The Primarch Keeps Breaking Things

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> There's a place that used to be a town, and is now a chunk of spacetime where the space has torn itself apart from the time

> You used to be the advisor of some higher-ups, but the authority turned on you quickly. They never particularly cared for your company. You spent a couple years absorbed in anger at the unfairness of it all, but now all you really feel is apathy

"But never mind me," continues the doe. "I did enough talking for all of us just now. What about you guys? How d'you bring home your bacon?"

"M' in school," Chris says through a mouthful of rice. "Senior year. Barth's—can someone hand me my glass? Thanks—a mystery, though. What do you do with your life?"

Even though it's all role-playing, the question makes you flinch. Once upon a time, you'd have been proud to answer in earnest.

(Lucian Galtia-Sipset, First Adviser to Demiarchs Ermond and Ysavel Breen of the Second Ring of Netherym. Self-taught, officially licensed master of chronospatial magic. A hair's breadth away from unearthing the secret to a malleable universe; you'll see.)

"Are you OK, Bartholomew?" The doe again, bells jingling. "Don't be shy! I washed dishes at three different diners for four years, and all of them sucked. What do you do?"

You want to reply, but your body and mind are fifteen years and two Rings apart.

(Experts call the pocket reality where Blackmont Village once stood, 'SCR-01'. You don't know what that means. Blackmont was the culmination of your life's work, and even once you were in exile, they wouldn't explain.)

"Barth? Hello?"

"Gosh, is this a sensitive question? I'll back off. You don't have to—"

"Ah." Your consciousness snaps back to the present. "I breed warhounds when I'm not babysitting Chris."

He and the doe look equally surprised. Their matching faces are a welcome distraction, and you top up your teacup with the provided kettle.

"I wanted to ask you something, but I'd forgotten. I remember now. Elana," her ears flick forward when you use her name, "Where would one go about replacing a focus in this town?"

You sense the relief rolling off Chris in waves. No, for all your disinterest, you didn't really forget.

"A focus? Like, for magic?" She lifts a puzzled eyebrow. "I don't know how the regulations work where you're from, but in Eryl..."

- - - -

Looks like they don't sell magic items around these parts. Why not?

>_