Morthisal stood, stretched his legs, put his hands on his hips, leaned back, and was greeted by a satisfying crack in his lower back. He sighed with relief. Never in his many years of ruling the dark lands had he suffered from back pain. He did not like it one bit.

Morthisal had learned that television had many options. Many of the ‘streaming services’ were available. Not only did he have the entire world at his fingertips, but he also had a multitude of ways to lose hours at a time as he stared at the play-acting dramas.

A play-acting drama that Travious had recommended played on. He was already on the fifth episode of a drama called Succession and was learning a great deal about this so-called corporate life he would soon be joining.

Morthisal found himself entranced by the foul game of power unfurling on the glowing screen. To his mind, the schemes of these corporate heirs mirrored the intrigues of his past, only stripped of sorcery and swords. There were so many venom laced words and scalding betrayals, revealing to him the essence of survival in this strange new domain. Power, he had learned, was amassed not through the conjuring of undead hordes or the casting of ruinous spells, but by wielding influence over one’s colleagues and especially over one's family. Not that he had any of that here. His mother and father had been murdered in their sleep while he was just a child.

Morthisal leaned back in Vince’s recliner and steepled his fingers. When he returned to the battlefields of office bureaucracy, he would employ the lessons he had so far learned.

The confines of these mortal quarters had begun to feel suffocating. He needed to venture out to seek counsel from the peculiar woman called Penny. Despite Travious's warnings, her insights into the mystical arts might prove valuable in his quest to master Earth. Power still coursed through his body. He felt along the veil, picking out threads he could throw around individuals.

His entire day had not been wasted. Morthisal had familiarized himself with the technological marvels of this world, particularly the device known as an iPhone. Not I phone, as he'd thought it to be called. Through careful observation and research, he'd learned how these humans relied on their phones for navigation, communication, and knowledge.

"Fascinating how they've created such powerful tools without magic," he muttered, scrolling through various applications. “Or is their technological advancement their form of magic, just as is money."

This gave Morthisal much to ponder.

The other play-acting dramas and programs he studied provided insights into modern social customs and behavior patterns. Small details like greetings, farewells, and proper responses to common situations. Everything in this world seemed to revolve around money. This was not a foreign concept to him, but he had been naturally rich on Mythralon. The travails of being a dark lord also carried the beneficial side effect of always having access to gold and gems. Under his very fortress, they had delved miles beneath the earth and brought up precious gems by the cartload. Now, he was forced to learn how far several hundred "dollars" would go.

Near the door hung a black jacket. Morthisal slipped it on and checked the pockets for the essentials—wallet and keys, and of course, his iPhone.

After he stepped into the passageway, he turned and performed the locking ritual. It clicked, and he pushed on the door. It gave a little under his hands, and Morthisal wondered how anyone thought this was safe. An orc could have smashed through the flimsy mechanism with one fist.

His eyes were glued to his feet all the way down. They were an interesting sight in bright red shoes with the swooping logo on the side.

His transition from building to street passed without incident. A smile crossed his face. He'd managed to execute a few mundane tasks flawlessly, like any other resident of this realm.

Standing on the sidewalk, Morthisal retrieved the iPhone. His fingers moved confidently across the screen as he opened the map application and typed Penny’s store into the search bar. The GPS software obligingly provided directions.

Morthisal followed the blue line on his screen as it led him to the end of the street. As he walked, Morthisal extended his magical awareness outward. His power remained; however, it was already beginning to fade. He silently cursed because he was not looking forward to blowing up the circuits in his hovel again. He found people going about their lives, their souls laid bare for him. With a thought, he could pull a thread and bring it under his control. From his current position, he could take control of this entire area, but it wouldn’t last for long.

He passed a storefront with many shirts hanging on racks in front of the shop, each with text, but the messages were lost on him. One particular garment bore the outline of a man with his hands in the air. The round face was little more than a child's sketch. The writing read “I Pooped Today!”

Another caught his eye. A young man with a puff of hair hanging over his forehead, and the sides of his head shaved clean, shook out one of the shirts, and laughed.

“I do not understand,” Morthisal said, pointing at the text.

“BDE, man. Big Dick Energy. It’s funny, right?”

“I still do not understand.”

“Like, bro. It’s like, when you're swinging big, you know? Like an alpha male. I'm an alpha male, so it's perfect for a guy like me!” The man laughed and pointed at the area under the belt that secured his pants in place. "They’ll put anything you want on a shirt. Just tell them, and they’ll make it. So rad." The man paused and blinked his eyes rapidly. “I'm so high right now."

“Ah. Rad. Yes. High. As you say,” Morthisal said, filing yet another peculiar slang term away. He'd been here for all of a day and was quickly learning that half of what was said was almost in code. There were simply too many words for things or situations when one would do. Could a thing not simply be good instead of 'cool,' 'rad,' 'great,' 'dope,' 'bee's knees,' or 'swell'? He had collected all of these during a few hours of play-acting observation.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Morthisal threw a thread around the man and instructed him to put the shirt over his head and walk to the block's end simply because he was annoyed with the fellow.

The laughing man moved off, holding the garment over his head. He was still braying laughter and, at one point, yelled, "I am Cornholio!" A moment later, a car honked, and Mr. BDE ran into its side but spun away laughing before he shook his head and dashed off.

Morthisal removed the thread before the man was killed by a car. He had watched a few police play-acting dramas and knew the enforcers of this world always solved murder crimes. He needed to gather more power and minions before he would be able to get away with wanton slaughter.

Moments later, Morthisal found Penny’s shop nestled between a coffee establishment and what appeared to be a facility dedicated to the art of nail care. A wooden sign hung above the door, painted with stars and moons, declaring "Mystic Wonders" in flowing script.

A small bell chimed as he pushed open the door. The scent hit him first - a mixture of burning herbs that reminded him of his own ritual chambers, though far less potent. However, it lacked even a hint of decay or sulfur.

Glass cases lined the walls, filled with crystals and stones that caught the light from strategically placed lamps. In Mythralon, such gems would have been used to store magical energy or enhance spells. He crossed his arms behind his back and strolled along one, eyes taking in the items that were in neat rows with little cards that described properties like "healing" and "positive energy."

Bundles of dried herbs hung from the ceiling. Not the poisonous nightshade or deadly mushrooms he was accustomed to, but harmless things like lavender and sage. Small cloth bags contained what appeared to be tea, though the labels spoke of "chakra alignment" rather than any medicinal purpose he recognized.

Shelves held an array of bottles containing oils and tinctures, their purposes a mystery to him. Cards were stacked on tables - not enchanted battle cards that could summon creatures, but ones decorated with symbols and imagery for divination.

The shop ended in a pair of hanging curtains that separated the front from what lay beyond. The fabric shimmered with patterns of celestial bodies and abstract swirls in purple and gold. He thought such an impractical choice for a door, though he had to admit the effect was rather striking.

Movement stirred behind the curtains, and they parted to reveal Penny. Her robes today were a riot of oranges and reds, flowing around her like autumn leaves caught in a breeze. Multiple necklaces clinked together as she moved, crystals and pendants catching the light.

"Good morning, Vince," Penny exclaimed when she spotted him and spread her arms wide in greeting. "I'm so glad you came!" .

"Greetings to you, friend Penny."

"Please, come in, come in!" Penny beckoned him toward the curtained area. "Would you like some tea?”

He followed her gaze, now directed at a round wooden table in the shop's center. It was draped in an intricately embroidered cloth depicting celestial patterns. A pair of high-backed, cushioned chairs sat across from each other, looking over the table’s surface. At its center sat a velvet board inscribed with letters, numbers, and arcane symbols. Scattered around it were a few crystals and polished stones.

"Tea would be acceptable.”

Penny busied herself with a teapot, her bangles jingling as she moved. "I've been thinking about what you mentioned yesterday about wanting to contact someone. Maybe a relative. Or maybe..." she paused for dramatic effect, "someone from a previous life?"

This sparked Morthisal's interest. "Yes, I seek to contact someone. Thalindra Sanguinara, my Vice-Regent in Mythralon."

"Mythralon?" Penny's eyes lit up as she poured steaming red tea into delicate cups. "That sounds... exotic. Eastern European, perhaps? Or maybe further back? Past lives can be tricky to pin down sometimes."

"She exists now in another realm," Morthisal said.

"Ah, I see." Penny nodded sagely. "You feel a strong connection to this person from your past. The veil between worlds is thin today—I can sense it. Let’s sit at the table.” Penny waved toward the table. "Take a seat."

Once seated, she placed a cup before him, the liquid within a light crimson. "For a small donation of fifty dollars, I can attempt to make contact. Though I must be honest—there are no guarantees we'll reach this specific spirit. Sometimes, others come through instead."

Morthisal well knew that calling to the dead could be tricky. Still, he was curious about her methods, and perhaps there was a chance she might actually breach the barrier between worlds. He was eager to learn her secrets.

"Is that a reasonable price?" he asked.

"I mean. You can always pay more. It is a donation, after all."

Morthisal removed his wallet and cracked it open. From watching the television, he knew that money was green, with the denominations clearly marked in the corners.

"Ah. It seems I have no money."

"I take cards. It's no problem." Penny got up and went to the counter with a swish of her long skirt and the tinkle of beads and various necklaces around her neck. Morthisal wondered if she kept a power reserve within the crystals dangling around her neck.

He reached out and parted the veil, pulling at a thread and using it to lightly probe Penny. She stopped in her tracks and looked at Morthisal, her eyes narrowing.

Morthisal kept his face impassive. Surely, she couldn't sense what he was doing.

"I… feel strange... like…" Penny stammered. "Might be the tea."

"Oh?"

"Mushroom tea, if you know what I mean."

Morthisal carefully pulled the thread back, sat forward, and said, "I do not know what you mean. However, I had a minion who greatly enjoyed mushroom tea. Churl was her name."

"Is she also deceased? Do you want me to try to reach her as well?"

“I am certain she is deceased,” Morthisal said dismissively.

Penny returned with a handheld device with a small, lit screen. She tapped away on it and then presented it to Morthisal. He stared at the screen and then back at her.

“Tap your card. Or insert. Or swipe. It’s versatile.”

“Ah,” Morthisal said, glad that he had 'googled that shit' and extracted a plastic card with a Visa logo. He tapped with the card.

The machine beeped, and she pulled it away. "Receipt?"

Morthisal shrugged, unsure what purpose they served. Vince had certainly held onto a large stash of them, scattered across his kitchen countertop. "Yes, please."

A small scroll spit out of the machine accompanied by what sounded like bees in the device.

"Good. We will now get started. I am already aligning my spiritual center."

She withdrew a pendulum from a small, ornately carved wooden box. The chain was made of twisted gold links, and the pendant itself—a polished crystal shaped like a teardrop—captured the light in shifting colors. She set it upon a slender wooden branch that arched over the center of the table, suspending the pendulum so it hung motionless above the velvet-covered surface.

She placed her hands flat on the table, her bracelets jangling softly as they slid down her wrists, and then gestured for Morthisal to do the same. "Take my hands," she said, her voice low and dramatic.

Morthisal hesitated for a moment. The request felt a little too intimate, and he was unaccustomed to such rituals involving physical contact. On Mythralon, summoning the dead required arcane incantations—not holding hands like villagers around a midsummer bonfire. Still, he relented, extending his hands to meet hers.