Norris and the mad city.

Norris felt an urgent need to amplify his spellcasting abilities in the death realm. With war looming, survival hinged on strengthening his magical prowess.

Spellcasting was never straightforward. Environment, willpower, knowledge, race—all shaped its potency. The name for all factors that affect spellcasting is called variables. A volcanic area could turn a Fireball (3rd-tier spell) cast by a studious fire elemental into a force surpassing even a legendary mage's. But only if the legendary mage neglected their domain and lacked fire specialization.

In the death realm, Norris relied on his personal energy for spells. Occasionally, the realm's ambient energy resonated with him, amplifying his magic—but randomly, passively. He craved control. To survive, he needed to harness that wild energy deliberately.

Determined, Norris embarked on a journey to a city ruled by the Necromancy Council. Its inhabitants—living necromancers—might hold the key. This could be his last chance before war erupted. Within those walls, he hoped to master using the death realm's ambient energy as a variable and transcend his limits.

Norris, Infront of the portal that seems to fold the space around it, took one last look at Erebo city before entering the portal. After coming out of the portal, Norris was immediately struck by the frenzied atmosphere that permeated every corner. The sound of maniacal laughter, screams of excitement, and the occasional explosion echoed through the alleys.

The streets were filled with necromancers who seemed to be living in their own worlds. Each necromancer was obsessed with their own research, pouring over dusty tomes and experimenting with innovative necrotic magic. They walked the streets with skeletal minions by their side carrying loads of equipment and materials, a testament to their mastery of death magic.

Necromancers of all shapes, race and sizes hurried past Norris, their eyes fixed on some distant goal, their minds consumed by the pursuit of knowledge. The air was filled with the whispers of cutting-edge research. They wore lab robes stained with mysterious substances, their hair wild and unkempt, their fingers stained with ink and blood.

The shops around the city sold strange and ominous equipment: rare herbs, glowing crystals, and other exotic materials. Norris saw necromancers haggling over the price of a particularly rare specimen, while others browsed the shelves with an air of quiet intensity.

In the midst of this chaos, Norris noticed a sense of camaraderie among the necromancers. They gathered in taverns, sharing stories of their experiments, debating the ethics of their craft, and laughing together over the absurdity of it all. Their eyes gleaming with a shared passion for research and discovery.

Necromancers nodded to each other in passing. They shared a passion for discovery, a willingness to push the boundaries of sanity in pursuit of knowledge.

As Norris explored the city, he began to realize that this was a place where the pursuit of knowledge was paramount, and where the inhabitants lived in a state of gleeful, madcap abandon. Despite the chaos, the city seemed to operate with a strange sense of order.

Norris stepped into the restaurant, the door creaking shut behind him. Every head turned, thier attention on him. Lab-robed patrons paused their debates over skull measurements and soul-binding ethics, skeletal waiters though also attracted continued to move with trays levitating above bone hands. He froze, confused—then it struck him. Bones. He'd forgotten his skeletal form. This city thrived with the living, where disguises weren't necessary, where there was no hostility. Unlike the cities where there were ruled and inhabited by undeads who had an innate hatred for the living. Flustered, he bowed stiffly and retreated.

The streets permitted only sanctioned spells: undead control and minor charms. Norris trudged to a designated casting zone, a tucked-away corner where foreign necromancers shed their veils. With a flick of his wrist, he unraveled the death realm's assimilation clinging to his bones. Flesh bloomed beneath, human and warm.

Back at the restaurant, no stares followed him now. A skeletal waiter guided him to a table with mechanical precision, maneuvering around patrons who argued over spectral charts unfurled beside their meals. One necromancer scribbled equations onto a napkin while her ghoul assistant dutifully held a jar of preserved eyes. The clatter of plates mingled with murmured incantations as diners reheated tea with fingertip flames. Though amazed at the sights around him, Norris prefers not to stare too much as he was led to his seat. Breathing deep, he savored the stale air. "It feels good to be alive", he muttered, "though the air in the death realm... Stale", he sniffed a little.

As he drank his coffee, bitter and rich, he lingered on the duality of his existence. Undeath sharpened his mana perception, yes, but it severed him from life's textures—the clink of spoons, the warmth of porcelain. Magic had numbed him, inch by inch, until indifference seeped into his veins like a poison. Death was peace, but peace was a tomb. Another year as an undead and he realized that might have forgotten how to feel entirely.

He resolved to stay human during his tine in this city. To have needs. Hunger gnawed, so he scanned the menu—then stiffened. Prices glared back, absurdly inflated. He felt angry for a while but calm down. A city of mages wouldn't stoop to petty scams, he reasoned. When the food arrived, he understood. The dish shimmered: steak from a magical creature glazed with a magical fruit nectar with juice emanating magic on the side. Yet as he watched, the meat's magic very slowly withered and the juice thinning at a very slow pace, vitality fraying under the death realm's invisible decay.

His robes and sword-wand, partly forged with some materials from here, endured untouched. But mortal things? They crumbled. The revelation should've soothed him—the cost was justified—yet his chest tightened anyway. Seeing his money dwindling, Norris frustration only grew. Nearby, two necromancers haggled loudly over the resale value of a cursed amulet, their laughter sharp but collegial. He chewed slowly, torn between awe at the flavors and bitterness at the toll.