“Know this: to want is to always grow; but, to want for something where nothing would suffice is folly.”

Kurrig,

Bim, Zara, and the eleven other surviving members of the ramshackle group arrived in the small town dehydrated, malnourished, and fatigued. They were greeted, against all expectations, by a smiling pair, a man and a women, dressed in plain commoner’s clothes, the both of them seeming confident and knowledgeable.

“You must be the escaped prisoners. Well, we don’t suffer any riffraff in our little town, but if you behave yourselves and pull your weight, food, beds, everything’ll be taken care of for ya.”

Zara stepped forward, brow wrinkled. “Wait, how did you know we were coming? And why aren’t there… y’know… guards, to recapture us?”

The pair laughed almost in unison, big, hearty laughs. “Madame, we’re co- of this town-- welcome to Drumlin, by the way-- and one of our Talents is that we know of any potential visitors within about a day’s walk of our borders. Comes in real useful for spotting ruffians, bandits, and the like. But also for spotting and preparing for folk like you, who need a piece of help.”

The escapees, too exhausted to question the generosity, were sheparded into baths, were given new clothes-- second or third-hand ones, which didn’t fit very well, but still not as shredded and weatherbeaten as the ones they had traveled with-- and afterward walked leisurely to a central feast hall, where they ate large bowls of soup, pieces from a massive loaf of bread on a central table, and drank deep of water and even some apple cider, a local trade good.

The whole town had an atmosphere of surrealness to it, like the kindness and smiles and hospitality would all disappear if they blinked too hard. The group, being composed of deserters and criminals and vagabonds, expected much, much worse.

“I’m Marvin,” the man of the two Mayors said warmly. “And this is my wife, Sharron. We’re just so happy to have visitors-- we tend not to have so many come through here, y’see.”

Zara sat back in her chair to the left of the couple, face ruddy from drink and food, pounded a fist on the table in satisfaction. “You two have been miraculous hosts to this sorry lot, your Mayornesses. ‘M curious-- why didn’t we see any people

in the streets ‘cept you two? I figured people’d be real curious, gathered all up to meet us.”

Marvin’s smile shrank by a molar or two. “Well, Madame, a great many of our people have been sick with a great plague, and have had to lock themselves up in their homes to keep the sickness from spreading. And what few haven’t been infected are off in the hills around town hunting and gathering supplies to feed the rest. Things have been pretty dire, actually. We’ve lost 1 in every 6 able-bodied men to the disease. Our local died of it before she could cook up a potion to treat it, and we haven’t anyone else to help, medicinewise. Part of the reason we’ve been so nice to you all is because we can sense that the boy there has a Healer-type Class-- Talents and all-- and we’d love to get some help from him.”

Bim was aghast. 1 in 6 able-bodied townsfolk were dead? There were precious few diseases he knew that could be so brutal. Then again, was a generalist Class with a bent toward potions and elixirs, but wasn’t cut out for a disease of such magnitude.

Looking very concerned, the boy focused very intently on the pair. “Of course I’ll help. How long has this disease been ravaging the town? What are the symptoms? Does it work fast or slow? I need to know everything to develop a treatment plan.”

While the rest of the escapees made themselves at home in rooms in the local inn, The Narky Newt, Zara and Bim headed off with Marvin and Shannon to tour the town and learn more about the disease.

“The first day or two things seemed very ordinary-- people reported headaches, runny noses, a general mild fatigue of the muscles-- but nothing that Amani-- the , may she rest peacefully-- didn’t already handle on a semi-regular basis. But on the third day of sickness, or late on the second day, those infected would become feverish, delirious, and unable to keep down much food or water at all. Things would deteriorate, and a fair number would either die. Those that survive are perpetually feverish and bedridden, hovering in between life and death. It is a torturous illness.” Sharron and Marvin took turns explaining the problem, their perpetual smiles wavering as they spoke of the troubles affecting Drumlin’s people.

Bim nodded and broke in with a question here and there, trying to collect as much information as possible. “How is it that you two weren’t infected? You must have interacted with the diseased a fair amount to get such a holistic picture of the problem.”

“We leveled from the stress, and gained from our Class.”

“‘Your class’?” The phrasing was odd to Bim, which piqued his curiosity. He knew clarification would likely have little relevancy to the issue at hand, but you never knew.

“Ah, yes.” Marvin smiled, looking lovingly at Sharon, who went on. “We share one Class- ”. We both level at the same time, we share all the same Talents. It’s wonderful.”

What a strange Class, Bim thought. Shaking his head slightly in amazement, he continued on. “What Talents do you have that could help with this debacle? I know it is impolite to ask so openly, but I need to know everything I can to have the best chance at helping this town.”

They waved him off. “It’s not impolite, sir, it’s just being practical. As for Talents that could help, well, we already mentioned . There’s , which we gained years ago-- it allows us to know what complaints and problems the populace is struggling with. It helps us know when one of the townsfolk is in a particularly bad state, which we’ll let you know of when it happens. There’s , which lets us boost people’s productivity and resilience for a few hours at a time, but it can only be used once a week. Nothing else seems relevant. At this point we either have to hope and pray that we gain a town-wide Recovery Talent, or that you can cook up some treatment or cure.”

Bim scratched his chin. “If I could ask, what level are you? It would help me calculate the chance of you two gaining such a powerful Talent.”

They smiled wanly. “We’re only level 6, and we have about as many Talents. Our Class hasn’t even Advanced. It’s a point of grief for us, especially in a time when powerful Talents are needed.”

Bim walked over them and clasped each one on the shoulder. “You couldn’t have foreseen this plague, sir and madam Mayor. You’re doing the best you can. I’ll do the rest. I swear, on my Class, that not one more citizen of Drumlin will die of this terrible affliction.”

The notification hit him, suddenly, like a wave of water. He stumbled back a step, such was the force of the neutral voice speaking into his mind.

Level 4!

made!

gained!

Zara and the two looked at Bim questioningly. He cracked a grin.

“I need every even mildly medically inclined townsperson. I need access to the facilities-- a hut on the outskirts of the town, I assume, as is traditional-- and any of her notes, ingredients, and potions. I need a bunkhouse, cleared out, and as hermetic as possible. I’ll need to see victims at each stage of infection, and any records you have on how quickly the infection spread and where it could have originated.” He breathed in and out to steady himself, then cracked his knuckles. “I just doubled my levels in . Let’s get to work.”