New world, new skills

‘New world, new skills.’ he thought as the sun was setting. Satisfied, he tamped the last piece of sod back onto the new filled grave. “OK old timer, that's part one. I’ll make a marker of some kind for you another day.” He dragged the formerly comfy, now quite unpleasant chair and rug outside and left them a ways off from the house before going back to start cooking.

An hour or so later he had a simple meal prepared, a stew from the dried meats and vegetables and some simple hoecakes cooked on his new gravedigging shovel. A quick search turned up a few bowls, spoons and some chopsticks, a nice steel wok, a few pots and a skillet. He thought about stuffing them into his new magic legs, then decided to put them back. “It's my house now.” He defiantly told the room, before sitting down on the tragically small cot to read that little red notebook.

If you are who I suspect you to be, this notebook is intended for your eyes only, good job getting past the porno! Give it a read when you get a chance, the porno, not the notebook. You need to read this now.

I wrote this in english specifically to make it inaccessible to those without a language gift, since english is not spoken in this world. Yes, this world. This is another world. Yes. Again, yes. Another world. Are we done with that? Moving on.

There are worlds, plural, many of them. Some are close to each other in physical space, separated by the etheric veil, some are distant in time and or space. Some have magic, some do not. Ours is magically barren, while this one is rich with both etheric and spiritual magic. You no doubt have no idea what I am talking about here, but trust me, I'm dead and can't scam you.

Interestingly enough, my research shows that you too are dead, on our former world at least. Yeah, I get it. Bummer. Roughly, it happens like this: Earth has no magic, it is not absent, it is actively repelled by earth's magnetic field, I go into it in detail in my manuscript and notes, all of which can be found in my workroom through the door on the rock wall. (They will not be useful until you gain a grounding in magical theory, so take them if you are not coming back here.)

At the same time, every living soul has a touch of both spiritual and etheric magic inside it. Including those born on our earth. This creates a spiritual pressure on the soul, and when the body dies the soul quickly compresses into magical radiation. Thus, ghosts and spirits do exist on our earth, but only very briefly. (again, more details in my complete works, back to it now) This effect is part of what divides this world and others from earth and other less or non magical worlds. This world has a different composition, resulting in a reduced spiritual pressure, despite the magical concentration on this side.

When these forces are in balance our worlds cannot interact, but tiny variations occur infrequently, Tiny holes in the etheric veil drift through reality, vanishingly rare on a cosmic scale, they concentrate near worlds like ours. Attracted or created by the interaction of cosmic forces no mortal can grasp. Sometimes, just sometimes a living being will attract one or more of these floating voids in reality and be sucked, or more accurately, launched through into the plane of lower spiritual pressure.

Much like a seed popping out of a berry when squeezed, the soul spurts into its new reality, naked and bodiless. Your old body most likely tumbled down wherever you were at the time quite dead. Sorry about that. Let's talk about your new body, that's more productive.

Your spirit took the ambient magic in such abundance on its way through the veil and built itself a new home, usually with some nice improvements. As you move through this world you will discover abilities and powers innate to those of us that came from outside. They are often quite different from those of native peoples, embrace these differences, they will serve you well.

We extra-dimensionals, (or whatever they call us when we are found) exist for one purpose, to drain magical energy from earth and worlds like it into worlds like this one. Each one of us is a stable link from our home, to our new world. When we die, a new person is bound to that link and the prior holder moves on to… whatever I am up to now. That is now you. This is now yours. The link is bound to you wherever you may travel until you join me wherever I am now.

Primarily, your connection to our old world will deliver a constant trickle of etheric magic directly into your soul, seems like it's not that big of a deal right? Wrong! Etheric magic is everywhere but it is difficult to draw in quickly, it can take days or even weeks for an etheric mage to recover from a major working. To make an analogy, if etheric magic is like humidity, earth is a desert, not much water to be had and it does not stick around long.

This world is like a steam room. Everything is drenched but there is none to drink, it won't pool or gather in meaningful amounts. Most creatures gather mana by allowing it to soak in through their skin, it fills our flesh, bone and blood until we are as saturated in magic as our environment. Using mana drains that magic from inside us and the environmental energy begins to seep into the new area of lower saturation, simple.

You and I however, have a steady supply on tap, generated by our connection through the veil. While our contemporaries expend themselves and then slowly draw magic in from the environment, we suck it in from outside this world and discharge it freely when we are not actively using magic. See the difference? Your health, mana and stamina should regenerate very quickly at first, this ability will grow the more you use it, much as all your other skills and gifts will grow and expand as you develop into who you are about to become. That is etheric magic, the stuff of life and the universe, we naturally have a leg up in etheric magic.

Spiritual magic is how intelligent beings get around the magical absorption problem, by contracting with entities capable of transforming ethereic magic into spiritual magic. We do this naturally, you may remember, we take in the etheric and breathe spirit into this world. For natives it is usually gods that serve this role. Important note, yes, you discharge spirit into the world, but it is undirected, a random contribution to the world. Gods are very territorial, don't attract their attention, it's just easier that way.

Most often we get the ability to speak and read any language, downplay this unless you want to be an on demand translator for some nobleman for the rest of your very very long life. That's another issue, as you are no longer a naturally born human, you are now technically and more critically, LEGALLY a demihuman monster. You do not want that fact widely known. Only a vivisection, autopsy or similar invasive process will reveal this fact if you keep it to yourself.

The combination of low spiritual pressure and high spiritual density is a result of the world’s composition, some elements are all but absent here, most notably, lead and its precursor elements seem to be almost non-existent. The physical sciences were not my area on earth, and here they have little development in that field. With certainty I can say that there is no way back. Anything you left behind on earth is gone. You are now a magical being and would vanish like water on a hot griddle even if you did find a way back.

I have lived in this world for two hundred and fifty three years, including my time on earth that makes me closer to three hundred. Assuming you don’t get eaten, you can expect the same kind of lifespan.

“But, wait!” You say, ‘How does a crazy old vietnamese guy from two hundred years ago know english?’’

Dude, (or babe, I don't know, I'm dead.) I was born in San Francisco in 1983. Time is super weird between worlds, even when they are close together. Get over it.

When it comes to the rest of your gifts, they will be reflections of you, each one unique to you and impossible to predict.

Just remember this, your purpose in this world, your special calling, you are doing it right now, by breathing fresh magic into this world at every moment of your life from now on. Anything else you get up to is between you and yourself. Be a famous adventuring hero, or sell real estate, or be an accountant, whatever you do, do you and it will work out.

The house and stuff is just my way of helping the new guy get started. The cavern in the very back is quite unique so you may not want to sell this little plot of land. On that note you will find a hidden door in the wall behind the cupboard. I have provided an assortment of local money and clothing in various sizes and denominations. You are wondering why I hid them? As a very old man I have developed a warped sense of humor.

I’m off to the next adventure, so it's up to you, but take it from an old, old man, if you want to be old like me, secrets are a good thing. Your other abilities could be just about anything, from combative to pacifistic. What you do with them will make the difference. I hope you do good things in this sad world where you can, but that too is your choice.

I hope you dug my grave naked. You may want to destroy this notebook when you are done with it, ya naked gravedigger.

Yours Eternally

Z M

Gary dropped the notebook back into his Pocket! and went in search of the cache of clothes, hoping for at least a little downstairs coverage and some shoes. The cupboard pulled away easily, revealing a closet hung with organized clothing in neutral colors and underwear for both, either or any gender. Sandals were lined along the floor in sizes from tiny to large to possibly a final joke from the strange old man.

A pair of rope and leather sandals fit nicely, while short pants and boxers were a welcome addition. Gary kept a short kimono-like robe, probably impressive and voluminous on the old man, it fit him very well as a casual shirt. If asian wizards had magical bowling leagues he would blend right in, aside from being a rather beefy six foot two and white.

The money was there as promised, a small bag filled with coins of a wide variety. Mostly bronze, copper and gold, but a few odd items as well. The strangest being a silver chain holding a number of coin shaped charms. A paper label on a string read in english;

Think of this like an atm card, each token is for an account with a different bank. Towns large enough to be worth the name should have one or two banks , any city should have all of them. You are not fabulously wealthy, but should do very well. Plan for the long haul.

Exhausted beyond sanity, Gary set the clothes aside and pulled the blankets from the tiny, tiny cot. Fortunately they were long and wide enough to make a more than respectable bedroll with extra left over to make a fine pillow. In fact the whole setup looked to be a nice piece of traveler’s kit, complete with waxed linen ties and an oilcloth cover.

Closer examination of the now bare cot frame revealed it to be as cunningly crafted as the bedroll. In just a few moments he expanded it into a standard size cot, noting it had room to expand enough to accommodate two. “Sassy old fart” He mumbled quietly as he lay down.

Secure behind a door and under a roof of his own for the first time since that night so very very long ago, his thoughts drifted to those days.

The afternoon sun slanted through the dusty air of the workshop, good clean sawdust, not neglect kept the light dancing off endless tiny motes. He turned the last fraction on the last tuning peg and it was done. That final sweet high G was the last note from a project and the first note from his first instrument. Hand crafted by an apprentice, but filled with a journeyman’s hopes for the future. His first real solo build was done.

Grandpa took it from him carefully and turned it over and over again, practiced eyes and hands searching out every flaw and imperfection. The old man eased onto a stool and strummed a few clear, ringing chords before handing it back. “Good work, but not quite yet, kiddo. You did a great job with the joinery and woodwork, but a guitar is more than just wood. Keep working at it, pay more attention to the metal craft side, get wood and metal in harmony and you will really be on to something.”

His father took it from him and began to play something sweet and quick, spanish guitar riffs tinkling out like crystal windchimes. Over the music he spoke “This is a fine instrument son, it's almost there, almost. Maybe next year.” He handed it over to his mother whose small hands sprinkled notes through the room while she smiled broadly at him. “It's so responsive.” she sighed, her brazilian accent a smooth burr in the quiet room. “I will accept this; father, husband, I vote yes.”

He knew his first solo guitar would not measure up to his father's standards, let alone grandpa’s, but even partial approval felt good, mom’s vote was pure theater, she was a player, not a luthier.

He had watched this ritual between his father and grandfather many times, whenever dad thought he had made something special, he would present it in the same way. Seldom gaining grandpa’s unqualified praise.

Grandpa did the same, offering his instruments for review by the entire family. They were always marvelous, but he and grandpa both knew, there was always something missing. They lacked that spark to touch off an inferno in a person's soul. Father always grinned like they were joking when Gary talked about the feeling, while grandpa always took him seriously. “This again dad? You, mom and aunt Joan never gave up on that shtick?” Dad never could understand what he felt, but then neither did he.

He took his guitar back and slipped it into its case, a simple affair of black with steel fittings, an unremarkable case for an (he admitted privately) ordinary instrument. Nothing about it was flashy or ornate, just the clean lines and crisp sound of a well crafted guitar.

He could almost hear his parents' music as he drifted into exhausted sleep.

Morning came creeping in slowly, something about sturdy stone walls and a heavy door made for peaceful sleep. Gary reached down to move his leg and remembered with a smile. “I got legs! And I know how to use them!” he sang in off key happiness. He bounced in place while re-igniting the smoldering fire for breakfast. Once porridge got under way he sat down on the cot to think.

“New world, new me, new problems.” he grumbled while scanning even more interface messages.

Your gift, Interface has fully acclimatized your new body to local magical energies, health, mana and stamina can now be displayed in graphical format.

Your gift, Artisan has fully integrated, ability to extract resources and items from physical interactions is fully functional.

Focusing in on the message he received no more information. Instead he dismissed them and settled in to contemplate his new state. After a while he gave up, deciding instead to make a marker for Zygnos.

That rack by the door held little obvious help, more garden shed than craftsman’s tools. A well used ax, the shovel, a hoe and rake were rounded out by a hammer and a bag of nails. Not even a saw. There was that weird thick handled dagger, it had felt odd when he touched it, unlike the other tools. He picked it up and looked closely for a moment and was rewarded with that now well known tingle in his eye.

Contract Item; Wanderer’s Legacy, unique spear. Iron Rank

Magical; Etheric, No Elemental Affinity.

Spear point can be concealed, Can be extended/transformed into various cane, staff, spear or sword configurations for a very low mana cost when contracted with a qualified sorcerer. You meet the qualifications, would you like to contract this non sentient item to your soul? This is largely irrevocable. Yes/No?

He balked at the “contract with your soul” thing, on instinct he focused in on “contract” and “soul” for a moment and the message zoomed in to a deeper layer of text.

Contracting with souls, path to divine power, damnation or both?

Contracting with a compatible and sufficiently complex magical construct or item is a common alternative to spirit entity or worship contracts.

The scarcity of magical items or constructs of sufficient complexity and the difficulties of compatibility are the main barriers to this path. Primary benefits include, but are not limited to:

Free agency; while deities, demons, spirits, fae, outsiders, old ones and many others offer growth through spiritual contracts, Non Sentient items have no agenda. They make no demands on the wielder. They do however, grow with the wielder in an organic way. Additional functions and attributes will develop unpredictably.

“That was informative, and weird, and I'm talking to myself again.” Throwing caution to the winds he flicked to the Yes/No screen and selected Yes with his eye and will. Not much happened, the spear/knife shook a little, got a bit warmer in his hand and he got hungry, really hungry.

Contract successful; where would you like to bind this item?

Might:normal

Resilience:unknown

Agility;normal

Will:normal

Mind:normal

Animus:normal

Please select one.

Interface waited patiently while he mulled it over, he was not much of a gamer, but agility seemed like a clear choice for a spear that thought it was a knife. He selected it with just a little trepidation.

Item; Wanderer’s Legacy, has been contracted to your agility attribute, this is an optimal choice. This is your final confirmation. Bind to agility Yes/No?

That little “optimal choice” tipped him over the edge and he flicked Yes.

Once again, it vibrated softly, got a little cooler and the awkward, too thick grip suddenly felt absolutely correct and the best all around choice.

That was when he recognized that feeling, the one gramps and he had been chasing their whole lives, but only glimpsed a few times. That thing was alive and vital in his hands in a way that no simple object had ever been.

He had felt it most often when handling the instruments of truly masterful players, that tiny peek behind the curtain that left him and gramps so hungry for more.

Your Agility is now ranked at Plus. Contract or Bind all attributes to advance to Iron Rank.

This was a masterwork in its field, unfortunately, it was an area in which he had no training. In the interest of not breaking anything he stepped outside with his new weapon and gave it a mental tickle.

Once again instinct bore fruit, as the knife almost instantly became a seven foot shaft of gleaming grayish wood and a foot and a half of leaf shaped bronze blade.

“OK, outside was a good choice.” he congratulated himself smugly, before suggesting that his spear should be shorter. It was, the shaft shortened and got slightly thicker, and the blunt bronze tip on the safe end got larger to balance the weapon. “Nice!”

Following success with another experiment, he thought about a sword, and so it was, almost three feet of slender, but still leaf shaped bronze blade jutted from two slim guards shaped slightly like legs, the wooden shaft had shrunk to a comfortable ridged grip and a heavy pommel suggesting a vaguely humanoid upper torso and head had emerged, making the blade the figure’s…

“OK Zygnos, you got me there.” He grumbled, noticing that his insides were really going at it. With a thought he turned the spear into a smooth wooden cudgel and tucked it into his magic Pockets! before he went back in and chugged the rest of his cold barley porridge, he was too ravenous to care.

He had loosely planned to spend a few days here, getting the hang of the new additions to his person before attempting to go into town and see about Zygnos’ quest, as he had begun to think of it. Considering how much of his food he had consumed last night and this morning, he suspected he might need to start stretching things with some local flavors.

The bullrushes and other plants he had seen tagged as edible were first on his list, as was a bath in the stream.

He still felt gross from the slime he had arrived in, added to that a day of hiking, gravedigging and funeral followed by an exhausting inappropriate sword encounter had left him swimming in filth. As he wandered upstream, looking for a place to bathe, he gathered whatever he found into his handy storage legs.

By the side of a low hill the stream made a slow turn, forming a wide sandy bank by a broad sunny clearing. It was just the place for a bath, and the shrubbery nearby looked ideal for hanging laundry. He had a few changes of clothes now, but he elected to give these a wash and let them dry in the sun while he played with himself… his abilities. “Zygnos is in my mind now! That crazy perv and his kinksword!”

Still fuming after washing in the cold water, he settled nude but for sandals on the grass to contemplate his gifts in the sunshine.

Artisan seemed too complex to delve into in a meadow, Familiar Stranger seemed to be a social ability, he would need people for that.

Homebody seemed very odd and interesting. He pulled its description with what he had begun to call his “eye’s mind” just to be annoying.

Homebody: Home is truly where the heart is. You may establish a dwelling in any open space capable of supporting a structure. Structure will conform to available space and creator’s parameters as much as possible Creators parameters will be, by default, highly reflective of your ideal state. 10 minute ritual, very high mana cost, 1 hour cooldown. Temporary objects can be created in the dwelling at creators will for a minor mana cost, no cooldown. Created objects dissipate immediately if removed from dwelling.

He noticed that new line in there, about the default structure being ‘highly reflective’ of his ‘ideal state’ and decided to fire it up. He selected the ability with his eye’s mind and… nothing happened. He tried again, focusing in and a message popped into view.

Ritual required. Please perform ritual.

“Ritual? Like a chant? I don't know any…” with a grin he remembered a thick collection of fantasy novels he had read in the convalescent hospital.

They were about a guy with a magic guitar who sang his spells. “Worth a shot.” he grunted before belting out;

“Won't you show me the way to go home?... I'm tired and I wanna go to bed, duhh duhh…”

He ran through three times from the top, to no effect. He sat on the grass thinking and idly whistling the melody and elaborating on it while drumming on his thighs with his thumbs.

Forgetting his task he wandered down a musical rabbit hole. That was when he felt a sudden wave of exhaustion and lassitude, followed by a quiet, welcome sounding “Bong” behind him.

In the corner of his eye a blue bar, barely visible if he was not looking for it, plummeted to less than half. Slowly it began to creep up, refilling almost imperceptibly as he watched.

Gary turned around to see what his power had made. He expected something simple, maybe like his camp back on earth. What he found looked more like a house somewhere vaguely between a medieval English cottage and a Japanese onsen from an anime.

‘Weeb alert!” he called out in wonder and delight. “I am a weeb living an isekai life with my own hotspring home?” He took a few moments to take it all in.

A high foundation of mortared river stones was topped by sturdy wooden walls and a steep peaked roof of brown clay tiles, the walls seemed to continue on to form a courtyard of some size.

A lacy green froth of climbing vines filled much of the mortar gap, twinkling with tiny flowers of every color. Narrow windows pierced the upper walls and thick iron bound shutters closed the few windows in the foundation wall.

Only one door was visible, a heavy pocket door of iron bound teak, which slid easily to the side, revealing a small stone floored foyer lined with benches and empty cubbys.

Hidden behind a pocket door he found a modern looking bathroom, complete with toilet, sink and shower. A few steps up from the stone floor gave access to the rest of the house, Gary felt an immediate unwillingness to wear his sandals on that gleaming floor.

As he sat on a bench to remove his sandals, he reflected on his days in the convalescent hospital.

He had little memory of the first few days beyond dumb shock and hopelessness. As the surgical drugs drained from his mind, pain came roaring in and it brought restless boredom along with. Gary never had much interest in TV and had been reading all day with growing restlessness, he was ill suited to lying in a hospital bed. Watching the quiet bustle of the nurses and aides was more entertaining than daytime television, but the nights were endless.

On his third eternal night, a gigantic bald man slowly mopped his way down the hallway, pausing when he noticed Gary watching. The man glanced beside the door and his wide, craggy face slipped into an easy, friendly smile.

“Gary Ward, huh? I’m Wade Gray, weird!” his grin widened when Gary chuckled “Why are you awake Gary? Need the nurse?” “No, I don't need a nurse Mr Gray, just can't sleep. You're the most interesting thing to happen all night.”

The giant smile slipped just a little as he asked “Is the TV broken? Lose the remote?” Gary shook his head and shrugged mutely. “Well Gary, it's my lunchtime. I usually post up in a vacant room and watch my shows, but maybe you wanna watch with me? Since you don't seem to have much going on.”

Gary nodded, “It's too quiet here at night, I‘d appreciate the company.”

He pulled a compact dvd player from a pocket in his smock and plugged it into the TV with practiced ease. That was how Gary learned about Japanese anime, at the end of his two months in the convalescent home, Gary possessed a subtle certainty that any of life's problems could be solved with a robot, if it was giant enough. Or ninjas, definitely giant robot ninjas...

As he sat down a pair of comfy bunny slippers appeared in the cubby beside the bench. “Sweet!” He slipped them on and stepped into the house of his dreams. A modern kitchen of gleaming steel made up the right corner of the main room, a table and four chairs stood nearby.

The far corner held a comfy looking reading chair and a large bookshelf containing the few books and the manuscript he had last put into his storage leg. “Huh, it unpacks for me too?” Apparently so, as the spear was once more a spear and was on a rack over a glowing fireplace surrounded by plush couches.

Over in the kitchen he started searching the cupboards and pantry. Nothing was in there at all. Thinking, he remembered being able to create temporary items according to his description. Glancing back he saw a full set of cookware and dishes suddenly resting in their places, all very neat.

With a grin he opened the fridge and pulled out a massive corned beef reuben, oddly it was steaming hot from the fridge. “Magic is awesome!” he grunted enthusiastically.

It was perfect, thin sliced, just fatty and juicy enough to make a huge mess… but tasted hollow and flat, as though the sandwich had been washed of all flavor and joy. Deeply unsatisfied by his magical sandwich he finished it anyway and continued on to a sliding door to the left.

It was a largely empty room with sliding panels on one wall that opened onto a pleasant garden, the only furniture in the room was an empty guitar stand in the far corner, it seemed almost woefully empty. “My house is telling me things. And I'm still talking to myself.” Back in the main room were two doors, one led to a hall holding three small bedrooms furnished with simple comfort in mind and lit by paper lanterns hanging in each corner.

The final door led to a good sized tiled bathing room with a stone basin for doing laundry and a curtain draped doorway leading to an outdoor hot spring bath.

A steaming pool was surrounded by smooth stone pavers, lush and vibrant hedges of bamboo and flowering ginger interspersed with honeysuckle and jasmine vines provided aroma and a sense of privacy that was almost palpable. All in all it was the most tranquil place he’d found since that musical cavern.

He returned to the foyer and slipped back into his sandals. After he tucked the bunnies in their cubby, he opened the last door, a short stone staircase led down into the foundation. More paper lanterns sprang to life as he entered a large space scattered with familiar tools. “Now we are talking.” he whispered. Most of the space was open, with one wall dominated by a wide workbench and a suite of woodworkers tools. From mallets and chisels to a full sized and modern power sanding station.

“What, no C and C machine?” He called into the workshop. Immediately a message sprang up.

Advanced/Semi Autonomous or Fully Autonomous toolsets and devices will require additional development and resources.

Reminder, created items are temporary and rapidly disperse outside dwelling.

“That’s not a no on the C and C machine, is it?”

No reply came from his mysterious Interface. Frustrated, but also ecstatic over his wild ability, he mulled over what the house was telling him. Four chairs at the table. Three empty bedrooms, the empty guitar rack. “OK, I get it, I’m starting for town tomorrow.”

Like the spear, he could feel the house inside himself, though he was inside it. A bone deep loneliness filled it to the rafters, carrying the knowledge that his time of isolation had gone on way too long. Mr Pauls had been his only real human connection for most of the last two years, and he had only known him for eight months or so.

With that in mind he conjured a pair of cargo shorts and a t-shirt into a nearby cubby with a thought and got dressed in the foyer. Determined to get started living, outside he felt a sudden exhilaration. He felt so light and free… and naked.

His newly conjured clothes evaporated into a puff of blueish smoke that smelled like strawberry jam and toast. “Temporary items, gotcha…” he moaned as his stomach was suddenly gripped in an iron fist. He moaned and unleashed a vast belch that thundered through the meadow, followed by a monumental fart that did NOT smell like strawberry jam and toast.

A miserable groaning wretch, he slowly gathered his crudely washed clothing from the shrubs he had draped them over to dry and dressed again.

Still damp, he returned to his plan of gathering wild foods to extend his supplies. His positive attitude began to revive as his internals got themselves sorted back out.

With mild surprise, he felt somehow that his items had returned to him when he left the house. That feeling came with the knowledge that he could leave things in the house, dissolve it and re-build it while bringing the items intact.

With a nice haul of tubers and roots from the waters edge, some familiar, some new, and a few mushrooms his power assured him were safe, he headed for the cabin while his house dissolved behind him. Along the way he also gathered a generous quantity of ripe blackberries, now safely tucked away in his storage.

He had a good bit of experience with gathering berries, blackberries in particular. As he shoveled the fruit into his Pockets! It occurred to him that he had not been pricked by thorns, stained by smashed berries, walked face first into a spider web or any of the other perils that berry pickers face. He also felt like his haul was really good. He paused to mentally eyeball his internal storage in a way that felt really natural. Which was weird, and totaled up the day's take.

It was a lot; cattail, bullrush roots, duckroot and lotus represented Team Tuber. United Herbs had a deep roster as well, plantain and watercress made up the majority, with wild garlic shoots and a few pot herbs like rosemary and bay laurel leaves filling it out. The League of Unaligned Fruits and Fruit Related… OK, naming things was getting weird. He had a lot of fruits and berries.

He had another category, A small cannabis plant he dug up entirely, and stashed away, wondering if he could plant it in his portable backyard. “It’s for science” he rationalized aloud on the way to the cabin with an idiot grin.

Back at the cabin he started gathering things together, first all the books and notes in the front room, then everything he could stuff into his storage. Even the firewood and two waterskins he found hanging by the door, which he quickly filled at the spring. All he left out was the largest stew pot, currently filed and simmering away, a mixing bowl filled with batter and the shovel for cooking johnny cakes. The cot he left in the cavern room, planning to sleep there amidst that ethereal music, and leave for “Wheatford” tomorrow morning.

The stew and cakes hit him like a sedative, yawning hugely, he staggered to his cot in the cavern and crashed out. While the music of water on stone carried him away he dreamed again, the sweet unremembered dreams of deepest slumber.