If you want something bad enough, magic can make it happen. It’s power is focused through two mental states - fear and desire. Fear magic is inherently rife with unintended consequences. Changing your life without a clear vision of what you want is a bad idea. That said, desire can fuck you up pretty bad too. Be careful what you wish for.

• Excerpt from “The Path of The Longstrider”

1 Day Later - Copycat

I wake up in a kitchen. Under the table. I don’t know how I got here, but I remember this table. Progress.

Gods, I’m hungover. I slowly roll out from under the table. There are gnomes passed out all over the kitchen. I carefully stagger through and over them to the sink. Need water.

Creaky footsteps approach the kitchen. Like someone big is trying to move quietly, but the floorboards betray them.

“Gods, I’m hungover.” swears Cy, as he enters the kitchen. “I feel like I wrestled an ogre.”

“You did.”

“Ah man, that’s right. What the hell is wrong with me?” He sits at the table. Slides a few gnomes out of the way. Puts his head down. “Do you know any healing spells?”

I lift a gnome out of the sink, stash him on a shelf. “I don’t know. How would that work?”

“Just really want to be healthy. Desire it in a huge way. Then save me.”

I want to be healthy. I really, really, want to be healthy. I barf in the sink.

“Huh. I feel a little better. Wanna try it?”

“Pass.” says Cy.

We hydrate. Should we eat? Cy thinks our grease levels are low. There’s still lots of mushroom out in the courtyard. We grab some huge eggs and stagger into the sunshine. It’s too bright.

Gnomes are passed out all over the lawn. Duke is softly playing a mandolin. Presto is drinking with the ogre. He waves at us cheerily. “Hi guys!”

“Does he know healing spells?” I ask.

Cy shakes his head. “I don’t think he’s slept.”

Other than being too bright, it’s beautiful outside. The tavern is nestled in lightly wooded hills, close to the village and the forest, but not in either. There’s a few patches of giant mushrooms and a couple ostriches wander around. Birds and butterflies flitter around wildflowers and a small stream. It smells nice. The sun feels good.

There’s a dozen wooden tables around a large fire pit. Cy frys up some mushroom omelettes and I serve us, Presto, the ogre, and a few of the more ambulatory gnomes.

As we grimly chew our eggs, Presto tries to jog the ogre’s memory. They found his sacred text - a flat rock with angry scratches on it. It’s passionate, but open to interpretation.

I notice the ogre is wearing a black vest. That’s new. Black vests are on trend in Lowgarden. Every gnome wears one. So does Cy.

“When did the ogre get a vest?” I ask.

“His name is Hyperion.” says Presto.

“Really?” I look at the angry rock. “Where does it say that?”

“It doesn’t. I just guessed it.” says Presto.

I look at Hyperion. He shrugs. I shrug. Whatever.

“I made him the vest.” mumbles one of the sleepy gnomes. I think his name is Maple. “Why? Do you want one?”

I shrug. I don’t care.

“Because I made you one too.” He pulls out a black vest.

“I would very much like that vest. Thank you very much.” I put on the vest. Bitchin’.

Cy taps at the sacred rock. “That’s a guy on fire.”

“What?” Presto turns the rock around. “Oh hey, that’s Burning Man. You were off to fight in the apocalypse.”

Hyperion beams, sits up.

“Which side were you on?” asks Presto.

Hyperion frowns, deflates, puts his head on the table.

Presto pats his back. “It’s okay big guy. We’ll figure it out.”

“Speaking of the apocalypse, did you find Tiger?” asks Cy.

“No. He wasn’t at the party.” I did ask around, but nobody had heard of him. “I guess I should get on that. This apocalypse sounds time sensitive.”

“Definitely.” says Maple.

“Not really.” says Presto.

“Kinda.” says Cy.

“RAAWHH!!” yells a yeti, who appears out of nowhere.

“Maybe.” says Presto.

CRASH!!

The yeti slams our table, sending it - and us - flying. Presto snaps up, scowls at his empty tankard, kicks the yeti’s knee.

The yeti mitts Presto, lifts him towards his horrible jaws. Gets a mouthful of Hyperion’s fist instead.

Jab, jab, left cross. The yeti drops Presto. Uppercut.

Hyperion grabs the stunned yeti by the horns. Drags him to the stream. Holds him under. The yeti struggles, panics, goes limp. Disappears.

“Whoops.” says Hyperion.

“Well.” Maple shrugs. “That’s one less vest to make.”

Hyperion hangs his head.

“It’s okay.” Presto pats the ogres back. “That was a pretty good idea. I think he calmed down just before you killed him. Next time, let him up a bit earlier.”

We set our table back up, get settled.

“What were we talking about?” asks Cy.

“Is the apocalypse time sensitive?” I repeat.

“Right.” says Cy. “That’s a complicated question.

“The Burning Man holds the line at the Bridge of Reality. He keeps Chaos Energy from washing over the Nine Realms. He’s done so since the beginning of time. Which is nice for us, but recently he’s been getting hit from both sides. A group called the Eaters of Eternity think the Nine Realms could use a blast of chaos. They’ve stormed the Bridge from our side, to shank Burning Man from behind. Classic pincer move.

“But, some of the local lads decided those Eaters were flaming assholes, and pincered their behinds. Then more Eaters showed up, and pincered those guys.”

“The dreaded triple pincer.” says Maple.

Cy nods. “Anyway, more guys keep showing up, and the pincers keep piling on. The whole Bridge is basically a back-stabby murder zipper now.”

“And it’s spread into Highgarden. Which is a shame, because it used to be quite nice.” Maple frowns. “The Bridge was always a rough neighborhood.”

“The fighting’s spread everywhere.” says Cy. “That yeti wasn’t here for the Honey Festival.”

“The fighting’s not really here.” Presto protests. “He was just passing through.”

“He nearly bit your head off.”

“On his way to somewhere else.”

“What’s your point?” asks Cy.

“What’s YOUR point?” counters Presto.

“That fighters are rampaging through the Nine Realms on their way to the Last Battle.”

“Oh, that’s a pretty good point.” Presto drinks, nods. “I agree with that.”

Cy shakes his head. “Anyway. The Bridge is under siege, The Burning Man is in trouble, and aggressively amnesiatic monsters are popping up everywhere. In that sense, the apocalypse is very immediate and we’re all fucked.

“But... time flows differently on each realm.” Cy explains. “It goes slower if they are close to the Bridge, or faster if they are far away. Right now, Lowgarden is pretty far out. For each day here, only 8 seconds pass at the Last Battle.

“If the Burning Man holds the Bridge for another day, that translates to about 40 years here on Lowgarden. So, in that sense we have loads of time.

“Basically, if we want to stop the apocalypse, we have to act very quickly. But if we don’t care, it will be a few decades before it kills us.”

I think. Scratch my head. “Do I have time to finish breakfast?”

“Yeah, probably.” Cy nods. “Let’s tackle this on a full stomach.”

We eat for a bit. Birds sing, the stream babbles, Duke strums the mandolin.

“I like your plan.” says Cy. “I’m not sure what this Tiger guy is going to do, but getting some competent help sounds like a good idea. Better than rushing the Bridge to mindlessly murder everybody.

“If it’s okay, when you go to find him, I’d like to come with you.”

Presto drops his beer. “What?”