Pragnosis (still) 1589 PGE

  With a sound like static a human shape crashed into the dirt and then lay there for a moment, just snickering to itself, for a brief few seconds looking like a madman that just escaped from the asylum. Looked like he touched down in a poorhouse, no, no, it's one of those communual beggar houses that people live and try not to get killed. From a brief inspection, he could tell that it was full of people just eking out an existence despite the circumstances, looking warily at the man who had just popped out of thin air.

  He supposed that he didn't look too out of place in his worn and tattered clothes and his filthy appearance and so casually he picked an empty spot, ignoring the nervous, concerned and hostile looks sitting down against the wall. A brief brush against the continuum revealed that the barrier was still intact and maybe even stronger than before, although his senses told him that he hadn't fell to much further back. It tasted only about four or five days back at most.

  "4d pocket is still fucked," he whispered, a trickle of mana quickly confirming this. "Past and present are also still out of reach." That sense of deja vu came back just as harsh and he sighed in rememberance. This was a rare case but not an unknown one, just an unwelcome one. It was all familiar and spoke of the twisting of dimensions into a mobius strip, an unnatural eddy in the river of time, or to the layman a timeloop. "It's a fucking long one as well," he admitted beneath his breath. Five days was bad, the standard didn't last more than one day if they were actually reversing time and not the more standard trapped in an illusory realm thing.

  "Ayo bruva, dat some neato teleporty majiks," a voice piped up from next to him and he tilted his head in recognition wondering if his translator was fucked up. The next second his eyes widened and a smile popped on his face as he regarded the person next to him.

  "Hail Nevadie," he said looking at the short human subspecies next to him. "Didn't expect to see you here. Got anything for a tipple." He mimed his hands in a gesture that could mean drink, drug or disaster. The three words had some significant overlap to the common Nevadie.

  "Nah, fraid this one don'," the Nevadie admitted twirling his frankly magnificent midnight black moustache. "Long used dem all. Got kicke in here wit this lot and though was gonna be boring, dinnot expec one of you fancy wizards to come all here long and teleporty straight in for of my face." Alright, he hoped the translator picks up the slack and starts fixing the accent, or he was going to be in for all sorts of a headache.

  "Didn't expect to end up here either Nevadie," he said. "Oh where are my manners. You can call me Banks."

  "Banks, eh," the Nevadie said. "Think I member a fellow met the name of Banks. You wouldn' happen to owe a cask of Milkmoon whiskey, eh. Yah can call me Eislock the Fifthteenth carnated."

  "Fifteen's a respectable number," he flattered. "I'm afraid growing up just once was enough for this wizard. Shitty childhood aside. What brings you to wherever this place is?"

  "Don' een know the name of ta city," the Nevadie laughed. "Bruva did you just go through the whole cask of ta Milkmoon. This here be Pragnosis. Part of the Undying Empire, for at least the momen'."

  "Never said how far I teleporty," Banks said, causing the Nevadie to widen his eyes in admiration.

  "Musta be a pretty far jump bruva," he said. "Lemme buy ya drink and you can tell me all about yer travel."

  "Sound good," he said, before he looked down at the tatters that he wore. "Maybe a pair of clothes too.

  "Don't push it bruva," the Nevadie chuckled. "Not made of money. But there's a fairly big giving out just down by the entrance of the slums. This humble bruva's opinion they want to make sure all look good for Mister Big Shiny Emperor."

  "The Undying Emperor's here," Bank said raising an eyebrow. "Not in the capital. Huh, that's neat. I've never met the Undying Emperor before. Only heard about him from secondary accounts. Might be good to see the myth behind the man. Can you take me to the handout location?"

  "At once, Wizard Bruva," the shorter man said as he offered a hand and Banks took it, and was pulled to his feet by the member of the diminutive race. "Follow me to the giving, we can get a drinky on the way."

  "Sure, buddy," Banks said, giving one last look at the remaining people in the poorhouse, who just stared back at him warily. None of them appeared to be as reckless as the immortal Nevadie and thus a cautious distance was kept. Giving a half-hearted wave he followed the excitable dwarf ahead of him, out onto the street.

  Banks rubbed the sun out of his eyes stifling a sneeze before he regarded the rest of the street. Streets were very busy and while this obviously wasn't the nicest part of time there was no pileup of rubbish and no dilapidated buildings. The people looked poor, but well fed, or at least not starving and the roads were straight and well-cobbled. It was a far cry from the apocalypse just five days in the future and he couldn't help but wonder just what the hell had happened in that time.

  "This place doesn't smell like shit," he admitted as he walked besides the Nevadie.

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  "Certainly is onna the nicest slum I eva bin in," the Nevadie replied. "And I been in my fair share of tha slums."

  "There's more than a little bit of increased security as well," he said as a squad of the heavily armed soldiers moved past. None of the Golden Guards showed their faces, just the standard security of the Undying Empire. One of them, a young looking man, broke off from the rest of the squad and approached the pair.

  "What happened to you?" the guard asked sympathetically, giving him the once over.

  "Won a fight," Banks said, giving the simplest explanation that he could.

  "If that's winning, then I would hate to see losing," the guard said.

  "Yeah, you would," Banks said. "Just heading towards the handout place.

  "You don't have any house in the city, just where are you from stranger," the guard said, their voice taking on a slightly more suspicious tone. "

  "Far up north," he said, and the guard's expression changed.

  "Alright sir I'm going to have to ask you to come with...." the guard started

  -1 second

  "Unterdawn," he said naming one of the nine principalities, that were taken over by the Undying Emperor in forming his Empire.

  "Oh, which town are you from," the guard asked, causing his eye to twitch, at the not so subtle interrogation.

  -3 seconds

  "Skullnexus," he said and the guard immediately went quiet. For a brief moment the trio stood in silence as the guard's face went through all sorts of expression reflecting his inner questions. 'Is he serious? Is he lying about that? Why would he lie about that? What would somebody from Skullnexus be doing here? Should I stop him? What if he snaps and starts killing?'

  These questions should have been asked, but weren't as he immediately left and continued walking towards the handout place. He waited for guard to call out and intercept, but ultimately no call came.

  "Yer from ta Skullnexus?" the Nevadie asked, his voice raised in excitement, the little immortal pscho.

  "No," he admitted, watching his shoulders droop. "But my sister lives there, and I occasionally drop by to visit her."

  "Wow, is it really as bad as they say?" he asked. His garbled accent was mostly faded by now, a sign that the translator was kicking in.

  "Why don't you spend a life and go visit there," Banks asked. "I'm pretty sure Skullnexus was a pilgrimage for most of your kind in the final decade of your lives."

  "The seas have gotten bad these past few centuries," the Nevadie admitted. "Iya tried once, but the entire ship was taken out by some bignast leviaten from ta depths. It was pretty cool I guess, but I didn't get a good look at all."

  "That's a shame," Banks commiserated.

  "Yeah, well. I'll see it in this life or ta next," the Nevadie said. "Jes gotta be patient is all."

  "A good outlook," Banks admitted, before something struck him. "Wait what time is it?"

  "It's nearly the third hour," the dwarf said. "Most folks that can have finished off breakfast by now."

  "Fuck, alright," he dug into his pocket and winced as he felt the destroyed scraps before he switched to another and paused. "Oh, lovely," he said as he pulled out an orange tube and popped out a pill. "They survived." He casually popped one into his mouth.

  "What kind of elixir is that," the Nevadie asked.

  "Handsome pills," he lied. "To keep me handsome. Oh, look is that the place." He pointed off into the distance at five long lines. A few people sat in the front, surrounded by guards, dispensing food, clothes and medicine. "That's not going to be fun."

  "I'll save you space at the pub," the Nevadie said, taking off with disproportionate speed for such short legs. Yup for the race that lives fast and dies long, nothing could be as viscerally disgusting as a queue. Sighing, he proceeded to a random one, put his hands in what remained of his pockets and started people watching. Time passed as he mechanically walked forward, lamenting the loss of his phone and all the games on it. It was a nice day, and it would have been far nicer if he wasn't in line. He always preferred the rain anyway.

  "The tyrant is dead!" the words shouted out loud, broke through his haze of indifference and he turned his head just in time for an explosion to blast outwards sending a handful of knights dying.

  "Rebels," one of the armored knights said raising his shield as another bomb went off sending him flying backwards and hitting the wall hard. Dozens of figures seperated from the crowd charging the disorganised knights and the remaining handful were swiftly overrun, numbers and surprise closing the gap in training and power. The crowd scattered, and he moved against the wave, trying not to get pushed back. He would be damned if he had to queue up again. A lot of pushing and a few punches later he found himself at the table. The skirmish had become slightly more even, by this point, the armor and training from the few surviving knights making it hard for the attackers to take them down quickly and the administrative staff had long since fled or were cowering trying not to make themselves a target.

  Ignoring that, he hopped the table, scaring a young woman with glasses and reached down and politely grabbed a pack of clothes and food from her, already packaged into a neat leather bag. He put it up and slotted it over his shoulder and frowned as a bolt bounced off the table next to him. He looked over to see that one of the attackers was shooting at him, for apparently no fucking reason. His finger twitched and he desperately wished he had his own weapon, which was probably lost in the River right now. Then he could show these pricks how to properly shoot.

  He leapt over the table, springing towards one of the attackers who was hurriedly reloading, determined to take him down, before another explosion went off and this time it seemed both the attackers and the knights were caught in it. Frowning he decided discretion was the better part of valour and retreated merging into the panicking crowd, just a dozen more guards burst into the scene and the whole thing became a bloodbath. His natural instincts were to stay a bit and loot, but it was a bit hot for now. Slipping into a nearby alley, he changed out of his old clothes and quickly got into his new. They were warmish, and reasonably comfortable if a bit scratchy and he quickly focused as he imbued his mana into them.

  Time loops generally reset a person to the exact physical and mental condition they were at the start of the loop, and while his unique constitution would prevent the mental reset, he would have to concentrate on the physical. With his mana merged with the clothes, he could ensure that they would be carried back at the end of the loop. Or at least that was the plan. His mana felt bloated, crystallised and sluggish. Even the Strange Elements in his body were mostly dormant at this point. Lastly, he put a hand to his belly and his eyes darkened as he came to the inescapable, devastating conclusion.

  He was really badly out of shape.

  He blamed the pancakes.