Angela lay on the dining room floor, staring at the ceiling with her arms and legs splayed out in a starfish pattern. Someone’s feet shuffled down the hall, coming to a halt beside her head.

Her mom’s face looked down at her.

“Good morning, honey. Trouble sleeping?”

“Sleeping?” Angela asked, shifting her eyes off the cracked plaster ceiling. “Nope. No problem sleeping. Sleeping past sunrise? Yes. This new Trait sucks.”

“I don’t know,” her mom said with a smile. “Think about all you’ll be able to get done now. Besides, it’s not like you have a comfy bed to curl up in.”

Angela groaned and sat up, sliding on her butt until she had her back up against the wall. “Speaking of which, any idea when we’re getting furniture?”

“Depends how long it takes Darius to sell the silverware,” her mom said. “Hopefully that will be enough to cover the basics, but we won’t even know where to shop until your father gets a job.” She tsked at the notion, but her attention was caught by the bag of pastries on the counter. Angela had grabbed them when she got up at dawn, because what the hell else was she going to do?

“Are these for us?” she asked.

“Help yourself,” Angela said, waving at the bag.

As though summoned by the baked goods, her dad appeared in the doorway, his coat lumpy and hair dishevelled. With a moan, he raised his arms like a zombie and shuffled towards the pastries.

Once he swallowed the first bite, he shook his head. “God, what I wouldn’t give for some coffee.”

“I hear ya,” Angela said.

He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you have some kind of Trait that lets you wake up all perky?”

“I’ve never been perky in my life,” she said. “Besides, coffee isn’t just functional. It’s a lifestyle choice.”

He nodded, wordlessly conceding the point. Grabbing another pastry, he took his coat off and dropped it down next to Angela as a cushion, plunking down to eat his breakfast. Before long, Mark joined them as well, taking a seat on the counter with his ever-present staff leaning against his shoulder.

Mark’s eyebrows pursed together when he looked at their father. “Geez, dad. Are you okay?”

Following his gaze, Angela saw her father grimacing. He raised his bandaged arm and worked his fingers a bit, but the movement was limited.

“I wish I could say it’s fine, but there’s a lot of throbbing. I don’t have much feeling in my index and middle finger, either.”

“Uh, that’s not good,” Angela said. “You need to get that looked at.”

He chuckled. “I would if I could, kiddo.”

Angela forced out a tight smile, but she was furious at herself on the inside. Despite her best efforts last night—again—she’d remained unable to cast even a single rudimentary spell. Even worse, she knew that somewhere within those runes was a healing spell. Arenia may not be a game, but the family still needed a healer. That was supposed to be her, and if her dad died of blood poisoning while she watched uselessly from the sidelines, she would never forgive herself.

“I’m sorry, dad. I should be able to help.”

He shook his head and tousled her hair. “You’re doing your best, kiddo. It’ll work out.”

She shook her head. “I appreciate the sentiment, but we don’t know that.” She dropped her head into her hands. “God, why can’t I work this out? I feel like I’m thinking through mud.”

Mark chuckled. “You sure you’re not just starving?”

“Dude, who do you think bought the pastries?”

“Fair enough,” he said. “I mean, pastries are famously full of protein and complex vitamins. I’m sure you’re fine.”

Angela pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. “Yeah, I get it, but what am I supposed to do? Almost every vegetable on this planet is different from the ones on Earth.”

“So go for a walk,” her mom said. “Ask around. Make that your job for the day and worry about magic when you’ve had a proper meal.”

“Or eat meat,” Mark said with a shrug.

“I’m not eating meat!” Angela snapped. “Hell, I’m a druid now. I don’t even know if I’m allowed to eat meat.”

He chuckled. “Fine, don’t eat meat. But while you’re out there looking for a vegetarian restaurant, you should at least find a weapon. Hell, even mom has a weapon.”

“Yeah, I noticed that,” Angela said, ignoring her mom’s uncomfortable shifting. “What gives? I saw you brought a knife back for Mark, but nothing for me?”

“Mfph,” her dad said, swallowing his bite of pastry and putting the rest down. “That reminds me. I wanted to try something.” He removed the knife from his belt and slid it over to her. “Pick that up for me, would you?”

Angela grabbed it…and immediately tossed it to the ground as pain radiated up her arm. “Ow! What the hell!”

Hidden Trait Revealed: METAL ALLERGY

There go those dreams of being a dual-wielding bad-ass. Oh well.

Requirements: Druid, Self-discovery.

Benefit: Forged weapons induce a non-damaging burning sensation when held.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

Angela glared at her dad, still shaking her hand to clear out the phantom pain. “Did you know that would happen?”

He chuckled. “Not exactly, but Darius did say you couldn’t use forged metal weapons.”

“Of course,” she said flatly. “Of course, I can’t use metal weapons.”

She turned her face to the sky.

“AAAH!” she shouted. “Great class you’ve got there, Ennàd! Can’t sleep in, can’t hold metal, can’t cast spells. What am I supposed to do, cuss things to death?”

“If anybody could do it…” Mark said, still laughing at her reaction to the knife.

Angela glared at him. “Quiet, you. I can still club you to death in your sleep.”

“Darius said something about a shulilly?” her dad asked.

Her mom shook her head. “No, I’m pretty sure it was a shulula.”

Angela looked at them. “You mean a shillelagh?”

Her dad snapped his fingers and pointed at her. “That’s the one. Whatever it is, he said you should come see him once you get one.”

Go see a blacksmith when she got a wooden weapon? That didn’t make any sense.

Quest Opportunity: “Woodsmithing?”

Yeah, I know. Seeing a blacksmith for a shillelagh. It sounds weird, but it’ll make sense later.

Reward for Success: XP, an upgraded weapon.

Penalty for Failure: None.

ACCEPT? YES/NO

“Uh, okay,” she said, rubbing her head as she accepted the quest. “Not sure how to find a shillelagh in the middle of a city, but I can give it a shot.” She frowned. “I hope I can still use cutlery. It’d suck if I found a vegetarian restaurant and then had to explain why I was eating with my hands.”

Mark laughed, stifling it when their mom cleared her throat loudly and glared at him.

“I think that’s a great plan,” her mom said. “While Angela is looking for a place with vegetarian food, I would like to see more of the city. I thought about our chat last night and decided I need a better understanding of what life in Palmyre is like, so I’ll be heading to the Port District today. From speaking to people yesterday, it’s safe to visit there so long as you stick to the arterial roads, which are well policed by the city guards. That’s pretty much the case everywhere, from the sounds of it.”

“Really?” Mark asked. “Then why did Darius make a big deal out of carrying a weapon?”

“I asked the same thing,” Angela’s dad said. “It’s because all the guards are mercenaries, and the contracts for the main roads are much more desirable than the ones for patrols. Less risk, more money, since they protect the industry. Those contracts are awarded by some sort of Family council, though. Since everyone works for the Families, the guards don’t mess around; even if it’s just some worker getting assaulted, they don’t want to take the chance of losing a Family’s support next time their contract comes up for renewal.

“The side roads, by contrast, are just handled by patrol contracts. If something happens there, who’s to say whether a patrol was nearby or not?”

“You hear that, kids? Stay on the main roads,” their mom said sternly. “Oh, and avoid anyone without a Family insignia on their clothing. Gavin said it’s not unusual for a person to lack insignia, but he also said that nobody would risk a Family’s wrath by effectively committing a crime in their name.”

“Duly noted,” Angela said. It was good to know that Palmyre wasn’t a complete free-for-all, but she did have some questions. They’d have to wait until she could ask someone with more knowledge of the city, though.

“So that puts myself going to the Port District and Angela trying to sort out her dietary needs. Peter is going to a House Laws recruitment centre on the edge of the Port District, so we’ll go there together and I’ll see if he can come with me or not, depending on how that goes. Mark, what are your plans?”

Mark looked at his staff with a pinched face, tapping his finger against the whorls that crawled across its length. “I’d love to see more of the city, but I don’t think I can wait on my magic. I don’t know all the nuances of how it works, but I’m worried there’s a ticking clock at play.”

“You sure?” Angela asked. “The port might be cool to check out.” Truthfully, she’d rather be going there as well, but getting on top of her diet had to be a priority, and the Port District didn’t seem like the place for culinary exploration.

Mark shook his head. “I’m sure it would be, but every seizure adds resonance to this staff. For all I know, that might make it harder to control or produce more powerful effects. If I’m going to test things out, I’d rather do it when the stakes are low.”

“I guess that settles it,” Angela’s dad said, cradling the pastry crumbs in his shirt as he heaved himself to his feet and lumbered over to the sink to shake them out. Looking down at himself, he grimaced and shook his head. “I need to get some clothes.”

“I can recommend a bad tailor,” Mark said, gesturing to his ridiculous getup.

“I’ll pass, but thanks,” he said. “Hopefully, I can still talk my way into a decent job despite looking like this. We checked yesterday, and any clothes that are better than these are too expensive.” He looked at Angela’s mom. “Are you fine with leaving now? I don’t know when they’ll open, but I’d prefer to be there earlier rather than later.”

“Now’s fine,” she said. “You kids going to be fine?”

“Sure, we’ll be fine,” Mark said. “Just…dad?” There was an unusual tone in his voice.

Their dad looked at him, pinching his eyebrows at Mark’s concerned expression. “Something on your mind?”

“Yeah,” Mark said, nodding. “Just… if you do take a job with a Family, you can’t mess around with the contract, okay?”

Their dad chuckled. “Not my first rodeo with a contract, son.”

Mark shook his head. “That’s the problem. This isn’t Earth. Don’t take their word on anything. If it’s not in the contract, you have to assume it doesn’t exist, no matter what they say. Even if it seems ridiculous. Trust me.”

“I’ll make it airtight,” he said. “I promise, whatever we arrange will hold up in court.”

“Maybe,” Mark said. “Just remember who controls the courts.”

Their dad frowned. “Good point.” He nodded to Mark. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind before I sign anything.”

“If a signature is even required,” Mark noted. “For all you know, a verbal contract might be enforceable through the Tomes. In a lot of books it’s not. You don’t want to create a contract by accident because you didn’t know the rules.”

Their dad scratched his head. “For the love of god. Now I’m really going to be paranoid.”

“I think paranoia is a solid lifestyle choice at the moment,” Angela said. “I know I’m going to be paranoid as hell about anything I put in my mouth.”

Mark grunted in agreement. “I’m about to tinker with magical forces that have no Earth parallel. Paranoia is about all I have going for me at the moment.”

“Far be it for me to be the one who breaks the mould,” Angela’s mom said. She put her hand out. “What do you say, ‘paranoia’ on three?”

Grinning, everyone put their hands in the middle.

“One, two, three… Paranoia!"

----------------------------------------

The clouds broke, allowing a ray of sunshine to fall upon the lip of the gorge. It was dusty and bare; the patch of exposed granite too weathered for any grasses to find purchase. Nor did any vegetation poke up on the opposite side. The drop was simply too far for any of the local trees to reach, given the poor soil at the bottom of the gorge. The only life that did manage to find its way across that patch of stone was a single root that crawled its way from a distant tree before folding over the side of the cliff face and disappearing from view.

A dull thud sounded below the cliff's edge, followed by silence.

Time passed.

Again, there was a dull thud. This time it was preceded by a flapping noise, but the sound faded into the distance once the thud sounded.

The sunbeam moved on as the clouds shifted across the sky. A new sunbeam took its place.

Once again, the flapping sound rose from the gorge’s depths. Only this time, when the thud sounded, it was followed by a wild thrashing noise. The root began to shake, and a muffled “Chmmmphh!” sound appeared, followed by a flash of feathers. A blue and red head appeared, skin saggy and eyes wild as the creature’s beak desperately grabbed onto the root. It flailed its wings wildly as first one, then another, skinny four-toed foot made its way over the edge, scrabbling for purchase until the turkey finally rolled over the cliff’s edge and away from the precipitous drop.

“CHIRRUUUUUUCKKKK!!!” Turkaletta bellowed triumphantly as she climbed to her feet, her head raised to the heavens. The sunbeam blazed down upon her, rimming her in a halo of light like some ancient god of victory, a conquering hero come home to be adored.

Then the clouds moved on, and she was a turkey once again.

She looked to her left.

She looked to her right.

“Chiruck?” she asked.

With nowhere else to go, Turkaletta gave a small shake of her feathers and wandered into the forest.