Exill entered the Smithy laden with equipment and goods when he was assaulted by a vile ammonia laced odour.
“What in Eld Tree’s name is that!?”
He climbed upstairs to find Envy unhappily ignoring a closed chamber pot. Putting two and two together, he exhaled, pinching his nose, “Would it be too much trouble for you to empty this in a cess pool?”
“No… you do it.” Her eyes turned crimson in affront.
Exill didn’t want to do it either.
Just entering the house gave him a taste of what lay underneath that lid. He was tempted to throw the whole thing away but a decent pot like that cost twenty Denars at least. The Vampire had never emptied a chamber pot in her life and found the practice disgusting.
“You are the worst slave ever, what happened to assisting me in all my endeavours?” he asked sarcastically while covering his nose with a sleeve.
Envy glared at him. A lesser mortal would have been cowed by her murderous gaze, but the Witchdoctor was somewhat immune to it by now… to a small extent. Seeing it wasn’t working, she added in a low voice, “If you make me do this, I’ll make you regret it.”
He had no doubt she meant it.
Racking his brain, he came up with a tenable solution. Lowering the encumbering gear to the floor he held up his index finger, just as Vameki the Wizard had, and channelled a small amount mana to its surface.
“Fire.”
Nothing happened.
‘What am I missing?’ he thought back to the initial days of training at Camp A in the refugee camp. ‘Maybe I need to think bigger.’ Remembering the fireball one of the fellow recruits had cast, he exited the Smithy and circled round to the back where there was a pile of iron slag piled in a corner. Channelling all the mana at his disposal, he pointed his splayed palm at the pile of slag.
“Fire!”
[Ping!]
This time, a large incandescent orb of fire burst from his palm and exploded in a shower of sparks against the smelting byproduct, creating a small crater. Exill rushed forward to stamp out the embers and breathed heavily in relief. The unmistakeable resonance deep within his core had made itself felt. Inspecting his card, he was relieved to find a sixth of his mana still remained.
Job Wizard Level 1 Description Magic- Tier I
Active Skill: Ability to adjust strength of single spells Passive Buff: Mana Channelling Efficiency – the spells you cast consume slightly less mana (scales with level)
Reading the description behind [Wizard] a few things became readily apparent. The initial cast to gain the job required a massive amount of mana, but once you assigned the job, the output of spells could be adjusted. Furthermore, you gained a nice passive that increased the efficiency of spells cast, and he hoped the buff would apply to [Heal] as well.
Exill returned upstairs and crouched down beside the chamber pot. Placing both palms against its glazed surface, he channelled mana outwards again, this time whispering,
“Ice.”
A crackling noise could be heard as the contents of the pot froze. He lifted the lid to find scummy ice, frozen thick.
Envy stared at Exill with veiled eyes. It was not unnatural to see proficient healers casting combat magic in a pinch, but they rarely fought in battles because of the prodigious mana drain such magic required. She suspected the Witchdoctor would upend that logic again.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
“I’ll be right back.” Exill climbed down the stairs with a spring in his step, like a kid who had discovered a new toy. He left the Smithy in the direction of the local cesspit. ‘If I told myself a year ago, the first magic I would cast is to freeze a chamber pot… would I have believed myself?”
His mood turned sour as he remembered the situation a year ago. It would have been great to celebrate the opening of his store with Verill. The stalwart figure had kept him alive and asked for nothing in return.
He was annoyed at the Guild for taking their time investigating the Ranger's whereabouts, but anecdotal evidence suggested the southern front of the conflict had been an utter fiasco. Whole battalions had been lost as soldiers were killed, captured, or deserted. As time passed, it became more likely Verill suffered one of these three fates.
It wasn’t until late evening that the house was restored to a liveable state. Exill hadn’t eaten all day, so he returned holding two portions of sweet rolls from the local baker next door. As he sat at the dining table, ravenously devouring the bread, Envy asked the question that had been burning in her mind. She had overheard he used to be a Blacksmith before being blessed by the Will.
“I want new gear; can you make me one?”
Fortunately for her, Exill had been pondering the same issue and had been mentally compiling a shopping list. “I just need some smithing tools and materials, then I can craft any sword you want – at a discount. I’m not sure about shields and armour though, never made one before.”
Envy narrowed her eyes at his strange emphasis. She could already sense him rummaging around her coin purse, “How much of a discount?”
“200 Denars for the labour. Let’s go shopping tomorrow at Central Market.”
***
The two were about to leave for the Market next morning when they heard a polite knocking at the entrance. Exill opened the door to find Iris the Guild clerk standing in a soft blue dress. Her glossy dark hair braided in a bun and a hint of blush applied to her cheeks.
“Were you heading somewhere? Is this an inconvenient time?” Iris peered over his shoulder at Envy who was adjusting her ruck sack. Exill paused, then quickly ushered her in. He had forgotten the invitation and was caught on his back foot.
“Ah, yes… but no. You came! Envy, why don’t you go ahead, I’ll join you later. Would you like some tea?” He unslung his pack and led her upstairs, stoking the fire and a kettle on the range. He eventually sat at the table, avoiding her accusing eyes.
“I’m disappointed in you, do you normally invite women to your house and forget the fact?”
“Wha- no! I just… didn’t expect you to actually turn up.” He lied. In fact his mind was still preoccupied with smithing tools he intended to buy. Iris, owing to her kind nature gave him the benefit of doubt.
“Of course I would come! Are you going to show me around the place?”
He led her through the store, explaining his vision of partitioning off the shop floor to create a treatment area, as well as obstacles around sourcing new signage and furniture. They eventually returned to the dining room to find the kettle was boiling. He poured her a cup of tea as she settled down.
“So you want to retain the forge. Is it related to the [Blacksmith] job you had before the Will blessed you?” She continued as Exill nodded in response, “It’s strange but it makes sense in your case. I think the idea of partitioning the shop front is good, but it needs to be done well to avoid sound leaking through. You wouldn’t want patients in the waiting room overhearing others’ ailments.” She flashed him a bright smile, “I can recommend you to craftsmen who can help you with that and everything else, I think you’ve even met some of them at the Guild. We have to help each other out am I right?”
‘Ah. How can someone be so benevolent?’ Exill thought as he stared at her kind grey eyes. Iris then leapt into the topic that had brought her here in the first place. She wanted to know about his injuries and what he had been up to for over a month.
Exill entertained her as he repeatedly drew his hands away from her grasp. Yet no matter how many times they were freed, they somehow found their way back into her warm grip.
“You defeated Sir Eumol?” She exclaimed, tightly gripping his hand. Exill nodded, incredibly pleased with himself.
“That is incredible! You might be stronger than most members in our Guild despite only being 18 years old.”
They discussed the ranking scale of the Guild, as well as the purported feats of some of its most illustrious members. Their conversation paused as Iris heard the market bell ring eleven times.
“Thank you Exill, I had a lovely time, but my shift starts soon. Drop by more often! I don’t want to hear news about you from other people, and tell Envy that grunting doesn’t constitute a response!”
As Exill lead her down the stairs, she lightly dusted his shoulder, apparently unable to keep her hands to herself. This reminded him to stop mid-flight to grab her lingering hand, inspecting it for cuts and scrapes. He channelled healing magic into both hands.
“You know you have a bad habit of touching people? Anyway, thank you for being the first patient at the Witchdoctor’s Clinic.” He performed a small bow.
Iris’s cheeks reddened slightly. Marco, the other Guild clerk was always on the case about her impulsive handholding. Meanwhile, Exill fumbled in his pocket and withdrew two clay tokens for the Arena play, placing them in her still open palm. He was deeply grateful to her for arranging suppliers and renovators, and it had taken a mountainous load off his shoulders. Besides, he was never interested in the play, and they represented a painful history he was eager to leave behind.
“Before I forget, here are two tickets to ‘Lost Memories: the Squire and the Maiden’, I hope you enjoy them or otherwise pass them on to someone who might.”
Iris paused as she looked down at the unfamiliar tokens. It had been too long since she last saw a play. She gladly accepted the gift and descended the last few stairs.
“I’ll ask the craftsmen mercenaries to drop by with a quote and thanks; I’ll use this well!” Waving the tickets cheerily, she walked out of the doorway.