“FIFTY-ONE BOTTLES OF BEER ON THE WALL, FIFTY-ONE BOTTLES OF BEER!” A chorus of three voices could be heard over the rolling hills. The wind carrying the voices vast distances to unsuspecting travelers. Jenny led the procession, conducting the tone-deaf symphony. Darryn would not be outdone by her enthusiasm, and raised his voice to an equal volume. Khalil, normally one to shake his head and mutter behind them, decided to join in for once.

The group had been traveling for a few days now on their way to Fort Colon, the city which presided over the outskirts of the Reform race. Initially to be named New New Hampshire, the presiding governor was summarily assassinated, before Sam Colon took her position. No one had seen Colon before or after the event, but that never kept Jenny from snickering at the name of their base of operations. It was a pretty crappy name if you asked her.

While each city operated under its own laws, in reality all answered to the Guild. The Guild was not an entity that could be ruled, it was designed by the Devs —the Reform given name to the instigators of Start— afterall. The Guild could only be operated by those who had devoted their class to its management. Rather than the pathetic classes such as “clerk” or “manager”, those at the Guild were some of the most feared combatants. The only reason not everyone joined, was the mandatory periods of deskwork.

The Guild operated under rules quite similar to the Crypto-Currency of Earth. It was evenly distributed throughout each Reform city. This allowed for there to be almost no bias when dealing with different branches. The Guild was also Macro-managed by the Dev assigned to the Reforms, though communication was impossible. This allowed for a relatively safe environment which allowed friends of Reforms to sleep in peace, and enemies to fear the Guild slaughtering all they love.

None of this was being contemplated by the three musketeers. No, their primary concern was that there were now only forty bottles of beer on the wall. The three continued their count down as they strolled ever forwards. Their destination was less than a day away.

tumbleweed [https://i.imgur.com/VtExBEV.png]

Yuclaus woke with a start. He looked around for a moment before despair threatened to break the stoic façade he had been showing Isencia for the past three days. The two of them since their world changing —mentally scarring in Cause’s case— meeting had been doing as Yuclaus suggested: consolidating their gains.

They had started by Cause gradually walking Isencia through what he had learned of his mindscape. He gave a few pointers before the nymph could not only match his skill, but far surpass him. According to her she had, “grown memory trees in order to better organize her mind, like he had obviously done.” Yuclaus had in fact, not grown any memory trees. He was afraid his ignorance would get exposed, so he didn’t ask. His console was still blue, he had yet to find a reset button.

Isencia on the other hand, had been the definition of helpful. He had never asked a single question, and she rarely talked, but each word out of her mouth was golden. He definitely didn't think that because she used some of his old vocabulary. Never did he cry softly to himself in the darkest hours of night. He wasn't heartbroken about his lost lexicon. He also doesn't know what lexicon means, but luckily I, the narrator, do.

She had given him a fair amount of knowledge without even knowing she was teaching him. The most important thing he learned was that there were multiple races. Surprising considering he had been speaking to a nymph, for all he knew, she was a singular phenomena. There were thirteen races total.

He had no clue why there were thirteen races, she assumed he already knew. He only learned that there were other races when she discussed the game-like mechanics of the worlds. Each of the thirteen races had their own “system”. This system varied from the Reform’s RPG window, to the Spirit of the Historic. Isencia told him that he most resembled a Reform physically, but his system was something she had never heard of before.

That in itself was not too earth shattering, as many races kept their systems close to the vest. This was important as the systems were not exclusive. If certain conditions were met, a being from another race could gain an additional system. The nymph was living proof that the leaking of information can lead to the stealing of a system. Isencia never said it, but by the way she spoke of it, it seemed that having more than one system was not a good thing.

There were attributes that were specific to each race however. For example, Isencia’s race, the Environs, could cultivate their bodies like an orchard. Of course, an orchard with magic in the mix, but an orchard nonetheless. With different fertilizers, cross-pollinization, and farming finesse, they could gain unique attributes. Isencia had developed herself so she no longer needed air to photosynthesize. Yuclaus was unaware of what photosynthesis was, but the premise of not needing air sounded appealing. Not that it mattered in a dream.

There were a plethora of smaller attributes, but the nymph assumed he already knew, which for the most part he did. He had noticed she looked robotic for a while, and it was because she neither showed emotion nor used her lungs. She once mentioned having a Reform father in passing, so he assumed maybe the half-Reform half-Environ had lungs. Instead he discovered that she showed her emotion through scent and pheromones. Cause still couldn’t decipher all of them, but the girl was far more expressive than her shy demeanor implied.

In Yuclaus’ opinion, the racial attributes were all second to the racial systems. While he was still discovering the abilities his mindscape granted him, it was the system that Isencia gave him which got him enthused. A gift is how Cause interpreted the exchange, but the nymph called it a trade. Somehow she had gotten the idea that he purposefully gave her his system before they had met. She in reciprocation, “to tie their fates” had given him the Environ system.

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The system literally turned him into a plant mage. He was told the system was called the Greenhouse. It allowed the Environ, now Yuclaus, to cultivate a plant like the Environs did to their bodies. The primary difference was twofold: time did not affect the Greenhouse, and the Greenhouse didn’t follow the laws of physics.

The Soul Spore could grow at incredible speeds with proper nutrients, or be killed in minutes with lack thereof. It was in its own independent space. In terms of ignoring physics, it could be changed and grown with objects that were not inherent in plants. Isencia described this to him by showing her Spore, which had consumed an extremely rare breed of a constricting snake. From this, she was able to give general direction to which each vine independently carried out, like a hivemind.

There was still plenty Yuclaus didn’t know about the nymph, but he was the creator of this realm so it wasn’t particularly important, he reasoned. Isencia’s demonstration of her Spore did accomplish one thing though: Yuclaus wanted one. Finally he could be the one in control of his mind. With a plant that he could develop to unprecedented heights of power, he no longer would have to fear two-tailed earthen monkeys.

Although, Isencia had conveniently left out how to acquire said Soul Spore. She told him to notify her of a specific plant when it caught his interest, then she would help with the rest. Even though he was still Sporeless, he had managed to convince the nymph that he needed a sleep inducing plant for a crucial element to his plan. Lying to the girl surprisingly filled him with remorse, but he crushed it like he did his anxiety, under the amber waterfall of liquor. I’m not joking, he had a flask in his bag remember?

She had gotten the plant after a short journey into the forest. She had told him to stay put in the city until her return. He had intended on following her, but he hadn't made it four steps before a vine held him in place, withdrawing a moment later. At her arrival back at the medieval town, she had given him a few leaves without a word, sitting down nearby to explore her mindscape.

Yuclaus debated making a tea with the leaves, but after a short search of his roll-up bag discarded the idea. He moved into a nearby ruin with relatively intact walls before shoveling the leaves in his mouth. The next thing he knew was a groggy sensation as he awoke. His optimism was crushed with the realization that there was no easy escape.

Hence we return to our protagonist hardening his fragile ego, taking on the persona of a cold calculating mastermind. Isencia was moving about when he awoke. She was going through drills with her Soul Spore. The plant truly was magnificent.

The vines took the shape of a lollipop tree reaching over five times his height. Loosely held together, the vines were in continuous motion, slithering too and fro over their knott. He had been curious for a while whether there was an actual tree underneath, or if her Spore just took the shape. A shame he didn't have the courage to check.

She was going through a series of steps, resembling a kata. The vines swirled around her, assisting her movements, and allowing her maneuverability that would be impossible for Yuclaus. At some points the nymph used the vines of her dress as a lasso, proving that she commanded even her clothing.

Yuclaus was speechless at the dance of death. Any Reform watching would have been astounded at the supple grace of Isencia. Rather, Yuclaus was impressed at the raw killing power of her Soul Spore. He needed it. His need stemmed more from self-defense than aggression. The best defense is the better offense.

A fragrance tickled his nose. He thought he was imagining it before it came back. Isencia was walking towards him, almost demure if that were possible. She walked up and stopped in front of him. She looked down at the ground before meeting his eyes.

“We should move on, our window of opportunity is soon closing.”

“How much time do you think we have?” Yuclaus crouched in preparation for the oncoming horde of monkeys.

“I would say around five nights,” Isencia replied in a monotone voice. When no monkeys were forthcoming, Cause relaxed.

“We will plan for five then, do you know the plan?”

“I’m assuming we are heading for the elevator are we not?” Yuclaus was unfamiliar with the elevator Isencia mentioned, but before he could respond a whirring sound was heard in the distance. Almost as if there were a windtunnel sitting within eyesight. Sen, as Yuclaus had started mentally calling the nymph over their time together, tensed at the noise.

Leaves were swishing mildly, their dance the calm before the storm. A wall of wind hit the two like a living creature, surrounding them and buffeting Yuclaus to the brick road. Isencia kept her balance, but only with the help of three vines anchoring her to the earth. It felt like a minute of endless wind, which is precisely how long it was.

At the end of the deluge, the two looked at each other. One looked surprised, the other stoic. Yuclaus started to rise, already expecting the vine that the nymph customarily used as a helping hand.

“What was that?” Yuclaus asked as he was lifted up, breaking his own rule of not questioning this reality.

“That… was my mother.” Sen responded, the hesitation enough for alarm bells to ring in Yuclaus’ mind. Isencia never hesitated. She would be curt, short spoken, or even non-responsive. She had never faltered in her speech though.

“What does that mean for us?” Yuclaus asked, wondering if perhaps he needed to show his nonexistent competence sooner rather than later.

“It means a meeting of all the Stolon. The odds of it being trivial are more likely than not. To be safe, stay here, attempt to move less than normal. I will be back soon. Don’t miss me too much.” Yuclaus could have sworn he saw a ghost of a smile, but a teasing scent rid him of this notion. As soon as Isencia left, Yuclaus’ face split into a grin that would scare children on Halloween.

“I know a quest prompt when I’ve heard one.” He turned around, going in the opposite direction of the Nymph. “Time for some solo leve-adventures!”