The sound of ringing metal filled Fifteen’s ears. It wasn’t the clack of her brass heel on the pavement – she’d already learned to tune that out – but the chorus of Cherrytown’s metalworks. All of the settlement’s forges, furnaces, and refineries were packed tight in this one neighborhood in an effort to contain and limit all that heavy smoke spewing into the sky. Air pollution wasn’t usually a big issue, but the local government nevertheless had a few mages on duty just in case the smog got bad. From what Fifteen heard, the guild usually forced the job on rookies or troublemakers since it was not only dull, but profoundly uncomfortable. The heat was the biggest issue, especially at this time of year. The summer sun, burning fuel, and densely-packed stone buildings combined to create what was essentially a neighborhood-sized oven.
Fifteen didn’t mind it in the least, of course. If anything, she found this sweltering heat comfortable, and her face-wrap had no issue filtering out the stench in the air. It was designed to let people breathe easily in sandstorms, after all, so loose coal particles were no match for the alchemically-treated fabric. It was the closest thing to a magic item that a normal wizard could feasibly attain. Humanity had very few mages, and fewer still were suited to the ancient art of enchantment. However, sufficiently advanced alchemy was indistinguishable from pure magic, and humans had always been on the cutting edge of that particular field. It had plenty of practitioners, too. Unlike wizards, one didn’t need a magical bloodline to mix potions. If anything, it was detrimental for someone with ‘the gift’ to do alchemist work since their power could seep into and contaminate whatever mixture they were working on.
It was therefore unsurprising that alchemical concoctions were deeply rooted in every aspect of human culture. Fertilizer, medicine, cleaning fluids, ice-boxes, and fancy sauces were what most commoners thought of when the subject of alchemy came up. Things like special fabrics or strengthening elixirs were high-end goods for wizards, rangers, bounty hunters, and other adventuring types. Naturally, there were plenty of military applications like bombs and toxins, but the church had a stranglehold on dangerous knowledge like that and strictly admonished anyone trying to rediscover it. Most agreed this was for the best, given what the history books said of the horrors of alchemical warfare. Fifteen didn’t always feel this way, but understood the necessity of such censorship after she had been tasked to clean up some of the aforementioned fallout. Seeing toxic green goo move around on its own was bizarre in many ways. To this day she still wasn’t sure what exactly she incinerated back then, and she wasn’t keen to find out. Unfortunately, it wasn’t an easily forgotten matter. Wizards were an inherently curious and inquisitive lot, so her mind would occasionally drift to her recollection of that job and poke holes at certain things.
Sensing the direction her thoughts were headed, Fifteen distracted herself by focusing on a random workshop nearby. It was a golem-maker’s place, one of the few professions that couldn’t benefit from alchemy. The only things that dictated the quality of a golem were the strength of its stone and the skill of the earth mage who animated it. Fifteen occasionally fantasized about buying a servant of her own, but inevitably came to the conclusion that she’d rather put that coin towards commissioning a metal staff. Silver would be fine, but gold would be ideal. Both metals were excellent fire magic mediums, and far more durable than wood. They’d likely withstand her full output for more than a single spell. Her magic would still warp and bend a silver or gold staff with enough use, but getting them reforged was cheap as dirt compared to the massive initial investment of acquiring the raw materials. Of course, she’d also need a trustworthy artisan who could make the weapon. There was more that went into a wizard’s staff than just a big stick. Thankfully, she already knew just the man to handle that request when the time came. In fact, she was on her way to the craftsman’s shop right now.
The Armed Arcanist was the top one-stop shop for the wandering wizard. This large two-story emporium offered a wide selection of staves, wands, orbs, robes, boots, bags, and anything else that the modern spell-slinger might require. It catered exclusively to the big-hatted community and was the only establishment of its kind in town. There were a number of reasons for this monopoly, chief among them being that church and guild regulations limited where such goods were available. They also had strict guidelines regarding the pricing and quality of its products, ensuring that customers got their money’s worth and the owner earned a profit befitting their skill and effort. It was common practice across human lands, and though other shops usually settled for bare minimum, the man in charge of the Armed Arcanist refused to compromise when it came to quality.
His name was Wilhelm Blackball. He was Rufus’ brother and, though he shared his sibling’s vertically-challenged frame, Wilhelm was in much better shape since his craft was far more labor-intensive. He was an artificer – part smith, part jeweler, part clothier, and part carver. It was not an easily acquired title as artificers were burdened with the esoteric task of making equipment capable of drawing out a wizard’s innate power. The craft required a high degree of accuracy and technical know-how, and was widely recognized to be even more difficult to master than alchemy. Part of that challenge arose from the church’s aforementioned stranglehold on what they deemed ‘dangerous knowledge,’ but even with the priests’ backing only those with talent and dedication could become artificers. Wilhelm was among those precious few, and his work was highly regarded throughout the land. Many would deem him a master, but the man himself insisted he still had a lot to learn.
That was why, even with a small army of assistants and apprentices at his beck and call, Wilhelm could be found hard at work from dawn ‘til dusk. Today was no different, and his present efforts were focused on a custom order for some big-shot archmage from the capital. Thankfully, it was nothing like the request he received from another client of similar stature. He didn’t care how much she offered, there was no way he’d sully the integrity of his craft by making a vibrating ‘magic wand’ for some rich spinster. The old man’s commission was infinitely more respectable – a robe that looked regal enough to be worn at high-class events yet also offered a high degree of protection from various hazards. It was a golden opportunity that most artisans could only dream of receiving. Hell, they’d even take that sleazy job in a heartbeat. Even if they couldn’t exactly boast about it, the extra pay would make it worthwhile.
However, neither prestige nor profit seemed to motivate the elder Blackball brother. He went about weaving the premium-grade garment with all the enthusiasm of a peasant digging a ditch. Just because a job was big didn’t mean it was exciting. He’d performed all the techniques necessary to finish the article a thousand times before, so there was no real challenge to be had. That wasn’t to say the job would be simple. The special materials required to create the desired product would test any artificer’s skills, even Wilhelm’s. It just so happened that the only way he might fail was if he intentionally sabotaged himself.
Perhaps that was why the man forced himself to work with an exotic type of fabric he wasn’t all that familiar with. It was called sunsilk and hailed from lands to the far south. Its alchemically-treated threads were not only highly durable, but also soaked up magical oils like a sponge and didn’t let go. This second property allowed sunsilk garments to maintain those mixtures’ special effects for nearly five times longer than usual. A permanent enchantment could offer similar if not superior effects and didn’t need to be reapplied, but this coating technique was more affordable and allowed for greater flexibility with a bit of preparation. Wizards liked both of those things, so the client had given him the go-ahead to experiment a little. His letters also heaped praise upon Wilhelm for teaching him about this option. The artificer couldn’t take that credit, though. Coating one’s equipment in alchemical oils was hardly a new concept and had some issues that sunsilk’s special properties solved. Even the exotic fabric was something that Wilhelm coincidentally learned about from a certain impossible-to-please customer.
“Master Wilhelm?”
A woman’s voice instantly shattered the artificer’s focus. Tearing his attention away from the strange loom he was working on, he directed it at the black-haired lady poking her head through the door of his workshop. She wore a long-sleeved black shirt combined with a blue vest and skirt, all of it decorated with silver embroidery. It was the standard staff uniform here at the Armed Arcanist, though the woman wearing it was of relatively higher standing than a mere shop assistant.
“What is it, Matilda?”
He wasn’t angry. His employees knew full well they were never to disturb his work unless it was an emergency.
“That one is here.”
“Hmpf. Speak of the devil,” he grumbled under his breath, then raised his voice. “Thank you. I’ll be there shortly.”
The artisan took a moment to wipe the sweat from his face and change into a clean shirt. He didn’t really care if customers saw his stained old work clothes, but Matilda would nag him for three days straight if he showed up wearing those in public. Something about maintaining the Armed Arcanist’s image. The woman was responsible for managing the storefront, so Wilhelm couldn’t exactly ignore her. He made himself minimally presentable before he left the workshop in the back and ventured onto the main floor. Employees and customers alike watched in hushed reverence as he walked by, but he didn’t care. Those plebeians were too easily impressed.
That one, however, had never uttered a single word of praise. It wasn’t out of malice or ignorance. As far as Wilhelm, Matilda, or any of the other employees could tell, that one simply had impossibly high standards and was always able to find some fault, even if miniscule. The middle-aged artificer found that attitude most welcome. Nearly everyone he interacted with showered him with praise and platitudes just because he was a wee bit famous. Honest, constructive criticism was more valuable to him than gold, which was why he gave special attention and priority to the sole customer who motivated him to improve further instead of resting on his laurels. Wilhelm felt that he couldn’t accept the title of ‘master artificer’ until he earned that person’s unconditional approval.
And, as expected, he found her rummaging through a literal bargain bin of wooden staves.
“Good afternoon, Madam Sage,” he offered his usual greeting.
The yellow-robed woman pulled her head out of the stick-filled barrel, turned to face him, tucked her bandaged hands into her wide sleeves, and bowed deeply. Little emotion could be seen through the cloth wrapped around her face, though the single eye she showed to the world offered no trace of approval or admiration.
“Out of staves again, are we?”
His casual question was answered with a casual nod.
“You really burn through each batch quicker than the last, don’t you?”
She nodded again.
“I don’t suppose this time around you’d be willing to look at the ones made by me, rather than my incompetent apprentices?”
She shook her head.
“Well, let me know if you change your mind.”
He shrugged with a wry smile. So far, this was business as usual. The two of them had more or less this exact exchange every time the Sage of the Sands dropped by. It’s been like that for over a year, and it was unlikely this little tradition would change anytime soon if even losing a limb couldn’t rattle this sorceress. On that note, he turned his attention to her left leg. The brass-plated, steel-core, spring-loaded prosthetic was his recent handiwork. She moved quite naturally with it, to the point where one would easily assume it was her actual limb if she covered it up. However, that didn’t mean she was satisfied with it.
“How are you finding the prosthetic?” his tone turned serious.
“Adequate.”
He tensed up upon hearing that word. That dreaded, beloved word. ‘Adequate.’ No matter how hard he tried, that was the highest evaluation the Sage had ever given his work. Well, he didn’t exactly have high hopes for this piece. He didn’t have much experience with artificial limbs. That was undoubtedly the best one yet, but he clearly had much to learn.
“I see. Please, tell me your complaints.”
They stared at each other for several silent seconds before she spoke.
“… It’s noisy.”
Rather than elaborate with words, she took a step with it. Putting all her weight on it, the metal foot made a rather harsh noise as it came down on the tiled floor. Not just the clacking of the impact, but also the rattling of the suspension mechanism in the ankle joint. Granted, both sounded unusually loud in the quiet shop, but Wilhelm agreed that it was noisier than expected. He imagined it was even worse for the one who was using it since she could feel it even if other noises drowned it out, not unlike a wobbly heel in one’s boot. He hadn’t been able to sufficiently muffle those mechanical vibrations, and it was something he’d pay closer attention to next time.
“Anything else?”
He suspected that wasn’t the only flaw, and he was instantly proven right.
“The strap could fit better.”
She lifted the hem of her robe above the knee, revealing the spot where metal met flesh. There was a tiny bit of slack in the leather belts meant to keep the prosthetic firmly in place. It was fine for everyday use, but might fail and fall off if undue strain was placed on it during the mage’s field operations. She could tighten the straps further to avoid that, but then they would dig into her skin and no doubt cause great discomfort that might distract her in a critical moment. The root of the issue was that, unfortunately, the sweet spot for the belts to fit perfectly was between the holes Wilhelm had punched into the leather for the buckles. This sort of flaw was unavoidable since he couldn’t take precise measurements of the person who’d be using the prosthetic, and was easily rectified now that she was here. However, it was precisely because this mistake and its solution were so mundane that Wilhelm’s pride took extra damage. There was nothing to be learned from such a basic blunder.
“Lastly… Sand will be an issue.”
Perhaps the biggest issue, and something that didn’t cross Wilhelm’s mind at all. He made sure the limb was robust enough that dirt, mud, or water wouldn’t interfere with proper maintenance, but the sands of the southern deserts – his client’s homeland – were another story. Those grains were as fine as dust in some places and would surely find their way into the artificial ankle joint in a heartbeat. It would jam completely after a few days of traveling through the dunes, rendering the brass limb about as functional as a common peg-leg. The only way to avoid that was for the Sage to never return to her homeland, or to regularly rinse it with water in a notoriously arid environment. Neither were acceptable compromises in Wilhelm’s eyes.
“I see,” he nodded solemnly. “I apologize for failing to meet your expectations yet again.”
“It’s fine,” she said in a flat tone. “Here.”
She held out a satchel she’d prepared beforehand and held it out, but Wilhelm shook his head and gently pushed her hand back with his.
“No. I cannot in good conscience accept payment for such a flawed product.”
“I insist.”
“Must you?”
“Yes.”
The man sighed.
“Very well.”
This, too, was a common exchange. Wilhelm was dimly aware of the Sage’s financial situation. Though she had impossible standards when it came to her equipment, that was because her funds and resources were limited. It wasn’t hard to imagine she was some kind of noble or maybe even a princess before being forced to live as a wanderer on a tight budget. Yet despite that, she never once accepted any of his offers to reimburse her purchases. She refused to accept even the slightest discount unless it was offered right at the start, and even then hesitated if it was too generous. Was this pride? Or honor? Not that it mattered to Wilhelm. Bottom line was that he always had to work within the budget and time constraints of the client. It wasn’t hard for him to please big-shot spenders like archmages from the capital. Achieving quality fit for royalty yet affordable by a commoner – that was the challenge the Sage of the Sands presented Wilhelm with. Though he failed once again, he also learned much from the experience. That was why he wanted to give the proud mage at least a small token of his appreciation.
“Then, if I were to make an improved model in the future, would you be interested in trading in that one as an exchange?”
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“… Perhaps.”
“Excellent. Ah, please let Matilda handle the payment as usual. I hope you enjoy the rest of your visit, and stay safe out there.”
She bowed the same way she did while they were exchanging greetings, prompting the man to turn on his heel and disappear into the back rooms. Fifteen handed her coin over to the nice lady that had been hovering nearby, then breathed a sigh of relief once she’d walked off. She respected and appreciated the man’s dedication to his craft, but he was as pushy as ever. Every time she commissioned him, he insisted she find flaws in his work and refused to leave until she gave him something. So, as per usual, she offered tiny, nagging complaints that were so insignificant they weren’t worth mentioning when Daisy asked earlier. By all accounts, the prosthetic was an amazing piece of engineering. It worked far better than she could’ve hoped when she first ordered it, and that was saying something considering she paid extra for it. And he wanted to give it to her for free? Was he mad? Surely he knew the church kept a close eye on all guild members for signs of corruption, especially where artificers were involved. Receiving an item this expensive as a gift would surely raise all kinds of suspicions that Fifteen didn’t want attached to her. Even if she had done nothing wrong, the thought of witch hunters snooping around her personal affairs was profoundly unnerving.
At least Wilhelm’s unnecessary generosity was an improvement over how their first meeting went. Back then she was buying cheap single-use staves as usual when the guy suddenly showed up and started asking a bunch of questions. Though she was embarrassed to admit it, she told him the reason – her pyromancy was so unruly that it broke wooden staves after a single serious spell, so she needed a bunch. Then he started offering all these high-quality tools with metal cores and what-have-yous, insisting that his work was infinitely better than the basic products of his apprentices. He sounded confident and convincing so she decided to give one of his staves a try. It fared a little better but still broke more or less instantly. Considering it was five times more expensive, it just wasn’t cost-effective, so she went straight for the bargain bin rods the next time she was in town.
As before, the owner approached her and understandably started questioning her. Bluntly speaking, there was no question that his staff was magnificent. Fifteen’s magic flowed into it with such ease that it made her spell come out quicker and with a greater degree of control. At least, that’s what it felt like. It was hard to tell for certain if she was just imagining those benefits since she only got a single use of the premium rod before it exploded into splinters like all the rest. Trying to review it was incredibly awkward, leading to a conversation much like the one she had just now. In retrospect, merely calling it ‘adequate’ might have been an understatement, but it was the best word she could think of. The item performed its duties as well as could be expected, and any disappointment she felt was a result of her own foolish hopes and assumptions. She assumed she must have left a bad impression on the artificer, considering how this sort of encounter happened every time she commissioned gear from the Armed Arcanist. It was so awkward that she would’ve never visited this shop again if she had a choice. On the bright side, she received quality gear for affordable prices, so a bit of verbal harassment was hardly–
Fifteen suddenly froze, new staff in hand, and stared intently out a nearby window. Seconds later, the glass was rattled by a distant thunder. Clearly an unnatural phenomenon, given the total lack of clouds in the sky. It came from the same direction as that sudden rush of mentally transmitted aggression that presaged it – the guild grounds.
At that exact same time, Bahm felt like he was fighting for his life. His opponent was a female human with immense magical power, but not the sibling he shared a blood-bond with. This stranger had lighter skin, different coverings, and so much muscle that one could easily mistake her for an ogre. Her obscenely long black hair was tied in twin tails that dangled past her waist and she was showing a lot more skin than the humans Bahm had seen so far. Thighs, hips, and upper torso were completely unprotected, making them obvious targets for his claws, though it wasn’t as if that blue skin-tight outfit wrapped around her toned midsection could offer much protection anyway. The same could be said of the cloth covering her outer limbs, with only the hands and feet adorned with something even remotely protective.
However, as vulnerable as this stranger’s hide seemed, Bahm felt that getting within striking range would be extremely difficult. He would honestly rather not fight this human, but he did not have a choice. Though he had no idea what she and that squishy boulder were talking about, the way she looked at the saber-tooth while brazenly flaunting her aura made her intentions clear. It was a good thing he was wary of the stranger since the instant he sensed her presence, otherwise he might’ve gotten hit when she made the soil explode with just her voice moments ago. Just feeling the residual shock waves made his bones rattle, and the strange thunder seemed to bounce around in his skull.
But, Bahm was a proud apex, and any opponent that wanted a piece of him would get what they asked for. He communicated that with a loud, toothy roar, and the stranger instantly replied with one of her own. She grasped an arm-length wooden rod and swung it towards him while shouting something. Bahm couldn’t understand those words even if his ears weren’t ringing, but he felt they were charged with power. The beast knew what this meant and dodged once more, before the incantation finished. A howling wind pierced through the space he occupied moments ago and drilled a hole clear through the wooden fence beyond. This only further excited the stranger. Yes, excited. She was not angry that her effort was wasted or surprised at how easily her attack was avoided. It was the attitude of one who was confident in their power and eager to inflict it upon others for no reason other than self-satisfaction. Bahm had experienced something like this before, back when he first fought the dragons that invaded his home. Back then, his arrogance blinded him and he challenged what he thought was an empty bluff head-on. He would not make the same mistake again.
The stranger raised her wand skyward. The cautious feline recognized that motion as the one she made earlier when she brought down the heavens’ fury. This was good, as it meant Bahm could go under this attack. So, the instant her words of power rang out, he rushed forward. As expected, a terrible boom happened somewhere behind, but the saber-tooth ignored it. With speed and grace befitting the ruler of a mountain, he charged the stranger. Quick on the uptake, she thrust her weapon forward and uttered another word of power. This one was short, fast, but Bahm knew it as well. His fiery sibling had used it repeatedly against the black dragon. But, the sibling’s gift was fire, and this stranger’s weapon was wind. Were they actually the same attack? Bahm had no time to think and trusted his instincts, which told him to charge straight through it.
His gamble paid off. The Tactum incantation slammed into his hide like a slinger’s rock. It stung and might have given lesser creatures pause, but against a fully matured saber-tooth it was like splashing a cup of water on a forest fire. The stranger nevertheless tried two more rapid shots aimed at the charging feline’s head, but the natural bobbing and weaving of its movements made them miss the mark and hit its shoulder and foreleg instead. In the blink of an eye, the beast was upon her, and lunged at her with all his might. Undaunted, the stranger grasped her wand with both hands and thrust its shaft in the path of the creature’s maw. Bahm bit down on the wooden object, intent on using his weight and momentum to push the enemy to the ground and then maul her into submission while she was pinned. However, neither the human nor her carved stick yielded. Though she leaned backward and her feet dug out two thin trenches in the dirt, she was merely pushed back rather than over.
Bahm was surprised. He expected the stranger to be strong given her physique, but not this powerful. More magic at work, perhaps, and certainly more to come. She shouted words of power straight into the monster’s face. Bahm didn’t know this attack, and decided to disengage and leap back. A howling gale erupted from the ground, kicking up tiny rocks that swirled along with it at incredible speed. It enveloped the stranger and very nearly caught the beast. The air settled moments later, revealing that the stranger’s skin was scratched up even though she was at the center – the safest part of a whirlwind. It was a terrifying attack that might have just sliced Bahm in half if he had been any slower. Of course, there was more to come. No, there was worse to come. This human still wasn’t fighting seriously. The beast felt it when the two clashed before.
Sure enough, the stranger discarded her weapon and raised a hand heavensward, prompting Bahm to remain on the defensive. She called another word of power, and something fell from above. Not some invisible explosive force like before, but a solid object that slammed into the ground so hard that it partially buried itself in it. One could call it a staff if they were being generous, but it was closer to a giant maul. The stranger stood at a height above most humans even without counting her pointy hat, but even then was shorter than the length of this weapon by a full head. The entire thing was forged out of some dark, grayish metals. The lower end was wide and flared like an axe blade, and the top end was an enormous sphere around which was coiled a sculpture resembling a fanged serpent. The ball-shaped head was enormous, many times the size of the human’s skull, and set with several strange yellow gems as big as her fists. The stones crackled with power the instant the weapon’s owner grasped its leather-wrapped haft. She then gave it a quick flourish, handling it as if it were paper despite its obviously ridiculous heft.
The stranger gripped the weapon – which despite appearances was indeed a casting focus – with both hands and pointed its bulky end at the beast. It was a provocation. A challenge. Though humbled by the dragons, Bahm remained a proud apex and couldn’t simply back down. Especially not in the face of this enemy. He wasn’t sure why, but the human seemed ever more infuriating by the second. This final provocation made the beast far too agitated for anything resembling rational thought, and he made the rash decision to meet the enemy’s full strength with his own. Spurred on by the stranger’s aggression, it gave a mighty roar. Though this was intended to do little else than bolster its feral spirit, it awoke something within.
Back when the saber-tooth accepted the offering of blood from the inferno that walked like a person he received a tiny portion of her inner fire. It burned through the beast’s body, sealing his wounds and annihilating the vile dragon’s toxin before disappearing completely. Or at least that was how it felt to the creature, but a small spark of that power remained. It lay dormant, acclimating to its new host. Now that it had an outlet, a chance to shine brightly once more, the ember flared up as if it had a mind of its own. So, as Bahm roared, the scorched markings on his fur started to hiss. The blackened scars glowed with a bright orange light, the blood underneath flowing ever-faster. Strength surged within the saber-tooth’s body, and it felt as though it could rip this stranger and her weird rod in half with a single swipe. The human must have felt this rush of energy as well. Her face bore a look of clear delight, eager to put that unspoken theory to the test.
For better or worse, they didn’t get the chance to clash before they felt a third, far more terrifying power gather nearby.
“Ignum aetheris trionis!”
A golden pillar of flame fell from the sky, crashing between the two meatheads with the fury of a hundred suns. Hot wind, dry dust, and thick smoke buffeted wizard and saber-tooth alike, forcing both to take a mental and physical step back. Turning their gazes to the source of that spell, they found a thoroughly pissed-off Fifteen. Thin wisps of white smoke flowed freely from the gaps in her arm and leg bandages, and the ungodly amount of heat she was emanating made her yellow robes billow outward. She approached with slow, deliberate steps that seemed to scorch the already dry soil. Her hands let go of her hastily-purchased staff – its upper half already reduced to splinters – and reached for another. If the stranger’s wild aggression could be likened to a furious squall that could uproot a tree, the sheer malice oozing from Fifteen could incinerate the entire forest. Or at least, that’s how it felt to Bahm, and he couldn’t help but simmer down and flatten himself against the ground under that pressure. His opponent seemed to be handling the boiling hostility much better, and simply greeted the Sage of the Sands with a toothy grin and a big wave.
“Yo! If it isn’t Lil’ Miss Sparkles!?” she spoke in a loud, boisterous tone.
“Azyra,” the fired-up mage responded in a paradoxically cold voice. “What were you doing?”
“Me? Nuthin’ much. Heard you brought in some weird cat, so I wanted to see it for myself. Guess I got a bit carried away,” she shrugged dismissively.
“A bit?!”
She was so mad that a lock of black hair poking out from under her hood actually caught fire at the tip. Azyra remained wholly unbothered by this display. If anything, she found it rather amusing.
“Well, well.”
However, hearing those soft words spoken from somewhere behind the hothead instantly made her smile vanish and her body shiver.
“Ms. Stormblood,” Daisy spoke as she slowly approached the scene, “you are aware that attacking a familiar is no different from attacking its master, yes?”
“Y-yes, ma’am,” the musclehead squeaked out.
“And you should be equally aware that violent actions against fellow guild members are strictly forbidden.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then, if you would be so kind, answer Acolyte Two-Fifteen’s earlier question.”
Her pleasant business smile disappeared, replaced by a tight-lipped expression one would reserve for looking at a piece of dog shit on the road.
“What were you doing?”
“I-I-I wasn’t doing nuthin’! I swear!” the culprit rapidly made excuses. “I was just talking to Rufus here– Wait, where’d he go?!”
The apothecary in question had wisely sought cover in a nearby barrel. It was amazing how quickly and easily he fit in there, given his generous proportions. Nevertheless, it wasn’t until he heard his name that he dared poke his head up. His eyes met Daisy’s, and then he instantly sank back inside like a turtle retreating into its shell.
“Yeah, it’s his fault!” Azyra pointed accusingly. “He said he wasn’t sure how to test the familiar’s strength – it was too big for any of the equipment here, you see – so he told me to fight it! For science! And stuff! But then the thing took it personally and attacked like it was gonna kill me! That’s all there is, honest!”
The head receptionist remained thoroughly unconvinced. Anyone who’d been at the guild for at least a week would know two things about Azyra Stormblood – she liked to show off, and she had a long-standing rivalry with the Sage of the Sands. Their personalities clashed so badly that they couldn’t spend more than thirty seconds in the same room without butting heads over something. Daisy had been here long before either of them joined, so she was intimately familiar with all of this and more. There was no doubt in her mind that Azyra came up with that excuse just to bully Fifteen’s familiar and was trying to pin it on poor Mr. Blackball just to save her own hide. By all accounts, she should be severely punished. Some might say her actions were an egregious breach of protocol worthy of excommunication.
However, Daisy didn’t feel it was appropriate to ruin a promising wizard’s career over a mistake that could be summed up as the folly of youth.
“Well, well,” her business smile returned. “Is that what all the fuss was about? A misunderstanding?”
Azyra nodded furiously. Rufus did as well, even though it couldn’t be seen. Bahm also got in on it, though he wasn’t sure why.
“It is unfortunate, but accidents happen.”
The receptionist’s soothing words prompted sighs of relief from all three parties.
“However,” she continued, “intent does not absolve negligence, Ms. Stormblood.”
“Eck!”
Azyra let out a noise like she’d just been punched in the throat, with a pained expression to match.
“The guild will be deducting the cost of today’s property damage from your compensation over the course of the next two months. I trust there are no complaints.”
“N-no, ma’am.”
None that she dared to voice, at least.
“Very good. Also, Acolyte Two-Fifteen?”
“… Yes?”
She had calmed down enough that she wasn’t actively setting herself on fire anymore, but she was still quite miffed. Obviously, she dared not direct any of that anger towards the receptionist. One could argue Daisy should have stepped in earlier after hearing all that ruckus, but that was hardly her fault. Loud noises were hardly uncommon around guild grounds.
“Please keep a tighter leash on your familiar. I will let you off with a warning this time since this is your first infraction in six months, but another incident like this will be shown no leniency.”
Her words seemed unfair considering Azyra was the chief instigator, but Fifteen wasn’t entirely innocent. This wouldn’t have happened if she stayed here, or at least made it clear to Bahm that he should avoid fighting other mages at all costs. It was a mistake she could learn from, so she accepted the verbal warning with grace.
“I understand. Thank you.”
“Very good. I’ll be at my desk if you need me. Stay out of trouble, now.”
Daisy turned and gracefully walked off. The Roaring Thunder and the Sage of the Sands glared at each other, but dared not make a move until the receptionist was out of sight. Once that moment came, Azyra straddled her ridiculously large weapon like she was a dancer at a gentlemen’s club and, with a wink and a smirk, blasted off into the sky. It ticked her rival off, much as the show-off knew it would. The day she found out that Fifteen was jealous of air mages’ ability to fly freely was a dark one indeed. That ridiculous thing she called a staff was also worthy of envy, but the flame-flinger would rather run through town naked than admit it.
“Well… that was exciting wasn’t it?”
Blackball spoke nervously as he approached, having safely un-barreled himself at some point.
“Look, I’m sorry for–”
“I know,” she cut him off. “It’s fine.”
“Right. Yes. In any event, though unorthodox and uncalled for, Ms. Stormblood’s actions proved very informative. Observing that, err, sparring match helped me get a firm grasp on your familiar’s mental and physical abilities. It might be prudent to make it standard procedure for such combat-capable specimens in future.”
Fifteen felt conflicted. On one hand, she was glad that this wasn’t a total waste of time and energy. On the other hand, Azyra was proven right. She decided to focus on the positive.
“Then, we are done here?”
“Ah. I suppose we are,” he looked down at his open notebook. “I still need to formulate the, uh, improvised test’s results, and I’ll be sure to send you a copy, but my initial evaluation is quite high. I don’t know whether it’s because he’s your familiar or simply an extraordinary specimen, but Bahm demonstrated a level of awareness and intelligence far beyond what– Oh. Never mind, then.”
It took him a while to notice, but the other two had left the instant he said ‘we are.’ Honestly, he couldn’t blame them after everything that went down. He likewise wasn’t keen on sticking around this disaster area, so he hastily made himself scarce. Frankly speaking, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep doing this. Having ties with the mages’ guild was great from a professional standpoint as it boosted both his revenue and reputation. However, it was also bad for his heart, and he wasn’t talking about the saber-tooth. All things considered, interacting with that beast was the least stressful part of his afternoon. It was those bloody wizards that really made his blood pressure spike.
Fifteen was so quiet and mysterious that nobody knew what she was really thinking. Rufus found that really unsettling considering how much firepower she was rumored to wield. He also heard from a merchant buddy of his that she discreetly imported bizarre herbs and potions from outside the kingdom. While clearly not illegal, it smelled fishy as hell, and he could only imagine what shady stuff she was mixed up in. Azyra was a completely different can of worms. Though her wind and lightning spells were far less likely to burn down the neighborhood than her rival’s magic, they were no less terrifying. She felt like a disaster waiting to happen with how notoriously impulsive and short-tempered she was and there were also some worrying rumors surrounding that massive hammer-staff she treated like a flying broom. On the bright side, she wore her feelings on her sleeve and wasn’t a complete idiot. The fact that she instantly yielded to Daisy proved there was hope for her yet. As for the receptionist herself, she was probably the worst of them all.
Just knowing he was within shouting distance of a water mage made Rufus’ skin crawl.