The guard’s directions were passable. Passable, but not great. By the time I found the Mage’s Guild, night was falling.

Have you ever noticed how piss poor some people who have grown up in a place are at giving directions? Yeah, just go out to where Farmer Brown’s barn burned down ten years ago, then take the path to the left past the old huckleberry patch then go east until you cross Mill Creek and it’s right there. Missing the assumed context, the directions can be hard to follow.

The guard gave directions like that.

I probably had to talk to eight other people to get the information I needed to make sense of them. I likely could have just asked someone else for the path to the Mage’s Guild, but what’s the fun in that? I felt like I was on a treasure hunt of sorts, and my prize was getting rid of the mark that crazy zealot had burned on my neck.

On the way, I found a public outhouse and reverted my appearance to my own, high water pants and all. I thought mages might be able to pierce illusions and I didn’t really want to explain why I was walking around looking like someone else. I did stop at a tailor’s shop and buy some better, if still simple, clothing. The outfit didn’t fit exactly right. I had to cinch the pants tight with a belt so they wouldn’t fall down and expose my assets to the public, and the tunic was a little loose as well, but the new clothes made me look a little less like a hayseed who had just been blown into town.

As I walked, I kept an eye on my surroundings for more of the robed idiots. One meeting with them was enough for the day. I didn’t encounter any more of them, though, and I was a better person for it. I wasn’t sure I could keep my temper in check if I was approached by someone else spouting nonsense.

As I walked up the steps to the entry of the Mage’s Guild, I hoped they were still open. I didn’t know what time businesses closed here, and I really didn’t want to have to find my way back tomorrow. Luckily, when I grabbed the door and pulled, it opened soundlessly. The doors looked heavy and I pulled a little too hard, so it sounded like I had angrily yanked the door open, crashing it against its stop.

Striding inside, I found myself in a grandiose open room. Wide balconies surrounded the perimeter on the two floors above me. A soft light emanated from a multitude of crystalline orbs evenly spaced on the ceiling. Parts of the tiled floor were covered in thick rugs, and statuary lined the exterior walls of the room. Tables with comfy chairs were placed atop the rugs and many people were seated, studying. There were several magical looking doodads in display cases distributed about the floor.

After taking this all in, I realized my abrupt entry had not passed unnoticed. Directly in front of me was what appeared to be a reception desk and the older elfin dude seated there scowled at me. I felt several pairs of eyes on me from the people seated at the tables as well and when I glanced around the room, the people staring at me didn’t appear to be very welcome or friendly.

Looking at the man I presumed to be an elf, I shrugged my shoulders.

“Sorry, sir. The door looked heavier than it actually was.”

His eyes swept me up and down, clearly judging me. It appeared he found my appearance wanting because the scowl never left his face.

“What business do you have with the Westfield Mages Guild?” he asked brusquely.

“Sorry, I’m fresh off the road and when I entered town I had a less than friendly encounter with some religious freak. He kept going on and on about the Lord of All and when I refused his offer to attend some church services, he called me a heretic and cast a spell on me, marking me with this scar. In fairness, I may have refused rather forcefully. The sergeant who, uh, apprehended him for assault directed me here.”

“Our services are quite expensive,” he replied. “From your appearance, you look to be a little short of means.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” I said. “These are just my travel clothes. Like I previously mentioned, I just got into town and haven’t had the time to update my wardrobe with the latest fashions. I’ll certainly do so at my earliest opportunity, but I don’t want any more of those loons causing me trouble so I came here first.”

“Our fee for an initial consultation is five gold. Treatment costs can be significantly more than that. If you can provide me with the consultation fee, I will have your problem evaluated.”

Man, I just made it to town and already I needed to blow a bunch of money. Why did this crap keep happening to me?

I approached the desk and dug into my pocket for the coins. After seeing me stack the gold pieces on the table in front of him, his demeanor became a little more friendly. Pointing to a row of chairs, he told me to take a seat and mentioned that someone would be out shortly.

It seemed that the two of us disagreed about what the term shortly meant. I probably sat in the chair for an hour. About half way through the wait, my stomach started cramping and grinding. I blame the street meat I had eaten earlier. Just as I was about to approach him again to ask if there was somewhere to relieve myself, a pleasant looking human male dressed in a set of finely made, if somewhat threadbare, robes approached me. When he walked over to me, he waddled like a duck. Realizing that antagonizing the person who I needed to rely on for help was a bad idea, I quickly stifled my urge to laugh.

“I am Journeyman Mage Werfel, sir,” he announced. “If you will please follow me, we will see if we can come to an agreement to get your problem handled.”

I stood and followed him. He led me up a flight of stairs and into a small office on the second floor. Apparently, his standing in the guild wasn’t that high. Instead of an office facing the balcony that surrounded the entry room, he led me deep into the bowels of the building to a small cubicle with a simple desk. The desk had so much random crap on the top of it that I couldn’t see its surface. As I followed him, I had to fight the urge to laugh as he listed back and forth like a drunken sailor on a stormy sea. My mind kept flashing back to the Monty Python Ministry of Silly Walks sketch.

Once I was seated, I asked “Mage Werfel, how does this work?”

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“It’s really quite simple,” he responded. “I need to cast a diagnostic spell on you so I can discern the nature of the magic that has marked you. Once I know what is affecting you, we can develop a course of treatment to rid you of your magical mark.”

I was grateful that I didn’t need to drop my drawers and bend over. This sounded much less intense than the last physical I had back on Earth.

He walked over to me and waved his hands, uttering some mystical mumbo jumbo that my gift of tongues could not translate. I am certain that he was just putting on a show to justify his fee. At least I hoped that was the case.

“Ah, yes,” he said. “I can see that you have been subjected to a soul mark. It is a type of curse, really. Whoever did this work did so very crudely. I should be able to remove it.”

“So what’s this operation going to cost me, Doc?” I asked.

“Some of the reagents I will need to remove this curse are relatively inexpensive, but there is one thing required that is much harder to get and therefore more valuable. My services to remove your affliction will cost forty pieces of gold, and I will need the payment in advance.”

Was I expected to haggle? Sure, I had the money, but I was kind of getting that sucker born any minute vibe, and I was the sucker.

With a sigh of resignation, I just decided to pay and get things over with. Digging into my pack, I counted out forty pieces of gold, stacking it on the cluttered desk in columns of five. Werfel’s eyes were locked on the gold as the piles grew.

After inspecting my payment and appearing satisfied at the quality of it, the mage walked back behind his desk and began rummaging through drawers. He pulled out a crystalline wand and several vials full of god knows what. He then sat down, shoving some of the contents of the desk to the side to make a clear workspace. With a quill and some sort of ink, he inscribed a piece of parchment with several symbols. After the ink was dry, he placed tiny samples of the contents of the vials within the symbols. He then left the room for a few moments and returned carrying a live rabbit. The fluffy white bunny was so damned cute.

“This ritual will transfer the mark to the animal,” he explained.

“I don’t suppose many people check rabbits to determine whether they are heretics,” I replied.

That made him loose a little snort of laughter.

“I think your supposition is correct,” he said.

Who the hell uses the word supposition in casual conversation? This guy needed to get out more.

“Are you ready? This will be somewhat uncomfortable.”

I nodded to him and gritted my teeth.

He started waving the wand around, spouting more nonsense syllables. My skin started itching all over. It wasn’t one of those simple itches that you could rid yourself of by scratching a little. Nope, this one was coming from deep inside me. I swear that by the end of it, even my bones were itching. I think I would rather have been punched in the face.

After several minutes of torture, the feeling suddenly cut off, as if a switch had been thrown. The rabbit let loose with a high pitched shriek and when I glanced at it I noticed the mark that was formerly on my neck was emblazoned on its side.

“The ritual was successful,” Werfel announced with a self-satisfied smirk. “If there is nothing else, I will see you to the exit.”

As I stood to follow him out, I had an epiphany. Mage guilds taught magic, right? Why was I blundering around reading the inscrutable ramblings of a pretentious oaf when I could maybe get actual effective lessons to help me harness my magic?

“Actually, there was one other thing,” I said. I then began telling him about the fight I had when my magic manifested itself. Instead of a creepy undead alligator-faced skeleton though, I substituted a bear. A bear would be more believable, right?

He listened intently, making notes on a scrap of paper that crowned the pile of crap on his desk. After I wound my story down, he gave me a long considering look. Then, he went back to jotting things down. Finally, he looked up at me.

“The untrained spontaneous casting of a spell in a moment of great peril is not an unknown phenomenon, but it is not exactly common. More uncommon yet would be the strength of the manifestation that you described. I don’t have any affinity for light magic, but I am certain that we can find someone here who does. I must ask, though. Do you have any more funds? Magical expertise is hard earned and prying secrets from those who have done all that work is costly. That, and I will need to charge you an additional consultation fee as making the necessary introductions is outside the scope of the initial consultation.”

“Yeah, I have more money,” I responded. Pulling out five more gold I slid it over to him. “This is what it costs for a consultation, correct?”

He quickly swept the coins up and deposited them in his pouch. Somehow, I didn’t think that any part of them would find their way to the Guild’s coffers.

“Right, then,” he muttered to himself. “Who should I put you into contact with?”

“That’s what I paid you to know,” I replied to his rhetorical question.

“Wait here,” he said as he stood and waddled out of the room. After he left, I did laugh a little. Although I try, I’m not always the best person I can be. But really, you should have seen him move.

This wait was shorter, maybe only twenty minutes. I got a little nosy and poked through some of the things on his desk. While doing so, I noticed that none of the little piles of crap from the vials had been destroyed by the ritual. I bet that they soon found their way back into the vials they were in originally. I wondered how much of being a mage was actually theater.

After my wait, the door opened again. Werfel entered but he was accompanied by what I presumed to be an older female gnome. She swept into the room is his wake, but obviously had higher standing in the guild. Her hair was long and deep blue and it looked like it had not met a comb or brush in decades. Her wrinkled face held young looking eyes. She was dressed in opulent robes of the finest fabrics that were trimmed in some sort of animal fur. When I saw her, I only had one thought. Expensive.

“I am Master Mage Climmep,” she said in a friendly enough manner, her voice high and tinkling. “Werfel has told me your story, which is interesting. Very, very, interesting. One of my fields of study is light magic. I think I may be able to assist you if we can come to some sort of an agreement. Will you be staying here for awhile?”

“For several weeks at least,” I replied. “I would like to be able to harness some of my magical ability without needing to be mauled half to death to trigger it. How much will it cost me.”

“Lessons cost twenty gold per hour.”

“I can manage that, at least for a few lessons.”

Reaching in my pack, I pulled out Meditations on Light. “Is this worth anything?” I asked.

Reaching out, she took it from my hand and glanced at it. Then she started giggling. She showed the book to Werfel and he started giggling, too. Soon, they had both erupted into full fits of laughter. I felt my face turning beet red in embarrassment. I think I had my answer.

“Werfel can use it to clean himself after he uses the latrine,” she said. Then she tossed the book on his desk, sending a pile of papers and other miscellaneous junk spilling down onto the floor.

“Lessons are paid in advance,” she said, expectantly holding out her hand. I counted out twenty gold and deposited it into her waiting palm. “Be here tomorrow at midday.”