The noise from the street echoed around the tiny room, pulling Hugh from restless dreams where he wandered in a field of golden grass while unseen danger circled him. Grumbling at the early hour as consciousness returned, he noticed that someone else was sleeping in his bed. Someone with dark hair that was hogging the thin blanket.

He poked them in the shoulder a few times.

Sissy sat up and stretched, the loose white blouse she had been wearing the night before clinging to her sweaty body. She grabbed her trousers off the floor and started getting dressed.

“Why are you in my bed, Sissy?” Hugh grumped.

“Why do you sleep naked?” She retorted.

“Habit,” he answered. “So, why?”

She shrugged, pulling on her socks and boots.

“Whatever,” he mumbled, examining the wounds on his leg to find that they had healed after a long rest using the EXPerience that he had gained from the battles the day before, just like in the game. Grabbing his clothing from the footboard of the bed, he slid into his itchy wool underwear. Sissy propped against the door and watched him.

“You’re not very shy, are you?” She said, watching as he dressed.

He grunted and looked her, meeting her green eyes with his own. “I don’t think we’re at the point in the relationship where I feel comfortable pissing in front of you,” He quipped, grabbing the weave between his fingers and casting [Clean], allowing the cantrip to cleanse everything in the small room.

Sissy started at the sudden display of magic, then relaxed and smacked her lips appreciatively. “Mm. Minty. That’s useful.”

Grabbing his backpack, he retrieved his coin pouch from under the mattress he tossed it inside, then shouldered it and shooed Sissy out the door before locking it behind him.

She skipped down the stairs while he made a stop at the communal toilet at the end of the hall, [Cleaned] it, then entered the common room where a few patrons were still lingering at this late hour of the morning.

Sissy was sitting in the same booth he spotted her in last night, looking at him expectantly as he entered the room. He picked a different booth and slid into it, propping his tired head up on his hands, staring at the scarred tabletop. Sissy scooted in across from him a moment later. He could feel her eyes boring into the top of his skull.

A too-cheerful voice intruded into his awareness. “Good morning, Savannah! Porridge and beer?”

“Good morning, Annik,” Sissy replied in a cheerful tone. “And some bacon too.”

Hugh looked up to find a teenage girl in a dark blue dress and yellow apron smiling at him expectantly. “Porridge and beer?” She asked.

“Coffee?” He replied hopefully.

Sissy snorted loudly. “You really are a posh nob, aren’t ya? You’re not going to get coffee anywhere outside of a two-gold inn.”

“I have some strong black tea,” Annik offered with an apologetic smile. “That’ll wake you up for sure.”

Hugh nodded and went back to contemplating the table top, waiting for his brain to finish waking up. He didn’t mind mornings, but he did mind the lack of sleep. He needed a solid 8 hours to feel in peak mental condition.

“Tell me about your quest,” Sissy prompted once Annik had left. “You said Celeste summoned you here on a quest.”

“What’s there to tell?” He mumbled. “I have to find and kill off the seven evil characters I played. It sucks.”

Sissy frowned at that. “Evil characters?”

Hugh groaned. “It’s a game,” he said. “It was a game. I’m not some psychopath, I just did whatever to get likes and loot. There’s entire cults built around people like me who challenge the goody-two-shoes heroes and grief them. People literally throw money at me just to cause drama.”

“I didn’t understand any of that,” she said, sitting back and crossing her arms. “Try again.”

Annik returned with their breakfast. “2 silver for her meal,” she said, holding out a hand expectantly. He pulled out the coins and handed them over, watching as she gave Sissy an obvious wink before swishing away to check on the other patrons.

Hugh sipped his tea and grimaced, mentally resigning himself to dealing with what would certainly be the least of his challenges before everything was done. His appetite woke up once the porridge passed his lips and he tucked in, ignoring everything else until he was finished. The contents of the bowl vanished and he pushed it away before glancing around and speaking softly in Upper Luric. “What don’t you understand?”

“I still don’t understand how you make money,” Sissy said, her brow furrowed in confusion as she tried to summarise. “You possess someone and use them like a puppet, and other people use magic mirrors to watch what you do? And they give you money for that? To watch you rob and pillage?”

Hugh shrugged. “Close enough. Maybe something like the theatre? Have you ever payed to see someone pretend to be someone they’re not, to tell a story?”

“But that’s different,” She whinged, still not completely grasping the concept. “They don’t possess people.”

Rising from the booth, he caught sight of Wenne frowning at him. “Maybe we can try again later. I need to get some shopping done before I head out to the dungeon,” He said.

“What are we shopping for?” Sissy asked, bouncing out of the booth.

Hugh rolled his eyes. It was going to be another long day.

New Arcadia looked different in the morning light. Cleaner somehow. Almost vibrant. Carts rumbled down the cobblestone road carrying goods. Women were out gathering goods for their households or croft businesses, their dressed accented with brightly coloured sashes and embroidery. Workmen hurried along with a definite pep in their step. Hugh took it all in and inhaled deeply. Even the stench of the gutter was almost non existent. Turning to the east, he set off towards the Iron Quarter.

“What do you want from me?” He said in Upper Luric, glancing down at his five foot tall creation as they walked along.

Sissy looked up at him and grinned. “I’m doing it with you. The quest.”

Weaving through the crowd he crossed the street and ducked into an alley to shortcut across the streets. “You’re just saying that because of your backstory,” he said. “You can’t resist helping out the underdog, fighting against those who abuse their power. You’re free, Sissy. Go do something with your life.”

“That’s just it,” she bubbled, punching him hard on the arm. “Until yesterday I felt dead inside. Even after I killed Delsarte I had no motivation to do anything else. I’ve been living on my savings ever since, mostly, not even taking the odd job.”

A rough looking man dressed in shabby dockworker clothing stepped from the shadow of a doorway, a long knife in his hand. He moved to the centre of the alley, blocking their passage.

Fingering the weave, Hugh cast [Mage Hand] and extended a pale ghostly arm, slapping the knife to the side. “Piss off!” he snarled, not breaking his stride. He pulled [Air Slash] from Arachne’s web and held the glowing spellform ready in his other hand as he advanced.

The man stepped back into the doorway, eyeing Hugh as he stalked past.

“G’morning Mike!” Sissy called out cheerfully.

“Uh, g’morning Savannah,” Mike stammered. “I didn’t recognise ya in the light.”

Sissy waved a hand in response as they walked by. “No worries!”

“Are you always this grouchy without coffee?” She teased, poking Hugh in the ribs.

He winced away from the bony finger and kept his mouth shut. This was his fault. He played Sissy as a bubbly, carefree person so he could weasel his way into the confidence of his targets. She was exactly like he created her.

“What are you like on the inside, Sissy?” He snapped, turning to face her. “I always projected a happy face on the outside, but that just hid the scheming on the inside. What are you scheming?”

A look of annoyance flashed across her face, quickly replaced by a cheerful grin. “No idea what you’re talking about, Hugh. I’m always like this!” She laughed, twirling away.

He stared at her a moment longer and looked away.

Yeah, he played Sissy as a ruthless, chaotic assassin, but she had a code of ethics. Those ethics were sketchy AF, but her values were baked into her backstory. She only targeted those who abused their power, and specifically those who hurt others. She wouldn’t go after a wealthy merchant for dodging taxes, but she’d slice his throat for selling illegal slaves. Her personality was a slice of his own, a loyal friend that would stand up for you when you were being kicked around.

The question was, could he be friends with a slice of himself?

They exited onto Iron Street, the sound of hammers beating in their ears. The spicy smell of lorenwood was heavy in the air, a strange bit of lore that the game developers thought would be a good idea. Coal and oil didn’t exist in Eternasy, only sustainable equivalents like lorenwood which burned hot and steady like coal. Several players had created huge mercantile empires in the game growing, harvesting, and hauling around the stuff. Hugh didn’t have the patience for that.

But maybe he should be thinking long term, he mused. Find something that was a known money-maker and invest in it just in case. Maybe Balumwood, which could be treated with a common cheap alchemical ingredient to form a light, plastic-like material that could be easily shaped. That was something introduced in EF VI and hadn’t quite caught on with the crafters during his play time, but was destined to make a big hit.

Something to consider later he thought, returning his focus to the shops lining the streets. A small wooden sign featuring a hammer smashing a mountain caught his eye. The workshop of Strofic Greybrow, the best place to buy starting weapons in New Arcadia.

Well, in the game anyway.

Strofic was a four foot tall, three foot wide mass of muscle covered in hair the colour and consistency of burnt copper wire. He was beating something on the anvil when they entered the forge area, focused entirely on the process of heating and smashing it into shape. Hugh took the time to plan out his interaction with the smith.

Strofic paused after ten minutes, examined the piece with a critical eye, then set it to the side to cool. “Welcome ta tha Hammered Mountain. Wha kin I be doin’ fer ye?” He asked in thickly accented Dothiki.

Hugh swapped to Old Dalin and addressed the Master Smith in the language of the dwarves. “Greetings, Master Greybrow. My name is Hugh Johnson and I’ve newly arrived in the city. I heard from the gate guard that you might be willing to help me with the trivial matter of making a special item.”

Strofic wiped his hands in his beard and made a motion for Hugh to continue. “What are you looking for? Certainly not a proper battle axe with your build. Maybe some fancy skinny sword to impress your lady?” He replied, looking at Sissy.

Hugh barked out a laugh and shook his head. “No, nothing so grand. I’m a magic user and the metal doesn’t agree with me. I’m looking for a custom made club.”

“If you’re looking for wood, you’re in the wrong shop. Go talk to an Elf,” Strofic spat.

“I disagree,” Hugh argued. “I’m in the right shop, because this club needs metal wrapped around it and those tree-singers don’t know how to properly work iron.”

“Tell me what you have in mind.” Strofic said, narrowing his eyes.

Hugh described a baseball bat capped in thin metal with one-inch spikes around the circumference, then pulled out a gold coin and held it up, ten times the cost of a standard club. “Interested in the job?” He asked.

Stofic held out his palm. “I’ll have it ready for you in the morning.”

“What were you talking about?” Sissy asked as they exited the shop.

“I commissioned a special club so I can hunt easier in the Meadows,” he replied.

“Is that what it was? You sounded like you were arguing with a mouthful of rocks.” She groused.

They walked three streets over to the Weavers quarter. The crowd was different here, mostly women with colourful sashes and embroidery on their dresses.

“Which way to Hannah’s?” he asked, looking up and down the street uncertainly.

“That way,” she said, pointing to the left. “You going to speak some posh language to her as well?”

“She’s Dothiki, Sissy. I can’t help but speak posh to her.”

“Don’t call me that in public,” she hissed.

That was her private name, Hugh remembered. A privilege reserved for family and friends behind closed doors. A pillow name for lovers.

“Sorry, Savannah.”

They emerged from the Hannah’s Linen and Leather a short time later, Hugh’s backpack now containing four small sacks for his [Summon Personal Item] cantrip, extra underwear that wasn’t made of wool, socks, and a sewing kit for minor repairs, or stitches if one were desperate enough. Hannah had even cast a [Mend] cantrip on his ripped trousers in exchange for a [Clean] cast on her shop.

That was another difference between the game and this world that shocked Hugh. Many people had enough mana to cast a cantrip or two each day and happily bartered their magic use with each other. There was an entire hedge industry of commoners trading cantrips between one another in this world.

“What now? Sissy asked, glancing overhead to get a sense of the hour.

“Now I head over to Temple street and try to attract some fans” He replied, setting off towards the wide avenue that bisected New Arcadia from east to west.

The temple of Markaus occupied a tiny building inside the grounds of the Celestian temple, whose buildings and gardens took up a long, narrow portion of Temple street. It was just one among dozens of other small buildings, which were no more than well-made shacks designed to hold a handful of worshipers for services. Painted to resemble a sunset, or perhaps a sunrise, the walls were a million shades of orange that reminded Hugh of a melting ice lolly. The door was a deeper red, adorned with a silver moon eclipsing a golden sun.

“Why are we here again?” Sissy asked, looking around the well manicured lawns and sculpted trees that graced the temple of Celeste.

“Because I need fans,” Hugh said.

“Those are the people who give you money, right?” She said, recalling his explanation of how he made a living back on Earth. “You expect the gods to give you money?”

“I expect nothing,” He replied, not wanting to jinx anything. “I’m providing entertainment for them. If they want to toss me a couple of blessings I’ll return the favour and tell people about them. Think of it as a business arrangement. The more they do for me, the more I’ll do for them.”

“And you honestly believe that will work,” she said, her voice filled with incredulity.

A middle aged man who had more beard than hair on his head opened the door of the temple, interrupting their conversation. “Welcome, guests. Have you come to worship Markaus?” he said, greeting them with warm smile.

Hugh stared at the gleaming pate for a moment then unconsciously ran a hand through his own hair, assuring himself that it was still there. “Uh, yeah. I told him I would drop in when I got the chance.”

“Markaus has spoken directly with you?” The priest stuttered, his eyes wide with disbelief.

“No, not really?” Hugh replied. “I needed some assistance and he pointed out the proper door for me. It was helpful at the time.”

The priest gave Hugh a knowing smile, believing that he was speaking in metaphor. “Ah, that makes sense. Markaus is the God of Portals and Passages. Your petition fell firmly inside his domain. It is no wonder that he helped you,” He said, nodding sagely. “Please come inside, I am Proctor Siraba.”

Sissy and Hugh stepped into the humble temple, looking around at the unadorned eggshell coloured walls illuminated by light orbs. Three pews sat on each side of the aisle that led to an alter covered with tiny doors.

Proctor Siraba lead them to the alter, his pale grey robes swishing against the polished floor. “I hold services at sunrise and sunset,” He said, gesturing towards a small pulpit to the left of the alter. “Markaus has a few faithful that visit to hear the sermons he inspires me to write, and share fellowship over coffee.”

“Praise Markaus!” Hugh exclaimed, causing Sissy and the poor priest to flinch. “I’ll be here every morning for coffee.”

“It’s a bitter drink,” the proctor explained. “There is nothing to sweeten…”

“Perfect. Absolutely perfect.” Hugh said.

“Posh nob,” Sissy muttered.

“Let me speak with Markaus, Proctor,” Hugh grinned, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder. “I’m suddenly filled with the spirit.”

Siraba waved a hand at the alter and the small clay bowl setting on it. “Just speak, and he will hear.”

Suddenly self conscious, Hugh cleared his throat and laid hands on the alter. “Hey Markaus, I said I’d offer prayers at your alter, and, well, here I am. You gave me guidance when I asked, and I’m thankful.” He paused, then suddenly wrapped an arm around Sissy’s shoulders and gave her a quick squeeze, causing her to squeak in surprise. “And this little thing came into my life through a portal of sorts, so I’m blaming you for that too. Thanks for the new friend. Oh, and if you want to open the door to some new opportunities for me, I’d be grateful.”

He poked Sissy in the shoulder, causing her to look up at him. “Markaus is listening,” he said. “Do you have anything you’re thankful for?”

Her face flushed and she pressed her lips tightly together before speaking in a low voice, “I guess there’s been many, uh, portals in my life that needed opening and Markaus was there to help me, so, thanks.”

Hugh wrangled two silver out of his coin pouch and dropped them in the clay bowl where they rang like someone had struck a bell. The sound echoed around the temple, unnaturally loud in the tiny wood structure, before fading away.

“What a wonderful day!” Siraba exclaimed, practically dancing around the alter to hug Hugh. “Markaus has indeed heard your prayers and given you his blessing! Please, you must come to services.”

Awkwardly extracting himself from the proctor’s embrace, Hugh patted him on the shoulder and promise to return in the morning.

“You got an orphaned god to give you a blessing,” Sissy said after they left the temple and began weaving through the people on the street. “That’s pretty impressive. They don’t usually do that.”

“Well, Markaus is my number one fan on the leaderboard. I have a feeling we’re going to work well together,” he grinned, pleased at the minor sign he had received. “I’ll gather a few more gods while I’m levelling up because it’s always good to be friends with someone before they become famous.”

“Confident, aren’t ya?” Sissy laughed, shoving him playfully towards the gutter with one arm.

Hugh hopped awkwardly across the filth then jumped back, slipping on a wet stone and nearly stepping in the gutter before he regained his balance.

He blew her a raspberry, watching her eyes crinkle with mischief and mirth as she laughed at his near tumble. Yeah, he decided, he felt good about his impulse to call her his friend. It was good to have a friend. Especially when you were all alone in the world.

“I’m sure you’ll keep my head from growing too big,” he declared confidently.

“STOP! THIEF!”

Everyone within earshot slowed and turned towards the sudden shout, causing Hugh to bump into the person in front of him. He mumbled and apology and turned back towards the source of the distraction just in time to see a small girl come racing out of the crowds, weaving and dodging between wagons and workmen. Twisting his fingers into the cantrip for [Trip], he let it fly, feeling the arcane energy vibrate through the aether as it was released.

The girl fell flat on her face with enough force to bounce, sending a heavy pouch tumbling from her hand. Snaking out a [Mage Hand] towards the pouch, the ghostly arm snatched it back to his waiting fingers. He started towards the young thief with the intention of restraining her when Sissy grabbed his shirt, and pulled him back. Confused, he looked down to see her shake her head then wriggle her fingers at the girl, who went wide-eyed and scrambled to her feet, dashing away in a flurry of blonde hair and skint knees.

An overweight man in a colourful brocade jacket and green pants came puffing out of the crowd like a locomotive, bellowing as he caught sight of the fleeing thief. “Guards! Thief!”

“I have your pouch!” Hugh called to the man, judging him to be a merchant of some sort by his attire. He held up the hefty leather bag to catch his attention.

Spotting his property safe in Hugh’s hand, he slowed to a stop and spit in the direction of the fleeing girl. Bending over in the middle of the street, he braced his hands against his knees and sucked wind for a long minute, then made his way to the pair. “My thanks to you good people,” He said, holding out his hand for the pouch.

Hugh noticed blood dripping from a cut on the back of his hand. “You’re injured,” he said.

The man swore. “That little runt cut me when I caught her lifting my purse,” he said, examining the slice. “Left me something to remember her by.”

“It was a boy,” Sissy interjected. “We got a real good look at him up close. Skinny, dark hair, mole on his left cheek.”

“I’m pretty sure it was a girl,” The man argued, pulling a handkerchief from somewhere in his jacket.

“Nah,” Sissy countered. “He practically fell at our feet. Definitely one of the Dock Street gang the way he was dressed.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Hugh interrupted. “I can cast a spell to stop the bleeding if you want.”

“That would be most welcome. Are you a cleric by chance?” The man asked, looking at them with an appraising eye.

Hugh shook his head. “Mage. Mostly battle magic, but I have a cantrip to stop bleeding until you can tend it properly, Mister…” He said, probing for the man’s name.

“Stans Deters,” He said, offering up the bloody hand. “If you would be so kind, I would be grateful.”

Hugh cast [Clean] and [Clot] in rapid order, fixing the wound and removing the blood and filth from Stans with a small puff of smoke.

“Mm. Minty. That’s nice!” Stans proclaimed, smacking his lips.

“Isn’t it though?” Sissy agreed, bouncing on her heels.

“Indeed. Here’s a bit of something for your troubles,” he said, digging in his pouch and depositing a few coins in Hugh’s hand.

Stans drew his brows together in concentration, as if remembering something important. “Battle magic, eh?” He murmured, stroking his beard. “Say, would you be interested in accompanying my caravan to Morgan town on Second-Monday?”

Hugh did some mental maths. The game developers gave Eternasy some weird orbit and planetary tilt that caused it to have short, bitter winters but stretched out the rest of the seasons to provide good adventuring weather. The final result was twelve months with four eight-day weeks. And because one Monday wasn’t bad enough, they created Second-Monday to fill the open slot.

Since today was Friday, that meant Second-Monday was in four days, giving him three days for a training montage in Golden Meadows.

“I would be happy to…” he started, then paused, looking down at Sissy. She shrugged and nodded. “Would my companion be included? She’s an exceptional scout and I assure you she’s quite lethal at close range.”

“Really?” He said, giving Sissy another look over. “And a scout too, fortune smiles upon me today!”

While they discussed the deal to guard the caravan as it travelled between New Arcadia and Morgan Town, two of the city watch ambled up and inquired about the attempted theft. Stans eagerly described a dark haired boy who was most certainly ‘a member of the Dock Street gang’ and lectured them for failing to protect honest merchants. After promising to meet outside the East gate at dawn on Second-Monday, they parted ways.

“Praise Markaus!” Hugh cheered, giving Sissy a little push towards the gutter. She twisted her body and tugged his arm, sending him stumbling towards it instead. Narrowly avoiding the channel of filth, he laughed and rejoined her side. “For the cost of two silver, Markaus has provided us with five gold AND blessed us with an opportunity to earn two more just for walking to Morgan town.”

“I didn’t peg you as the religious type,” Sissy replied.

“I literally got punched in the mouth by Celeste, met Moarti the god of Death, saw all the little gods, and spoke with Markaus,” he said, tapping a finger with each declaration. “And not ten minutes after asking Markaus for an opportunity, we have one. Who wouldn’t have religion after all that?”

“It’s just a lot to take in,” Sissy said, pursing her lips. “What was she like, Celeste?”

“She looked Japanese. Very thin. A little taller than you. Black hair tied up in some elaborate bun complete with chopsticks.” He said, remembering his encounter with the guardian of Eternasy. “And angry. Very, very, angry. Beautiful as a thunderstorm.”

Sissy chewed on her thoughts while they walked along. “What’s Japanese?” She said.

“Do you need anything?” Hugh asked some time later, bringing Sissy back from her quiet musing. “Supplies? Necessities? A cute ribbon for your hair?”

“Nah,” she replied. “I’ve got enough.”

“You’ve disappointed the gods,” he joked. “You totally ruined a good scene where I agonise over buying you the perfect gift.”

“You have a weird sense of humour,” she remarked as they stepped into Hannah’s for the second time that day.

Hannah was a tall, pale woman, skinny as a stick, with straw blonde hair held under a brightly embroidered head cloth. Not quite a wimple, not quite a veil, it performed the dual purpose of keeping her hair modestly covered and displaying her social rank, marriage status, and other fashionable things that Hugh never bothered to learn because it was useless to him and his quest for paying followers.

“What brings you back?” She asked, looking up from her sewing as the pair walked into her shop. “Forget something?”

“Markaus has seen fit to bless us on this fine day,” Hugh proselytised at the poor Hannah. “I’ve returned for some additional clothing.”

“I’ve never heard of Markaus,” Hannah said, returning her attention to the sewing in her lap. “You received a blessing from his priest?”

“Nope,” he said, picking out the trousers and shirts he had spotted in the shop earlier. “Savannah was there when it happened.”

Hannah paused, needle hanging over the fabric in her lap. “A blessing from the god himself?”

Sissy nodded her head in agreement. “It surprised me too. I’ve never heard of an orphan god directly blessing someone.”

“It’s certainly not something you hear every day,” Hannah agreed.

Hugh bargained a bit with Hannah for the articles he selected, forking over 15 silver for the clothing. He paid an additional 5 for a leather vest that had been re-dyed and cunningly repaired with embroidery, covering the damage from where a knife had been plunged into it several times.

The rest of the day was spent acquainting himself with the changes in New Arcadia and making a final stop at the alchemist to purchase a small tin of spider balm. He planned to free up the spell slot for something more useful, and since Spider balm acted much like his [Clot] cantrip did with the added benefit of antibacterial and numbing properties, he was happy with the purchase.

“I got some things to take care of,” Sissy said when they arrived back at the Silver Bell that evening. “I’ll see you later.”

“Good enough, have fun.” Hugh replied, giving her a mock salute before stepping inside.

He had forgotten about Wenne, but she hadn’t forgotten about him and her warning about Sissy.

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