Elijah the Wise awoke in the Real(M) to darkness, a foul sulfuric odor and round dead weight covered his body. Immediately he knew something was wrong.

He was supposed to be safe!

Panic began to rise because he could feel the cold clamminess on his skin, something tickling his face and it could only be one thing, only one possible scenario. He was buried in heads. Severed heads.

Elijah gritted his teeth and pushed away the revulsion, trying to come up with a strategy, a plan to escape this mess and find Jon - it was the only thing that mattered, to fail in this was to fail in everything.

I have to find Jon.

The Real(m) wasn't a game. It wasn't for sale, or advertised. It wasn't streamed, or sponsored. And it certainly wasn't talked about. Not in polite company, at least. It was the Dark Net of the RPG world, the bastard child of Project Asimov, as illegal as gateway drugs, and far more addicting -

And Elijah the Wise wasn't prepared for combat, he had no experience in it; his weapon was a cane. His only protection, a custom tailored suit from America's past, formal black and white. His Class - Acrobat, and its Skills were about building a foundation of power, a slow start for later strength, they weren't useful for fighting now.

But right now is what Elijah needed; because the weight over him began to shift - his eyes widened as he realized it was too late to plan, to think his way out. Elijah heard muffled voices, a susurration of sounds permeating his cruel concealment, then an eerie green light reached his eyes right before a burst of brightness and a hand reached for him.

A hand. It grasped his face, warm and sweaty. And Elijah the Wise, Scholar and Sage - a refined gentleman who enjoyed reading, philosophy and debate, history and politics, and had never been in so much as a fist fight - bit.

Elijah bit into the hand, teeth sinking past skin and grinding onto bone, hearing a surprised, pain filled shout as the hand pulled back. He didn't let go! Elijah followed it, bending and twisting, exploding out of this ball pit of doom with his right hand held around his only weapon, a cane. Skill:Canes guiding his body to grasping the weapon by the neck, how to hold it for the most leverage, the most striking power -

And Elijah's left arm was already reaching out, Class: Acrobat, guiding the motion for balance, maneuverability, so he could flee these -

"Aaaaaaaah! Ah! Ah! Ah!"

"Oh, Geoffrey!"

Old people? Elijah's mouth popped open in surprise, releasing the hand. He could taste blood, sweat - as he stared at the senior citizens in front of him. An old man, holding his bleeding hand against his chest. An old woman, reaching for the man as she cried out in fear and concern - as cabbages tumbled down and around them, across the busy city market they were in.

'Destiny Level Up. New Ability.'

What?

Elijah gaped at the old people, the blood staining the man's rough-spun shirt. The woman grasping at him with hands twisted both in arthritis and anxiety, "Oh, oh, Geoffrey, Geoff - please, oh no."

Heads of Cabbage? Elijah blinked, I was buried in heads of cabbage? I was safe, in the city - then I bit a cabbage seller. His wife is worried. There are cabbages everywhere.

"You bit him! You bit Geoffrey!"

"My cabbages!"

"Was this a prank?" A pedestrian asked, confused, "It isn't funny."

And Elijah realized that perhaps - with how he was posed in balance, his cane up ready to strike or like some performer's baton, some could confuse it as the classic Ta-Dah gesture...

"You can't do this to people, you hurt him - it's, it's not funny." The older woman, shaming Elijah with an accusatory finger, eyes wet with tears, "You hurt Geoff." The gathering crowd agreeing, nodding, staring at Elijah with growing disgust, incredulity and anger.

"He bit that poor old man as a joke? A prank?"

"What's wrong with him?"

"Sick. Attacking the elderly for laughs?"

What a nightmare. And it was bad enough to have the attention of all these bumpkins, dressed in their plain clothes, their market day best; but for them to think Elijah the Wise was the willing participant in some sort of prank? That he would engage in some form of activity for another's amusement? Preposterous.

"There has been a misunderstanding." Elijah said in a voice that could be used to correct children, "I was disoriented due to -"

A cabbage smashed Elijah the Wise in the face. In the face.

And if he had even just one hundredth of the power and resources he'd wielded this morning? But he didn't, so he ran. His Class: Acrobat, already loaded in his mind, informing his movements, manipulating his muscles in a manner impossible this morning:

Elijah jumped, flipping over pedestrians who shouted in surprise, turning his landing into a forward roll beneath a market stall, his cane snaking out to catch a hitching post; pulling his roll into a tumble as thrown cabbages fell short.

He moved like a top launched from an excited child's hand as he twisted and bounced over the cobblestone road before cartwheeling between a wainwright and a cobbler, into an alley. Regaining his feet, he jumped up to a window ledge and snatched a drain pipe as he stowed his cane behind the neck of his coat, then using both hands to clamber to the building top.

Elijah sprinted across the roofs, leaving the situation behind him before guards could be roused or more just as likely, some powerful pedestrian took action. The entire event had occurred in less then a minute and only the confusion of the crowd, just as complete as his own, likely allowed him to escape.

Because who does that? Just the idea of such a Class like Prankster filled Elijah with disdain, and for others to associate him with it? Of course this was all Jon's fault; if Elijah hadn't been so rushed - first to re-roll his character and then to reach his endangered, out of his depth, friend. Had Jon just listened? Just made a blanket attempt to prepare himself for where the world was headed vs. living out his almost Amish existence?

Because just look at the Real(m). As Elijah moved across rooftops, further away from his awkward entrance into this magical world he could see the entire skyline; a magnificent mural of what the Real(M) offered. The Glass Palace, an enormous building that was better then the Emerald City of Oz, the spinerets and balconies, the tall towers. All grown from glass, not made but seemingly planted, erupting from the manicured grounds like a mushroom.

Other buildings throughout Glass City matched its manner of creation, but were nowhere near as grand, in fact Elijah saw cracks and chips on structures. But that was to be expected, after all this land was referred to as the Shattered Empire, and though he wasn't aware of what tribulations had brought it about, he recognized the signs of lost power.

And as fascinating as it was, to explore a new corner of the Real(m), one small piece of an impossibly vast and exciting existence, the most pressing issue was finding Jon.

So Elijah made his way back to the winding, twisting roads with their shops and apartments, townhouses and city squares, heading toward the very center of Glass City, to a fountain where he was to meet his erstwhile friend. Arriving at the monument, another glass creation that shamed the Trevi and any earthen art - Jon wasn't there.

"Jon!" Elijah shouted, making his way through the crowd, searching faces, "Jon!"

Because it was the Real(m), Jon could be anyone. The dark man with a twisted mustachio and tall hat, pushing a cart, "Meat pies, tender rabbit and sweet sage, hot! Made with Advanced Cooking and Savory Bite! Three copper for a meal fit for the Emperor, may he rest eternally."

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Or the urchin, the street child eyed suspiciously by those that saw him in the crowd as he crept about, dirt under his nails and unkempt hair. Elijah checked his coin purse, patting it where it rested in his inside breast pocket, the single silver given by system felt like a hidden, hard button against his chest.

Jon could even be that baby, its mouth noisily tugging at his mother's teat, her face filled with adoration as she admired the child with a soft song, her hand toying with his blond wisp of hair.

"Jon!" Elijah shouted as he continued his search. Of course Elijah didn't actually think any of those people would be Jon; Jon was a jock, an amateur athlete that went running for fun and considered fantasy football an intellectual pursuit. Jon would be obvious. Elijah scanned the crowd of people who'd come to look at the statue, to pay tribute to a glorious past by tossing in a coin, or laying flowers upon the basin, lighting candles - he was looking for somebody wearing armor, likely with a sword too large for practical use, perhaps a thick beard and an already full mug of ale...

Ridiculous. Elijah was looking for a person that didn't fit, a person that looked ridiculous.

But after an hour of searching, of calling out Jon's name, perhaps a mile of walking in circles Elijah was still alone. He approached the fountain to sooth his parched throat, dry from yelling, and took in the glory of its construction, likely a scene from the pinnacle of the Glass Empire's power.

At the height stood a woman with wide arms of welcome; clothed only in wet radiance, her face was beatific and flawless. Flowing water formed a dress that poured down her, a promise of succor to all those beneath - and they weren't just human. Within the pure pleats of her garment nymphs and satyrs frolicked as farmers tended their crops. Merchants traded with elven folk, exchanging sweet melons for alembics and vases for glistening berries. Merfolk navigated wide roads and rivers in extravagant, amphibious ships, their holds filled with water and luxuries for their journey over land.

And at the very bottom, where the water seemed to boil and churn as it met the basin of the fountain, the more murderous races and monsters of the Real(m) seemed to fight against the flow, seemingly pushed away by this matron's might as she protected the civilized folk that took shelter in her fold.

Elijah's eyes widened at feeling his entire body refreshed and it wasn't just from seeing the beautiful fountain; as the water entered his body he felt refreshed. Such an enchantment was rare, exceedingly difficult and incredibly costly to mass produce efficiently - which must be the case for it to have continued to sustain itself all these years as the remainder of the Glass Empire appeared to be slowly crumbling into dust...

He opened his Status in order to see the full effect of the water, also discovering a most disturbing change from his previous existence.

Elijah Fleming

Class: Acrobat (5)

Skills:

Tumbling - Adept 2/500

Balance - Adept 1/500

Jumping - Adept 1/500

Flexibility - Adept 0/500

Abilities:

Quick Recovery (Passive)

Body: Human - Eastern Providence

Base Human Adult - Male / Invested / Temporary / Actual

Strength: 10 + 2 + 0 = 12

Resistance: 10 + 0 + 0 = 10

Agility: 10 + 3 + 0 = 13

Sense: 10 + 0 + 0 = 10

Mind: 10 + 0 + 0 = 10

Soul (Basic)

Skill

Canes : Adept 1/500

Destiny: Comedy (Level One)

Abilities:

Sense Humor - Divination - You have a funny way of finding what's funny.

Active Effects:

Gift of the Glass City: You feel refreshed. All regeneration increased by 10%. Time Remaining: 09:59:47

"Comedy?" Elijah whispered, and to be honest, at that moment? Elijah had completely forgotten that Jon even existed, so large was his shock, "No. I'm Elijah the Wise, not Elijah the funny."

His face was disgusted, as though he'd bitten into a wormy, rotten apple. Or a human hand -

"Not funny." Elijah whispered, echoing the crowd from earlier, "They're right, I'm not funny, I have no desire to be funny."

Was there a worse way to be perceived? Nobody would take him seriously, not if they were laughing at him...Elijah had a reputation, a presence he'd dedicated years to mastering, from the way he walked to his concise language, the subtle air of confidence he exuded, he had a whole persona.

And it wasn't funny.

And yet he had an Ability, Sense Humor: You have a funny way of finding what's funny.

And he also had to find Jon.

It was unexpectedly cruel, a knife twist from the unfathomable, unapproachable system that governed this universe, how it adapted to circumstance, how it functioned, providing tools to accomplish one's desires, both warning and rewarding, always balanced and fair. And when Elijah had entered the Real(m) it had been with a singular goal. To find Jon, to help him.

And he'd been given a way, his need answered. But the cost?

"No." Elijah whispered, "This can't be. This can't be happening."

Now, Elijah could find Jon. That's what his Ability implied, because Jon was certainly funny, wasn't he? A jock entering the Real(m) without ever even playing a video game? Bringing a pug with him? That should be funny...right? That should be hilarious...

Except Elijah also needed a funny way of finding him...which meant he would have to be funny, and that was impossible. Elijah was stubbornly biting his lip, shaking his head and staring off into the distance at the unreasonable requirement of his Ability, how useless it was.

Elijah wasn't funny and that was the end of it. It was one thing to throw away years of development, to re-roll in order to guide Jon through the Real(m), so they could develop together as a team, organically. It was necessary, even, for optimal cohesiveness, for long term effectiveness, Jon's growth would be stunted if Elijah power-leveled him, that never worked out, not in any game...

But to be funny? Certainly not, certainly Jon would understand that there were some lines, some things a person just couldn't do in the name of friendship.

Yet Elijah knew he was lying to himself, he could feel the corners of his mouth tugging down in a long, defeated frown. Because Jon never wavered in their friendship, he'd never held back anything. Wasn't Jon the singular reason Elijah was even financially capable of enjoying the Real(m)? Wasn't Jon who enabled Elijah to be a patron, even, funding the Real(m)'s growth and proliferation...

"He'll be here." Elijah told himself, "He's capable of at least finding a giant fountain that anybody in the city can point him to, there's no need to take extremes."

Yet Elijah was also licking his lips, remembered stories of Jon getting lost in the most inexplicable of situations: like the time he'd been drinking with friends only to suddenly disappear. As the story went, a tired and drunk Jon had wandered into an unlocked door adjacent to the drinking establishment only to find a large warehouse absolutely filled with the most comfortable blankets he'd ever encountered; he quickly went to sleep in what turned out to be a quilting convention. Upon waking, surrounded by friendly grandmothers and delicious treats, Jon had decided to stay until the end, admiring quilts and coverlets until the convention's conclusion.

To this day Jon was still getting hand sewn presents in the mail on a near monthly basis from all the 'friends' he'd made.

But they were in the Real(m) now, and Jon was infinitely more likely to find himself in a din of flesh eating gophers than kindly old ladies.

An hour went by. Then another.

Elijah stubbornly bit his lip, shaking his head. He wouldn't do it. His stomach growled, the tempting scent of meat pies difficult to ignore, as well as the other hawkers offerings. He distracted himself by thinking about the Glass Empire, imagining its fall from grace, the story of the collapse reflected in the hard eyes of the poorer pedestrians as they passed by. Pedestrians that were exclusively human - which was a surprise considering the fountain's diversity.

Of course there was still wealth, women in silks and men with silver belt buckles, richly died leathers and gold rimmed glasses. But the lack of diversity in species implied a lack of trade as well. Something devastating had happened here and the population still hadn't recovered, likely resulting in a more isolationist foreign policy. Elijah noticed frayed hems and missing sequins on silk blouses. There weren't many large people and the livestock was limited to basic draft animals and horses, worn jewels being small and sparse.

And still no Jon.

With a final breath. A final shout. A final ember of hope, Elijah took another long walk around the fountain before resigning himself to his fate, the reality was Jon was lost or already dead. He would be forced to search for him, to dip his toe in the pool of depravity called humor. For Jon, just this once, Elijah the Wise would be funny.

The real question was how?

HIs Ability, Sense Humor, was divination based, which meant it likely required a foci; which his cane should easily work as. It also required a target, Jon. The additional barriers of use, that both the target, and the method in which he searched for it, were both funny was the actual hurdle. And Elijah had to admit it was a potent Ability, with no actual material or mana cost or even a cool down, it was powerful indeed. Or would be in the hands of some class clown or other degenerate.

For Elijah it was practically useless. He found himself twisting his mind into knots trying to think of a way of being funny, a way of using his cane to channel that humor. The most obvious: to use his weapon to imitate a phallus - was far too crass and debasing. He wasn't going to wave his cane about like some drunk marine who'd glimpsed an areola.

No. With great dignity Elijah headed to the market and approached a vendor selling vegetables. Pointedly, he gave the cabbages a wide berth as he purchased a sack full of carrots, handing over his only silver and receiving eighteen coppers and three iron bits in return. Then he made his way into a secluded alley, glancing about to insure his privacy.

"Alright...Nellie." Elijah said to his cane, patting the handle, "I need you to find Jon for me."

Nothing happened.

"Here, have a carrot." Elijah said, keeping a firm mental image of Jon in his head, poking the cane with a carrot. Nothing happened. Elijah scolded the sky, "Seriously? I'm feeding a cane horse a carrot, how is that not funny?"

Elijah took a deep breath, then mounted the cane by putting one leg over it. He adjusted his suit. Then he made a clicking noise, "Getty-up. Getty-up."

This was going to be more difficult than he'd thought.