Page | 12 part of the Central Continent, also known as the Northern Territories, in search of a still-missing family member, where he scoured each country in turn while working as an adventurer. Quagmire’s mornings began early. As a deeply religious man, he was up before dawn to offer quiet prayer to a relic of his God, which was tucked away in a small box. But this was no sacrament of the Millis faith. In fact, those of the Millis faith would likely raise an eyebrow at the object of his worship. Regardless, he looked the picture of piety with his head bent in prayer. After his morning prayers, Quagmire would change into athletic attire and run laps around the town. As he would say, “I may be a magician, but before that, I’m an adventurer. And an adventurer has to be able to move when the necessity arises.” After about an hour of running, he would commence on a special training ritual from his hometown, the likes of which had never been seen in the Duchy of Basherant. He would lie prone with his belly on the ground and lift himself up by the arms, and he would do this a hundred times. Then he would lie on his back and lift his upper body toward his knees another hundred times. Once that was finished, he’d crouch and stand yet another hundred times. He did this routine daily, without fail. “My muscles get jealous. If I don’t pay attention to them every day, they get all huffy with me. Just like a woman. Although, unlike a woman, they won’t just suddenly go off and disappear on me. Muscles don’t betray you. Isn’t that right, Hulk, Hercules?” Quagmire, a man who named his own body parts, would say this with a laugh—one that seemed a bit lonesome. Finishing his morning workout around the time the rest of the town was waking up, Quagmire headed to the cafeteria on the first