The elven caravan proved to be much more resourceful than it originally appeared. It had only taken an hour before they had turned the site of their near tragedy into a lovely camp. Even the burned out covered wagons were made useful as they were slowly repaired by the caravan’s cleric. A comfortable bonfire with a cooking spit was constructed, a large open tent was built around it, and the wagons—including the farmer’s cart—were made into a protective barrier around the site. The elves were remarkably social as well, an abnormality for typical individuals of their origin. It struck Flip as unusual all around— the caravan, the bandits, the mercenary. It was already taken care of, but it hadn’t resolved until he had arrived.

The mercenary in particular, Dovhran, troubled Flip. Close to four hours after he had gotten the bandits tied to a tree, two men had arrived on horseback with chains to take them away and pouches of coin to pay the mercenary. Dovhran had not talked to Flip since they had tied up the bandits, but it seemed every time Flip turned around, the man was watching him. It had been distracting as Flip had wandered the area, helping setup camp, placing wards in various areas, and inspecting the local flora. Flip knew that as soon as the people gathered for supper, Dovhran would find his way over to talk more. He had the look that Flip saw on the face of every ignorant village person who didn’t know the first thing about magic, just that it could do almost anything. It was the face of someone who wanted something but wasn’t confident enough to ask.

It was growing close to dusk and there was little time remaining before everyone that had decided to make camp would finish with their various tasks of setting up a shelter and preparing food and fetching water and building up a suitable fire to gather around for the night. Flip reasoned that, if he continued to socialize, it would only be a matter of minutes before the mercenary crept up on him and proposed whatever it was he was going to propose. On the one hand it might be worth enduring for the quality of food that seemed to be appearing from nothing but packed barrels and vegetable sacks, the smell was nothing like what Flip expected from simple salted rations and the common root vegetables that farmers grew in this region. On the other hand, it was never clear what a stranger could want or what they were willing to ask for in even the most public of situations. Children could ask for the return of deceased parents without a thought of what would happen if a wizard said no, mercenaries could ask for simple healers and not understand the complexity of what a practiced mage was capable of, families could ask for potions and wards of complex natures without fully understanding how insurmountable such a request would be. There were situations where it was easy to say no, like to a group looking for a simple healer or potion maker or a mercenary looking for a mage willing to stake their reputation on the credibility of a job. But the more difficult requests, children and families, desperate people looking for a miracle from someone they don’t know or understand the abilities of, those requests were painful.

It was those difficult requests that filled Flip with fear. Though they happened infrequently, the genuine want of those people in need that he could not help or could not bring himself to help, they sent him into panics. And it was the thought of one such panic that sent him away from the friendly gathering, the warm fire, and the suspicious mercenary. Back to the farmers cart and the quiet area in the late twilight where he could mutter his last spell of the day and retire peacefully without fear of conversation.

With a careful scan of the roadside and the forest around him, Flip began.

The spell was one of the few that he had designed without an incantation. But it required a complex gesture to activate. Flip hefted the single object from his heavy travel bag and laid it flat against the floor of the cart, brushing away the few loose pieces of straw that had made the cart a comfortable resting place just hours before. The sturdy wooden hatch was the key component for the spell and formed the surface for which the gestures had to come into contact with.

“First the key, then the lock. The door, then the handle. The ladder, then the way.” Flip muttered the pattern under his breath out of habit. It was strange to cast a spell without words and the exclusion felt uncomfortable.

This spell, while incredibly convenient, was one of Flip’s least favorite. Of all the magic he knew, this was the least ‘magical’ spell. It was all function and no form. And to top it off, it was upside down. So as he crawled head first into the open hatch on the bed of the farmers cart, Flip was forced to grasp at the rungs of the ladder below… or rather, above, him to avoid falling over or getting caught in a gravitation equilibrium. While getting stuck was not a problem for Flip, due to his narrow hips, he imagined that other more shapely arcanists that might attempt to replicate the spell would need to adjust the size of the hatch they use, though it would become less convenient as a result, making the spell much less useful.

Within the upside down hatch, Flip flicked his fingers in a familiar motion to illuminate the candles he had left in the room; another annoyingly silent spell. But the space beyond the hatch was worth the annoyance. A comfortable studio flat; enough space to stretch ones legs, a stove to make tea and keep the space warm, chairs to recline in, and a space for books. So many books. There was an unfortunate lack of food, as Flip had anticipated arriving home at around the time he found himself scrounging for a kettle and teacup.

“A fresh crust of bread and cheese, what a thing to miss.” Flip found himself mumbling as he set the kettle to boil. “Or a sleeve of cured pork sausage.”

“If you keep reminiscence about food you don’t have, you’ll only get hungrier.”

Without hesitation, Flip turned and unleashed a barrage of haphazardly formed missiles of arcane energy with a rapidly formed gesture. The kettle toppled off the stove behind him and spilled over the wooden floor, as Flip’s elbow reared back mid-gesture and struck the hot metal surface. Midway through the kettle’s descent, as Flip saw the intruder, several things passed through his mind. The intruder was Dovhran, he had bypassed the restriction of the portable flat spell—which should have only allowed Flip himself in, and no one else—and the bolts of arcane energy were entirely ineffective. The mercenary had drawn their shortsword and braced the flat of the blade against their body where the bolts were directed. Each bolt had fizzled out against the steel one after the other.

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“Is your tunic made from enchanted metal as well?” Flip hissed, frustrated.

“I beg your pardon? I just want to…”

Flip reached out with a clutched first in a sudden motion, releasing it into an open hand as he chanted the incantation to the spell he deemed most effective.

Be gone from here

to places you flee

to places which you fear

be it earth or flame or sea

be gone, be banished, away from here.

Dovhran paused where he stood, barely on his feet and only mostly out of the trapdoor. The confused look on the mercenaries face growing fuzzy for a moment, as though he was vibrating at high frequency, was not the desired result of the spell. After a moment, the mercenary unfroze and dropped his sword to hold up both hands.

“Please stop. I just want to talk.” He looked sick.

“I know. Clearly you want to be here badly enough to risk your body being torn apart.”

“Excuse me?!” Dovhran looked genuinely startled.

“Banishment magic is not complicated. It’s a battle of strong forces. I’ve only had one thing tear in half as a failure of the spell working as intended, and it got better. Sentient plants are durable that way.”

“You tried to kill me!” Dovhran seemed shocked for a moment, but gradually calmed down as both men stood their ground without exchanging further blows. “I can respect that. But it hardly seems necessary.”

“You tried to kill yourself when you broke into my space and rejected a powerful magical force to send you back out.”

“That’s fair.”

Flip was confused. The man was agreeing with him, admitting to fault, and yet he still stood in the flat as though there was nothing wrong with his presence there.

“And?” Flip grumbled through gritted teeth.

“Perhaps I should begin with an offering of food?” Dovhran produced a parcel from his cloak that looked freshly packed. “Elves don’t typically travel with the normal stable rations you might be accustomed to, and while you might not like the sharper tastes you can’t fault them for creativity.”

Flip watched silently as the mercenary placed the cloth parcel on a table, retrieved and sheathed his sword, and began to look around as though waiting for a cue to enter further into the space. Flip remained silent, but turned to retrieve the kettle from the floor. Dovhran, without any other context or indicator of what to do, pulled a chair up to the table where he had placed the food. After starting tea again in silence, Flip retrieved a plate for the parcel of food and laid it out on the same table before pulling up his preferred chair the the other side of the table.

“What is your request?” Flip asked bluntly, carefully inspecting the some of the dried fruit from the parcel before eating it. The fruit was surprisingly juicy and flavorful.

“I need the assistance of someone who thinks about magic in different and unique ways. Someone that sees a locked door and knocks down a wall instead of attempting to pick the lock, if that makes sense?” Dovhran followed Flip’s lead and began to nibble away at the food carelessly.

“Do expect to encounter many locked doors you don’t have the keys for?” Flip had heard an offer like this before from a petty thief who wanted easier ways into places of security. He had thought Flip capable of making charms that could unlock doors and prevent others from noticing him. It wasn’t that Flip couldn’t make such charms, but he knew better than to make them for anyone other than himself.

“Oh, no. Not exactly. Not in the way you think, at least. Though I must admit, my intentions are not exactly honorable.” Dovhran paused for a moment, apparently to consider his subsequent offer. “If you would like, I have a charm of warding against dishonesty. You are welcome to inspect and use it if you like, if it makes me more trustworthy in your eyes.”

“I have no doubt you could speak nothing but the truth and still find a way to lie to me. So no.”

“I suppose that’s fair. I may as well speak my piece then. Master Finnegan, I am in need of a mage to assist me in an assignment of inquisition. In specifics, I have been hired to both retrieve an item from and test the defenses of a particular tomb constructed at the very end of the second age. The tomb is the resting place of an ancestor of my client, giving them legal propriety over the tomb; I wouldn’t have agreed to the job otherwise. The problem, and the reason that I was hired, is that the tomb has many long lasting and dangerous countermeasures against theft and the instructions to bypass them were lost to the family in a fire.”

“And you suspect some of these countermeasures are magical.”

“I’m certain some are. Perhaps all of them. The tomb was built for an individual of some magical power, though not arcane.”

“And the name of the family?”

Dovhran hesitated.

“Velsaffe.”

“And this tomb wouldn’t happen to be the tomb of Helbrin Velsaffe, would it?”

“That… would be the tomb.” Dovhran looked let down. He clearly had not expected Flip to recognize the name, or perhaps to put the information together so quickly.

“You want to hire me to accompany you into the pale wastes, from which few ever return, into the tomb of grand linker Helbrin Velsaffe? Because you believe that I think about magic differently?” Flip ground his teeth together in a harsh grimace, revealing teeth stained slightly purple from the dried fruit he had continued to consume. “Do you think I am a fool?”

“I think you are the exact opposite of a fool, and I think you are in need of some large amount of gold for some reason. I don’t think you would’ve joined the violet cords if you didn’t absolutely have to, you hate people too much.”

“I don’t… I don’t hate people.” Flip was stunned. Still angry, but stunned at the audacity of this man he hardly knew and how easily he levied accusations. Regardless of how true they might be.

“Perhaps now I should activate my charm. Though, I think you would be able to resist it.” Dovhran moved his hands away from the plate of food, which he had previously been so intent to use as a prop to convey his casual demeanor. Flip noticed again how the man’s features seemed to freeze in place when a new expression was not needed, as the mercenary crossed his arms and moved back in his seat to a more position more fitting the challenge he was presenting. “I can also tell just by looking around this little hovel that you are one of the few mages in the region who would not mind breaking into a tomb built by the order of irons. You don’t care about that part. You just don’t want to risk your life. And I get that. But you didn’t even ask how much I’m offering to pay you.”

“No.”

It was Dovhran’s turn to be flabbergasted now. He had not anticipated many things, but he certainly had not expected Flip to reject a job regardless of promised pay.

“I would even pay you up front. Thirty thousand gold pieces. And all expenses would be covered, including spell components and journeying supplies.”

“No.” Flip repeated the same blunt rejection. He was done being mad at the mercenary. Now Flip just wanted him to leave.

“I’m disappointed, Faengil Hasterath, arcanist of the Finnegan clan. You seemed a very promising candidate.” Dovhran sighed in defeat. It was a clear sign that Flip could peaceably request the mercenary leave.

“I disappoint many people. Now leave.”