.

“Say, Sergeant?” Wynter looks around nervously, “Would the guard be interested in buying several things like this?”

Her hand reached and was suddenly holding an M16. With a flick, her hands were empty again.

“That… that was amazing. Almost no one has a storage device. I think they are made in a different map…”

“Focus Sergeant! Focus! Buying the things?” Wynter chided.

“Umm, right, the Guard directly, no. We are financed through the Mayors of the cities, and the Governor. They are the ones that buy such things. If you had a good storage device, you might be able to buy a city!”

She was rescued from his enthusiasm by a soldier running up with a question.

Gods. A horrible morning became worse as Wynter was directed to the back of a century old truck that one of the soldiers called a ‘Deuce-and-a-half’. Seventeen soldiers and their kits crammed into the back of a canvas topped sweatbox whose front vent flap pulled in all the diesel exhaust that was fighting with the soldiers for who stank worse. Sheer boredom had her sneak out the Dance Manual and find she was now qualified to read it. The Hundred Steps wasn’t just about foot placement. It was mostly about the entire body and how every step needed a corresponding gesture, or body movement so that perfect balance was always maintained. At first, thinking that the partner's steps were some kind of choreography, only to realize the ‘partner’ was an opponent and the two were fighting. The steps and gestures showed how to weave and twist to avoid a blow while positioning to make an optimal strike in return. As the Dance Manual fell to dust, Wynter just smiled as her legs twitched with a need to dance.

The convoy trundled on. The fine concrete and asphalt roads were gone. Replaced with packed and oiled dirt. Five hours of a bone-shattering, tooth-cracking trip did little to improve Wynter’s mood as the day wore on.

“Hey! We are at the edge of the city!” One soldier looking through the front flap cried out.

Wynter looked out at a huge metal sign, once on some grand highway. ‘Welcome to Kansas City! Pop- 2,400,000 41,000’

“That many lost?” she spoke in wonder.

“That is just the remaining citizens. A lot died, some moved away, some became Beasts and killed a bunch in a rampage. A lot are Ghosts.” The blasé way they spoke of the mass deaths bothered her more than the deaths themselves.

“Ghosts?” she asked.

“Ghosts are the ones whose minds snapped. They are afraid of everyone and anything. The refuse all help. Every year when the cold hits we find a building full of them, all frozen solid, even though there might be a shelter next door.” Yes, they saw death as commonplace and hardly worth commenting on it seemed.

“So, with all that empty room, where do people live?” Wynter looked at the city which seemed mostly intact.

“We plowed under a few areas as farmlands. Pulling the livestock into the city proper. Most people live in Midtown these days. The Beast-kin have an enclave to the south side near the old slaughter yards. There are two different religious compounds on the north side, as far away from the Beast-kin as they can get. You can’t really see from here, but fires ravaged much of the west side, gangs gutted downtown, and every year the Beasts have a mass migration through here.”

“Damn…” was all she could say.

They debarked at a park surrounded by mansions and fine homes. Colonel Perry took his leave of a Dancer he saw little use for.

“Well, Ms. Wynter. The fine folks in the building across the way will be glad to assist you with lodging as you seek ‘employment’” the derision in his voice very clear.

“Thank you for your kind assistance Colonel Perry, sir. Might you be able to direct me to the Governor’s offices? We have business together.” Wynter added a coy giggle to further fuel the astounded look of shock on the Colonel’s face.

Following his pointed finger, she curtsied and walked away, adding extra sway to her hips until she was sure the Colonel was no longer watching.

Wynter entered the designated mansion, finding a reception desk set up immediately inside the door.

An older woman, hair greying, face too smooth to be real, sat at the desk. Appraising Wynter head to toe,

“What can I help you with?” the woman asked.

“I would like to see the Governor.”

“Do you have an appointment? He is far too busy to just walk in upon.”

“No, I don’t. I still need to see him, and I think he’ll want to see me.”

“I highly doubt that!” the woman gave a sniff, “An unwashed urchin just cannot impose on the Governor. I’ll have to ask you to leave! Guard?”

Chosen for his size and intimidation factor, Wynter could have taken him with ease. She had to admit, after a day in the truck, she could smell herself and it wasn’t pleasant.

=-=-=-=-

Wynter left the Governor's Mansion and headed to the boardinghouses in search of a bed and a bath.

“Hello, Dear!” Wynter had barely walked in the door when a woman came, she looked youthful and energetic, yet gave Wynter a feeling being ageless and weary. Long pointed ears cried Elf, but she couldn’t think of a polite way to ask. “I am Mrs. McDowell, but please call me Faith. Are you looking for a room? Let me show you around. Currently, we have five others staying here…”

Wynter watched in amazement as this woman, this Faith dragged her around the entire place. Faith never stopped speaking unless someone cut her off. No other staff was in evidence, yet the place was spotless.

“Meals are three times a day, between 6 & 7 both morning and night, and precisely at high noon. Meals run one Mark each. Lodging is also a Mark, but the doors lock at 9 pm and unlock at 6 am. No one gets in out of hours.”

“A Mark? What is a Mark?” Wynter squeezed in as Faith took a rare breath.

The boardinghouse was… interesting. It was also a lesson in the state of the economy. A simple meal or a night’s lodging would cost a single Black Mark. The coin was a disk that seemed made of Obsidian. A Copper Mark was worth ten black ones. A Jade Mark was ten copper.

When Wynter had explained she had no coins like those, Faith had produced a box.

“Place a hand on either end and push in ten points of either your Mana or Psionic pool.” Wynter had done so and after a second a Black coin had slid out. “The Mark is a unit of labor. The coin you just produced, someone else can pick it up and use the Mana to power something else. Now take the coin in your hand and send a bit of mana into it.”

The coin dissolved away and Wynter felt the mana flow into her.

“And that is the cycle. Those with surplus send power to those that can use it.”

“Can this box produce the larger coins?” Wynter asked curious.

“Yes, but you shouldn’t run dry, you’ll suffer…” the house mother stopped as the first one, then a second copper mark slid out, followed by five blacks. Keeping one of the blacks, Wynter pushed the others over,

“That should last six days, right?”

Freshly bathed, she went back to the Governor for the next three days, being turned away brusquely each time. She spent the balance of each day Dancing the Hundred Steps until she started to lose the individual moves, one step moving within the next. No longer separate steps and gestures, but a process. She realized that shadowboxing would not help much any longer, she needed a trainer. Meditating, she produced marks three times a day.

An hour each day spent touring the market informed her as to prices. A thousand things she had little idea of their use or value. However, the market made it clear that magic and such existed and wasn’t all that rare as buskers performed some miracle between every established shop, hucksters prowled the crowd selling a thousand dubious things.

It also made it clear that bigotry was alive and well, the lines had just changed. No longer white versus black versus brown, no, now it was Human versus Elf versus Beast-kin. Half of the Human vendors wouldn’t acknowledge her presence even waving coin at them.

The fourth day she went to the Mayor’s office, and while the Mayor was said to be too busy, after an hour wait she was guided to his aide’s office.

“I am Ms. Eileen Jackson. I have heard about you trying to see the Governor, what could be so important?”

“I accidentally found an old National Guard Bunker and after defeating the Kobolds that had invaded it I was able to retrieve some of the Military Goods. Now I would like to sell them.”

“Just what type and how many are we talking about?”

Looking around the small and crowded office,

“Well, Eileen. We’ll need more space, a lot more space. And I would prefer privacy as well.”

“We have a basement conference room, will that work?” The aide said, intrigued.

Entering the room,

“This should suffice.” Wynter then started pulling out items. When after five minutes and no sign of Wynter slowing, the aide ran out of the room, but Wynter barely noticed.

The aide returned towing the Mayor to find Wynter sitting in a chair panting,

“I think that is, oh, wait,” she produced a stack of Training Documents. “There, now that is all of it.”

Receiving 62 Jade Marks, 320 Copper, and 200 Blacks, Wynter had exhausted the City’s coffers and they would be delivering a letter of credit to the Boardinghouse this evening.

Not five steps out of the mayoral offices a Human in a suit approached her.

“Ms. Wynter. I am Lieutenant Governor Simon Fruth and I have heard you have some interesting items for sale? We can offer top Mark for any and all of it!”

“Had, Mr. Fruth had. Your dog at the door was successful in defeating my attempts to speak to your office, so I went elsewhere. I may not have made top Mark, but I closed the deal and it is all in the Mayor’s hands now. Good day!” Wynter didn’t mind sending him off disappointed, money itself meant little to her, she could just literally make more.

With that in mind, she hit the market, soon owning a coin marker of her own. She went hunting skill books. This time when she flashed coin, Jades attracted all but the worst bigots.

The selection of books was poor, she could learn Sword, Mace, or Shield usage from a dozen stalls. Profession books were also somewhat common. Hand-to-Hand seemed unheard of, likely since Humans lacked the weapons for their hands to be effective against Beasts. Two Jade bought a Psiontist Manual,

The Doorway to the Heart

Minimum Req: Psiontist 10, MND 18, CHR (16)

Granted: MND +1, CHR +1, Skill: Empath

Uses 1/1

It wasn’t hugely useful, but a useful skill was still a skill.

As she was walking away from the vendor, she turned back,

“Excuse me? One last thing, is there someone likely to have Skill books for the Martial Arts, or is there a trainer nearby?”

“Go to that Bakery you see over there, the one with the white painted front? Directly behind it, follow the road, two or three blocks. The trainer is around there.”

“Thank you!” She said as she handed over a few Blacks.

The building was well hidden, no fancy sign, painted over windows, just a small sign on the door.

Entering there was a chime and three Humans looked at her, one built like a pillar, all straight lines and not a trace of fat. One an older Asian woman with her hair pulled back into a severe ponytail, was slim, almost petite. The third a slightly built man whose features she forgot almost as soon as she looked away.

“Hello?” Wynter said into three severe faces, “I was wondering if I could get training? So far, it is all stuff I have learned on my own.”

“Well, come up here girl and show me what you have. Nothing lethal, but don’t pull your punches.” The Pillar said as he dropped into a classic boxing stance.

Without warning he moved, Wynter bent and twisted, as her feet moved and her body followed. He kept advancing, crowding and pushing her. Neither able to land a solid blow, Wynter flowing out of the way, the Pillar deflecting her punches and kicks. After a couple minutes, he called,

“Hold!” And stepped away, “Next!” As the forgettable man replaced him, the strikes lacking the raw power of the Pillar, but coming in so fast they were almost impossible to dodge. No single hit debilitating, but they were adding up.

“Come on girl! I can sense the power within you! Bring it out, show me what you have.”

Her fur blackened, her claws extended twice as far and curved into hooks. The light around her dimming as a handful of charged crystals hit the floor. The Forgettable Man threw something down of his own and was lost in a cloud of smoke. Her body twisted as Evasion activated, somehow, he had gotten behind her. Two could play that game and she used [Shadow Step] to get behind him and barely remembered to blunt her claws as they ran across his neck.

“Hold!” he walked away rubbing his neck, “Next!”

The Asian woman stepped into the shadow and moved with her eyes closed. Wynter’s every strike sidestepped, her kicks met only air, her dodge carrying her directly into a palm strike that left her on her back ended it.

“Child, gather up your shadow stones and then we will talk.”