The hum of lights hung above; non-arcane bulbs charged in the mismanagement of power consumption. Aisles of boxes within crates, of drinks and expired snacks decaying with a sharp, sour smell.

Ventilation unprovided, the only other entrance found in the form of a far door leading to the exterior of the building.

Augmented vision from the mage provides a blank slate, the presence of arcane influence unfound within the location.

“Anything?” Sergeant Jarka asks casually.

“Nope.” Officer Underfoot announces.

“See! I told you nothing!” The high pitched voice from behind them yells out.

“We’re not searching through each crate are we?” Underfoot groans out loud. “Please say no.”

The woman chuckles at the statement, turning to the rookie in their midst. “Officer Ford, tell me; do we need to search each crate under standard procedure?”

Put on the spot, the half-orc nods quickly. “Y-yes m-ma’am. We do ma’am. I-its procedure… to search e-everything within reason.”

“Procedure, Corporal Underfoot.” The Sergeant cracks her knuckles. “Each crate, every time just in case of some lead lining. Plus, a bit of manual labor helps burning off that lunch we ate right?”

“Ugh.” The halfing rolls his augmented eyes. “Seriously could we not just…”

The spell decays, the power of the weave seemingly evaporating from ocular organs well under its supposed lifespan. Both Jarka and Ford watch it happen; the glowing eyes of the police mage suddenly returning to normal once again.

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Silence.

“What?” Officer Underfoot just stops, turning over to his two comrades as he blinks his eyes. “Am I going crazy?”

“No you’re not Officer.” Sergeant Jarka informs, stepping back into the space.

The police mage nods carefully. “One of you cast something with a good duration. Like a minute or something.”

“Ok I’ll make you deaf then, ready?” Sergeant Jarka raises two of her hands together towards the halfling. “We’ll count up, see how long it takes.”

The gnome yells out to her. “Hey hey don’t do that!”

The halfling counts down out loud as the arcane spell at his superior officer’s fingertips is incanted, the golden hue of power coming forth to surround his form. “Three, two, one…”

A non change in the environment, only a single soul deafened between three.

Jarka begins.

“ONE.

TWO.

THREE.

FOUR.

FIVE.

SIX.

SEVEN.

EIGHT.

NINE.

TE-”

“I hear you!” Officer Underfoot snaps, the spell fading from his ears.

Two casters bridge an understanding from evidence provided; one simple explanation coming to fruition as the halfling makes a snarky comment. “Alright, I’m willing to bet the door and the walls are lined with lead too…”

A pause as the mage turns to the half-caster. An examination of skill, given to the young soul in a jovial manner to cap off an investigation. “Kid! What is the primary arcane property of arcanite?”

Easy, the first multiple choice question on a final exam crossed off without a single thought. “I-it holds… weave charge sir.”

“And what happens if you cast a spell next to a large concentration of uncharged arcanite?”

“It… i-it charges it, sir. By d-draining the spell?”

They all turn to the gnome in silence, an answer already given to the officers of the Heavy Response Division.

Sergeant Jarka says the words with a smile. “Iadon Kindfern, you are being detained under suspicion of the manufacturing of arcanophetamine.”