Clay, as was his habit, woke just before dawn. He slowly stretched from his bed, long limbs splaying out over the edges, "I need to get a new bed soon," he mumbled. He sat in bed and reached to the nightstand where he had left his prosthetic right foot the night before when he had gone to bed. The foot was made of smooth dark wood with intricate silver runes laid across its surface. He looked at the foot in the soft gray predawn light. His long nimble fingers turned the foot over as he inspected it for what had to be at least the thousandth time. It was a gift to him from the mother of one of his old party members halfway across the kingdom. The prosthetic was a master class in woodcraft and enchantment, each aspect explicitly customized to him, making it both priceless and completely worthless. He sighed and placed it against the smooth nub just about mid-way down his calf. There was a slight pinch and then a wave of connection as the magic prosthetic connected to his manna system and started to feed off it.
Like he did every morning, he slowly flexed the magically affixed artificial foot. It moved slowly but became more responsive as the connection between his mind and the prosthetic became complete. Even once it was fully connected, it lacked the ease of movement a natural foot had, but it let him move about as he wanted, and for that, he was thankful.
With that done, he stood from the edge of the bed and cracked his back. With a few small movements of his fingers and a mumbled word of power, the windows all creaked open on rusted hinges. He added, oiling them to his very long mental to-do list before he made his way over to the small cast iron stove in the corner of the space. He sat on the small stool next to it and placed a few small logs within. He didn't add many the weather had been slowly moving towards summer; it was even starting to get a little balmy on some days, but he wanted tea and toast for his breakfast, which meant he needed a little fire.
He could feel just a bit of heat from the ashes as he looked them over. For most, it would not be enough to start it again, but that was one of the benefits of being a wizard. With a snap of long fingers, his staff slid across the floor from its place next to the bed. He could do the spell without the focus, but too many of his teachers had lectured on the importance of proper safety when dealing with magic, and fire magic was notorious for getting out of hand. So while he may let it slide for a bit of force to open his windows in the morning, he wouldn't tempt fate with fire. Staff now in hand, he started to just a bit of his will and spirit into the familiar grooves of the staff. He tracked it as it moved through the wood to the clear crystal orb griped in the wood at its tip. Once enough had gathered there, he began to feed that energy into the tiny little embers left buried in the ash. The heat built quickly with his added power, and he pulled another thread of energy from the crystal and directed it to create the barest of breezes.
It wasn't necessary to add the wind, but it was more efficient. Even if it took a little longer and was a touch more complex, he preferred it that way. Anyone with the talent could throw power at a piece of wood until it burst into flames. Heat was one of the simplest forms of energy to create with magic, second only to raw kinetic force. He wasn't just someone with talent; he was a wizard. He had been taught not only to use magic to break the world's rules but to use those rules to his advantage. With a small effort of will, he cut off the flow of power as the embers began to catch. He leaned forward and gave the fire several small puffs of air, and the small logs he had placed within caught the flame.
Using the staff, he stood and walked over to the small trunk at the foot of his bed. He tapped the butt of the staff to the iron lock and ran a small burst of his will into the metal, causing the lock to pop and the chest to swing open. Inside was most of what he owned a few sets of sturdy clothes, a small bag of gold which a few months ago had been much larger, a smooth sphere of amber held in a silver cage made into a necklace with a dark leather cord, a platinum ring with thin runes sketched along its surface, and a dozen small boxes containing various equipment and supplies any self-respecting wizard would have.
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He stripped from his night clothes and pulled one of the sturdy working clothes from the trunk. As he pulled the pants up, he wrapped his thin spaded tail around himself, and as he pulled the shirt over his head, he made sure to pin his long ears to his head carefully so as not to catch it on his small horns? Clay was not only a wizard; he was also a tiefling. Somewhere along his family line, someone had been touched by the infernal. The kingdom was by no means hostile to tiefling, but he had always found it easier to keep it a bit of a secret. With his clothes on, he set the platinum ring on his right pointer finger and the amber necklace over his head. Lastly, like calling a loyal hound to his side, he tapped his staff on the ground and let loose a tiny thread of will. His large, brightly dyed hat flew from its hook on the wall to settle on his head, hiding both the ears and the little horns from view.
When he was dressed and returned to the stove, it had gotten hot enough to make breakfast. He started by placing the mostly full kettle on the smaller of the two burners. Then he grabbed the half loaf of sourdough bread from the counter and proceeded to cut three slices from it, two thick and one much smaller. He placed the bread in the pan already on the stove.
While waiting, he did what he usually did when waiting. He began to pull power from the well at the center of his body and circulate it through the rest of him. It flowed through each limb and then his head in steady circles; he did his best to keep matched to his breathing. With each rotation, he could feel the power move more quickly as he cleared the blockages that had formed in his sleep. he could also feel tiny drops of the power being pulled away by his staff, ring, necklace, and of course, his foot. He stayed aware of his surrounding as he circulated his power and made sure to flip the toast after it was just a little burnt and not very burnt. Thankfully before the same thing could happen to the other side, the kettle whistled, and he pulled both it and the toast from the stove.
The kettle whistle faded only to be replaced with the sound of skittering feet as a white rat roused itself from a small blanket nest in the opposite corner of the room. It shot across the room, and Clay felt its weight as it scrambled up his clothes to rest on his shoulder. "Good morin Mac. I hope you slept well; anyway, here is your breakfast," He said as he put a bit of butter on the small slice of toast.
The rat looked at the burnt side of the toast for a moment but grabbed it in its front paws and began to chew. Clay looked at the rat and shook his head at it before going back to preparing his own breakfast. He had found the rat in a cavern 6 years ago while on a delve with his party, and it was already smart then. The years spent as a familiar had only made the rat smarter. Even if he couldn't speak, Clay knew the little guy was as bright as most people. He put butter on his toast and let his mint tea steep while he chewed. Once he finished the toast, he poured himself a cup and finished it quickly. The scalding liquid slid past his fangs and left a warm feeling in his stomach. It was one of the natural resistant to heat that came from his infernal heritage, one of the few benefits.
"Okay, Mac, we got a big day ahead of us," the little rat looked at him as it licked crumbs from its little paws, "we need to check the herbs, speak to the carpenter about a new bed, get something to oil the hinges, see what needs to be done to get the water wheel going again, and if we can get all that done I would like to go and see if the blackberry bush we found the other day is making fruit yet." The little rat nodded and lept off his shoulder, running to stand next to his boots by the stairs.
Clay grabbed his staff, and with another small flick and a flash of his will and power, a red scarf few from its place on the wall and wrapped itself around his neck, hiding his fangs. He took the time to tie both the scarf and the hat in place with a few threads of power, making sure that neither wind nor gravity would pull them from his head. He slid his boots on and went downstairs to start the day.