"Baltanthan! Why aren't you working!?" my hypocritical, fat, rocks-for-a-brain idiot of a sperm-well complains. All because I am spending but a few minutes of my double digit hours long shift sat on a stall. Bringing my drumming fingers to an absolute halt, I get up with a scowl. Almost tempted to slip and break this copper-decorated wood making up the counter's edges.

A red hot twitch runs down my face. I'm pretty sure these veins of mine have burst. I sneak in a glance back his way and my expression only grows worse. He's sat there, like usual, drinking his gods-forsaken tea... It's not even his first cup. He has an entire damn box empty right next to him!

The urge to snap back clicks to life, igniting.

"Because there is nothing to do! I have already cleaned the shop and no customers have come in since I last cleaned up, so don't you even think about asking me to clean up again!" I tell him way too calmly for my liking. I'm barely restraining myself only because I know he'll be hurling the lies on me until I'm drowning in them. At least I can live up to one of our ancestors, the ones who choked on the Ibenoroccon magic during the Time of Liquid Mountains!

Yet, even then, he knows what I want to say and his mouth opens up. Sneering at him, I grab onto the door and slam it shut, with my fingers quickly sliding the lock on my side into place. I growl back his way. The day I can leave will be wonderful...

But, until I can build up a great enough reserve of wealth, that won't be happening. Never mind the fact he's barely paying me any Workman's Proof to begin with. A problem, he compounds with his insufferably pretentious and self-serving rent scheme. Extortion is putting it lightly. It's more like borderline slavery.

I mean... I don't get it, I just don't. What kind of father pinches every single coin he can from his own son? Who does that? What kind of father acts like some villain from a children's story!?

Finding my rusting nail, I slide my finger across it harshly and hiss at the familiar sensation. It's quite the shelf here as well, one we keep our more expensive and limited stock. Potions, concoctions and some alcohol. Stuff that always seems to disappear without a record of sale despite there being no break-ins...

I growl towards the locked door and recall the lack of complaints from his side.

The warmth builds up on my finger, audibly hitting the floor, "Not today, not today..."

Snatching up a piece of scrap from a little box under the counter, I roll it across the bloody finger. My expression mellows into one of disappointment as the metal rusts and breaks apart into fine orange and brown dust. Shaking my head, I rub the finger and hand clean of blood and rust on my trousers. Adding to its collection of stains that will never go.

Lifting the counter entrance up, I go out and walk the aisles to idly move stuff about. It's an odd thing. I'm at my happiest generally when I am moving things around and keeping them tidy. Not as happy as when I am properly practicing my magic, but it's a close second. I guess it's because it's the one thing I can control in my life... A bunch of boxes and packets.

The front door opens and its bell jingles, the sound of worn out breathing competing with it.

"Excuse me, is this the magic-tool shop?" a clear she asks, despite the odd accent. Oddly electric. I try to ignore how absurdly muddy she is. My mood is bad enough.

Eyes off the floor... Eyes off the floor...

"Just as the sign that was just above you says." I remark plainly, heading back to my despair and misery with a tired heave. I was not in the middle of restocking the shop and quite frankly, I do not want to be doing so. It means going out back to... Him... Hearing his berations as he lazily grows more obese.

Whatever my thoughts, this woman's words are not particularly meaningful to them. She keeps spewing drivel that makes no sense. I can barely understand her poorly pronounced 'thank you' between the random details. If I know anything right now with her, she's holding a list and looking for something specific. Or more, she's rechecking this once-soggy thing again and again.

She comes around and freezes up at my expression. She turns timid and moves closer, putting the list on the counter with much care, "I'm sorry to bother you about this, but do you have any of the following?"

I raise a brow at the handwriting and what is on it. The handwriting isn't even the issue, it's honestly lovely. Clear and concise, even with the problems of all the crumpling and the creases. The problem is that this isn't anything a Jhermonikra might possibly read or speak.

Gods above, this isn't even their holy language Gods Speak. This is something genuinely foreign. Guess that means she's come in through the tunnel that leads down to the water-vein port the town is built above. Getting real tired of people coming in through that place and not speaking a Jherikra tongue well or well enough at all. This isn't a well-populated city, it's a ravineer town!

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"I can't read this, Ms," I tell her with performed politeness and I return the list to her. She immediately gets to fumbling about her filthy sack, pulled from under her equally filthy, torn up clothes. A book of all things arrives on the counter, one that has also seen lots of water. An illegal ship passenger?

Putting the thoughts aside, I watch her go through the book. My expression remains unchanged even as she arrives at the right page. Its diagram barely holding any of the form it once had. But, thankfully I suppose, I can clearly tell what it is.

An 'aura-container and measurer.'

"Do you have this? It's an aura-container measurer. It measures how much magic you have in you." she explains, not that I need to know this and I let it slide. Frowning at the image upon further inspection, I find myself surprised I even guessed it rightly. This is not for measuring our native magic. Too many wires and the weird, ball-tipped ears offer no practical purpose. Guess this explains the accent. She's from way down south.

Founding-Lord Brewbrt went there an awful lot, but the name is slipping through my mind. I guess it doesn't matter. She might not even be from that far south. The bottom coastline of Jherikra is covered in fallen and quite large landmasses from the other place. Lots of far-off cities separated by the great waters of the All-Coast Sea.

Lightning magic, she's after something for that.

"We do not have anything like what you have shown me. What we have is for our native element of wind." I explain, walking away for a moment to take a spare box we have back here. I put it on the counter and slide it over without much care for what happens to it. Compared to what she wants, though, this needs some time to take in people's breath. Up to a half-a-dozen halfmans in range on this one as it's fairly cheap.

Not much need for something stronger around here, really.

Outside of Founding-Lord Brewbrt, I'm the only one who seems to have gotten a quality reaction from this thing...

"How does it work?" she asks, picking up the box and looking it over. Much like I was earlier, she seems to be struggling to read it but unlike me, she can get the gist. Ignoring the usual hammered in protocol and all the stuff with the counter-theft band, I open the box up.

"Place the small narrow piece in your mouth and the glass circle with the brass rim against your eye, settling it there or hold it there. It doesn't matter." I begin to explain, setting it up on myself as it probably won't do anything with her, "Now, you just need to breathe in through it, not harshly, not strong, just breathe like you normally would."

Finishing up, I show her the machine's stated values and explain how to go about it with more than one person. Yet, despite my mouth opening and my thoughts processing it, I cannot focus on anything other than the result my pale magic created. Most around here wouldn't give a damn. We're a low population town in the ravines. But not me. I have aspirations to be more than a common man in the valleys and canyons.

A ravineer, as so many demeaningly put it.

I want to be a witch renowned for his strength. I want the capacity to act like a Valkinvar of the eastern side of Jherikra. A hero of old, told in length and recorded for eternity in the holy lands of the three Ark Cities in the west. Some great nobleman granted the privilege of building an estate on the face of the Wind Mountain itself.

"Eck-eh... Excuse me," the woman goes, bringing my attention to the odd noises going on with the device.

"Hm, an error." I remark, ignoring the odd sight beyond the shop's front windows.

"It seems to be having trouble reading something outside..." she explains, her body twisting slightly in that direction. She rushes off so excitedly that she forgets all of her stuff. My mind is too slow and the door rings again before my mouth so much as gapes. Shaking my head, I lift the counter up and take her stuff with me to the front until I get outside.

In the midst of finding her again, I follow the eyes of the crowd and spot Futhans. He and his much more enjoyable and likeable old man are on top of a dead sadroobell. A giant of a man brings them in through the street, his presence almost oppressive with how much magic is spilling out of him. I blink in awe and my mouth opens at the sight.

Whoever he is, he's dressed in dirtied, bloodied bandages. A black cloak with a matching wide-brimmed hat. An ivory mask shaped like a beak hiding his face. But, even then, despite the strange attire, his magic is something else. It's like that time Founding-Lord Brewbrt gave me a display when I was barely able to call myself young.

The woman finds me, her relief and excitement see-able even through the mask of muck she has on. A collection of bluish sparks goes off between her fingers, their branches going towards the unknown man. Going by how messy the pair are, I guess they know each other? She's certainly glad to have finally found him.

At least, I'm assuming so...

"Is this your... Uh... What was it... Aktomenoii-essumiai Getidais?" she asks, with no context whatsoever. A more perplexing thing to hear given how I can't even recall what she has just asked. I am baffled is putting it lightly.

My lack of an answer drives what must be embarrassment onto her face. She secures everything and runs off into a back alley, further confusing me. She does not know him? If she did, she wouldn't be going off into hiding. Oh, of course she doesn't know him. She asked me who he was, that much is clear!

Shaking my head, I move my gaze beyond the crowd and towards the temple of lacking focus. I spit my frustrations at the unseen building and go back into the shop to get it cleaned up. Even out here in the open, that girl has left a trail. I am already dreading the mess she's left on the floors I keep having to mop...

Gods forbid anyone read the sign and not let their brains be caught in an avalanche of stupid!

I sniff the air as I get back inside, "What a smell."

It's not like she's walked through anything bad, it's just... Why does it all have a lingering, burning smell? Is it related to the sparks? Is she perhaps going to Suhurlodst at some point...?

"Suhurlodst..." I miserably mutter, my distant dream flashing before my eyes.