Not Quite Homecoming

[Caden Law]

Closed to myself and one other. Will be variably ignoring/mangling/doing dirty things to existing Salvic maps and lore. Lulz may or may not abound. Bring your own porn and acne cream. You'll probably need it by the time we're done. D:

Dendrestok, Southwestern Coastline
High Noon, Day of the Monarch Weasel, Month of Sacred Jewellers, 3177 of the Occult Calendar (OY)

Chances are, you've seen about two or three million places like Dendrestok scattered about the multiverse. It's that shitty little port town that magically grew into a vast, booming metropolis but somehow never forgot its aforementioned roots as a shitty little port town. Roots which get embelished to the tourist crowds as Humble Beginnings on the road to greatness.

All the same, let's look at Dendrestok from the God's Eye perspective. It's a surprisingly big city for a world where the average tech base is medieval verging on low-end steampunk; the population is in the low millions during summer, the high hundred-thousands to a million during winter. The architecture pretty well varies from Quaint to Proto-Industrial to What The HELL?, and the biggest standouts for the whole thing are its train station, the local Church, an honest to Denebriel Weather Tower, and the fifty or sixty foot high stone walls that completely surround the landlocked portions of the city. Outside of which you'll find thirty foot high layers of snow and ice, cleared around the traintracks only through constant vigilance and a touch of the arcane.

But look closer and you'll see that this is a city under siege. Not visibly. There aren't zombie hordes running around outside the gates. There aren't harpies or succubi or Death Lords riding fel dragons through the skies above. It's in the very air itself. Salvar is a nation in the throes of a civil war, and while the ironclads of the City Watch keep order in the streets, the Church's spokesmen get a little louder and a little more fiery every single day. The Weather Mages are running low on support from home, and that's why the city is facing its first summer snowfall in more than a century. It's light compared to the roiling blizzard beyond the stone walls, but it's still there.

And as dread would have it, it's only a matter of time before old Papa Salvar comes bearing awful treats of Judgement for everyone -- whether they like it or not. You can only subjugate the weather for so many decades before it all comes crashing down on your head.

Welcome to Dendrestok, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to a city that will, probably, not see the end of the year at the rate things are going. Discontent racks the streets, the fishers are having trouble navigating the ice and tourism is drying up as the railways get sabotaged and the Weather Towers fall, cutting off conventional methods of travel like walking or riding or taking a boat.

Welcome to Dendrestok, Wizard Blueraven.

Let's have some fun with this one...

...try not to destroy too much. I might need it later...

[Caden Law]

Now meet the Wizard in question, continuity demons be damned.

His name's Caden Law. Eighth of ten children, the resident scrawny academic of his brothers and the sole male magic user in the entire Law family -- whereas pretty much all of his sisters have long since gone into Clerical Wizardry or an Order of Weather Magi. As part of his status as a Wizard, he bears the Sorcerous Name of Blueraven. All good and impressive sounding.

But actually stop and look at him. He's a little over six feet tall, heavier than he looks and nowhere within seven miles of the archetypal Burly Salvic Man. He's downright scrawny as a matter of fact, and pale in the way that looks more pasty and unhealthy than attractive. He's got a band of freckles from cheek to cheek, crossing his nose between them. His eyes are, frankly speaking, the single plainest and most unattractive shade of blue you could possibly throw in somebody's sockets. His features are decidedly Salvic, his hair's curly beneath a permanent Hat-press, very light blond and just long enough to cover the back of his neck. He looks like he could be counted lucky to have peach fuzz on his chin, let alone an actual Wizardly Beard.

Add to this unflatteringly painted picture a pair of black pants, a long-sleeved white shirt and some good ol' Salvic boots. Sounds half-way decent, right?

Now throw on a pointy Wizard's Hat with a wide brim. Add to this a shin-length longcoat -- the kind with heavy lining, for the godsawful weather that personifies this land. For added hilarity, look to the Raiaeran conscript's sword on his back; cruciform, two-handed, and he's obviously got no skill with it or he'd be wearing it on his hip instead. There's also a much more appropriate looking bowie knife sheathed on his belt, and a wand opposite it. The wand looks like a katana maker's experiment gone wrong; all navy blue with metal caps on each end. Could probably club someone's brains out with it if you were desperate enough.

Now, you might not believe it, but this scrawny little bastard's been through more shit in the past few months than most Wizards go through in a century. He's become an undeserving war hero, an unintentional timetraveller, an unknowing pawn of Gods best left unnamed, and a two or three time murderer with a count of epic vandalism that'll probably leave scars on Raiaera for a few hundred years. And that's just the past few months.

His story's longer though. He's come to Salvar specifically to backtrack it. Maybe to undo some of the damage it's all marked him with, both visibly and otherwise. About five years ago, as a matter of fact, Caden's story ran roughshod right through this town. From the railtracks in a panic-stricken run, all the way into one of about a hundred taverns that call Dendrestok home. He spent his last few gold pieces on a pint, had a drink with some grizzled chap whose name he hardly remembers, and then went off on the first of too many adventures (which each included too many close calls).

And now he was coming back.

Off the ship with a leap, nowhere near as glorious as any of the jumps he'd ever made onto a boat. The landing was solid though, and Caden bowed only for a few seconds before springing upright and taking a deep breath to yell...

...except for the shock of cold that misted his glasses and left him to topple over onto the hardened wood of the docks in a coughing fit.

Shit, Caden would've liked to say out loud. He was preoccupied with trying not to cough up a lung though. Striking shit, it's colder than I remembered...

[Caden Law]

For what it's worth, Caden was prepared in the ex post facto sense of things. Salvar's deservedly infamous cold had been the whole reason he learned how to manipulate temperatures in the first place. It was about as far as Caden had ever gotten on the road to true, epic-scale Weather Magic; the sort of stuff his younger sister, Cadence, excelled at. It wasn't terribly good for comfort in a region like Salvar, but comfort is always secondary to survival. Better your fingers be uncomfortably chilled than numb and bruised. That kind of function-over-form mentality ran rampant 'round these parts.

The first thing he did (once the feeling had come back to his fingers) was to kit out for the long winter: Heavy-duty gloves for one then, and then a traveller's cloak pleasantly defined as fucking overkill. The thing had a lining of fur and an exterior of toughened, weatherproofed hide. It was all one piece, with just a hole for the head to poke through. Tack on the built-in scarf and Caden looked even more unfashionable than usual. Juryrigging his swordstrap with the cloak occupied him for the better part of twenty minutes before Caden finally gave up on it and started wearing the sword's strap around his waist like an actual belt. That put the weapon at his side. Where it was supposed to be. (Disregarding that it also looked marginally better there.)

Apparently, there's a first for everthing.

More to the point, there's a first time for nostalgia. The last time he'd been through this town, Caden had been running for his life and trying to keep his head down. He was relatively sure that there were still a few Churchbotherers nailing up Wanted signs for him, but he was equally certain that they were the extreme minority. He was also confident that, with the current situation being what it was, nobody would give a damn anyway.

So the Wizard called Blueraven walked openly in the streets of his homeland for the first time in almost half a decade. He studied the streets and the buildings and the signs as he went, and the whole way, he kept thinking.

There's the inn where I stayed on my last night in Salvar. Said inn was a rundown, grubby looking place with too many layers of snow and ice to look structurally sound. It, like most of the local spaces Caden was familiar with, straddled a razor's edge between Industry, Tourism and Boondocks. It was the kind of place where sailors slept with whores, tourists got pricegouged (and possibly eyegouged, or worse), and shady folks of ill repute hid with the blinds closed when the Watch walked by.

There's where I last saw Veshua, Caden thought as he passed by a rather immaculate looking fountain. More so because the water had actually frozen in mid-fall and never quite thawed out, even in the more temperate summer months. Foolish as it was, he couldn't stop himself from studying every single woman he passed after that, hoping to see her again. A man never forgets his first true love, after all. Especially not a hellraiser like that one.

And this, he eventually stopped.

Mouth opened.

Mouth closed.

Open again, close again. Rinse, lather, repeat.

"This isn't what it used to be," Caden declared aloud, now standing on a familiar corner on the street seperating the Docks and the Poor sectors of the city from the more populated Governmental District. It was a two story joint back in the old days; a slice of sin and vice in the shadow of the Governor's Cathedral that stood at the very heart of Dendrestok. Back then, it'd been pretty rundown on all sides. The interior had been the ill lit stuff that adventurous beginnings are made of -- there were plenty of shadowy corners and suitably Dark, Tragic characters with awful histories and worse world plans. Hell; there'd been people with world plans in the first place.

Looking at what it was now, Caden couldn't help but remember his old adventuring company, Patton Ventures. They had a thing for places like the old Deadwater Tavern. Always picking up fresh faces in them, mostly to replace the ones who died on their first job. That was then, though...

Now there was only...

...well...

You kind've have to let Caden say it out loud to get the full effect.

"Zen Cake Magical Emporium?" he read aloud, followed by the appropriate response of, "What the fuck?"

This was followed by a few more seconds of shocked silence as he studied the surprisingly new, well looking two (or was it three?) storied building that occupied the former lot of the Deadwater Tavern. It was picturesque in that all the icicles looked as if someone had deliberately put them there, and the layer of snow on its roof was just there to camouflage it with the candystore and the restaurant next door. Stare at it long enough though, like Caden did, and you couldn't help but notice a pattern along the doorframe.

Grooves. Dozens of them. Each one just a little different from the next. Almost like a primitive barcode...

...or like a fully written message posted on the door in Sideways Old Diamonic, the literary language of Wizardry. Caden read it aloud. Just because he had to. There was no other way he would've believed what it said.

"Arcane Outfitters of Salvar: Home to Dark Things & Stuff You Shouldn't Talk With Your Parents About," Caden mumbled, his head tilting further and further to one side as he went. He even pronounced the &. After that, Caden tilted his head upright. Made a shortlived What noise a few times. Spotted some more of the gouged-in writing above the door. Read that too.

"Denebriel likes goat," he said, mumbling it a bit out of instinctive paranoia. He then added the rest of the message: "Ha ha, ha ha ha, ha ha. Stupid peasants. Ha."

You might think this is all fine and dandy. Tourists come in, think its a real shop, probably get gouged with worthless or barely magical whatsits to take home for their families. Maybe once in a while there's a real shady sort who actually needs something the place sells. Maybe it actually does provide cake that gives you enlightenment and transcendence.

But Caden just couldn't believe this shit.

Chiefly because it was a city with a Weather Tower in it and that meant there would be Wizards in it and that meant they'd inevitably run across this place. And if they had half the loyalty he'd seen the Clergies inspire in his sisters, they'd probably crucify the owner upside-down and hang him up next to somebody else's pastries.

"I have got to see this," the Wizard finally muttered.

That all said and done, he opened the door and stepped right on in. Gods have mercy on his blighted soul.


Footnote: I leave it to the eventual Thread Judge to determine the price of the gloves/cloak. Something in the 200-300 gold range for all three put together, I'd guess.

[Schrodinger's Nirvana]

Zen Cake was probably one of the few success stories that Dendrenstok actually had to offer (apart from the floating brothel but they may have copied it from a town a few miles away and the world’s first organized child begging scheme – One child, one bowl, empty those purses, boys!). The owner had long since learned that there was much to be had with the simple-minded folk of the world and had worked on that accordingly to provide them with expensive, quality goods that had about as much magic in it as your common dog turd.

It was probably the reason why Jay Porklaft was still alive and trading in a town riddled with genuine magic users and spell crafters. He kept the dumb ones occupied; which mean that Dendrestok’s academies actually turned out worthy students…most of the time. With care and grace, Jay was only to happy to separate and match ‘user’ to ‘item’ with thoughtful grace and a complete lack of guilt if said user died when trying to undertake a spell against something dangerous. If Jay knew about it; he would gladly say he was only helping Darwin’s Law of Evolution, but in reality he thrived on miscommunication, gossip and trouble in general.

Dribbly candles were carefully lined up in rows of colour and size, even to to scent; while racks of bottled ingredients climbed the walls, claiming rarity and exoticness. Stands of wands and athames crossed the polished wooden floor, warring for space with the velvet lined cases of jewels and occult jewellery (guaranteed to protect you from anything that ails you!) to the dull worry stones that lay with a sale sign plastered against them and the pre-made altars (we even stock pocket sized for the wizard on the go!). Against the right wall were thick oak bookcases; stuffed with tomes of spells, enchantments and rituals, along with blank Books of Shadows, all ready to be customised by a newcomer to the magical arts. Lastly, hanging from the rafters were brooms of all styles, tagged with their specs and manufacturers; complete with reassurance from great wizards and witches who probably only existed in Jay’s own imagination. Distantly, although muffled in the pre-aged woody surroundings, were the chitters and low gruntings of familiars not yet adopted in the room behind the counter, lined with crude woodcut ‘fanzines’ of the local cults and dodgy practitioners to the more professional familiar-fancier mags complete with centrefold of black cats.

And amongst it all stood a woman, who was glaring pointedly at the counter and the little velvet sack that lay there, pointed ears held low and a scowl that would curdle milk if she stared at it for long enough. (Although, milk eventually curdles anyway…) She wore a cloak over her pale form, lined with what looked like fur, and her long dark hair was in twin plaits, either side of her face, dusted with snow. She was not quite the picture of misery, but she was somewhere close.

Dendrestok had not been big on Nirvana’s list of places to go; she had just wound up there after her stint in Scarabrae as a serving wench. It was probably the current civil unrest that drew her, but there was also the poker games she’d been involved with that had been a part of her quick escape. She felt rather upset at this, mostly because it wasn’t her fault…

…Which brought her to now. A few odd-jobs here and there, she had to sniff out anything that might provide a link back to her own world just to get some information. That was all she needed; it had been months since she summoned the energy for just a five minute chat that had been interrupted when something had tried to get through. Her fellow Gods had been pleased, had told her things as quickly as they could, and then that sad goodbye.

Gods weren’t supposed to have hearts, Nirvana felt. They were painful; and pain – emotional pain – was something that was new to her. Hearts made making decisions difficult, because you got Involved. And once you got Involved, there was no turning back.

Which was why she was here to see Jay. Jay, the fat, arrogant little snot of a man with a bristling beard of ginger and eyes that saw every weakness and how it could be exploited for his own damn greed. Like many on the road, she’d been dragged in with the lure of actual magical goods. And naive fallen Gods are about as intelligent and canny as a whole village mob, but some are fast learners; and Nirvana was amongst that few. The Wizard did actually know his wares; and if she kept her temper...well...

The stone he’d sold her hadn’t worked. All she wanted was a refund, except now he was hiding out back.

And then the new guy came in.

Around her neck, the fur stole moved, opening a single, turquoise eye. The nudge of a claw at her neck told her to keep quiet and see if Jay could be inspired by the new person; who looked like he needed a feed and possibly a nap. The last time she’d seen someone that strung out it had been the game at the back of the Traveller’s Boots, a tiny, cramped bar back in her few weeks of human life, when he realised he’d not only been beaten by a woman but by a cat.

She’d learned to run very fast. Only problem was her purse always seemed to have holes in it; because the gold never stayed. She was as poor as ever, and the back of the store had something stirring.

Odd eyes hooded, she backed off for a moment, to privately grin when Jay poked his head around the door and glanced at her – scowled back – and watched the potential customer.

Don’t you dare. He mouthed.

Nirvana rolled her eyes as he made a show of 'having been preoccupied out back' and revealed himself; a short, 5"2 with a foot-tall pointed hat, clad in dark red and a quiet whisper of gold. His little blue eyes regarded her red for a moment before he slammed the box down on the counter and opened it rather sloppily with one of the novelty athames that sat around the ancient and wretched cash register that lurked on the heavy counter top. He blinked for a moment at the contents, then grinned and showed her, only to have her baulk at the sight of the garishly dressed witch posing with a broom.

"The latest in robes. Gods almighty, you can't make this shit up." Jay said with a grin. "I'm going to need a bigger shop."

"The stone didn't work." Nirvana said softly, tapping the pouch. "I almost got killed. I can't keep existing on a day to day, dealing-with-death business. I have more important things to do."

"I don't do refunds on actual artefacts, hon." Jay flicked through, eyes widening with each page. "Although you sell me your poker-playing-kitty and i might think about it."

She sighed. "Tiddles is not for sale, as Tiddles is not a 'kitty'." The 'kitty' in question unwound himself from her neck and stretched to hop onto the counter and begin washing himself. "He does it to amuse himself. It's not my fault I have to translate."

"Brains of the operation then, is he?" To his shock she nodded in a glum please don't rub it in way, and glancing over his wire-framed glasses, the Wizard frowned. "I say a lot of things about a lot of stuff. You're smarter than you look, girl, and nothing's going to make you invisible. Work for a living like the rest of us."

"The stone was supposed to be lucky." Nirvana muttered, desperately.

"And it is, insofar as people attract their own luck. Ain't that right, my friend?" Jay looked pointedly at the as yet un-introduced Caden Law. "You do bad things, bad things happen right back!"

[Caden Law]

They say that justice and morality must be blind and without exception; all encompassing but perpetually without bias. Justice is a woman with scales and a sword. She is the avatar of all things good and righteous, though not necessarily right. Or left. Upon her scales are balanced the conflicts of Letter and Spirit, Law and Goodness, and so much other drek that simply doesn't apply.

Because Caden, like most men, has a scale in his brain and the sword he's thinking with ain't the one outside of his belt. For what it's worth though, the scale in question was forming a precarious balance between Boobs and Logic, with the chains holding them defined as GTFO and Hey, it's me, your conscience. Remember that little bit in Raiaera, with the forest and the...

A few seconds too long, he spent striving to find some way of balancing the lot.

Then he just shrugged and gave up. The only out from the woman's rack (and eyes, but Caden wasn't really thinking about those) and Jay's logic was solid academia (which is much the same as soft bullcrap). "It depends entirely on the Paradigm of Rabbits and Ducks, and whether or not the Hunter is feeling rational enough not to speak with mentally disturbed animal spirits, I'd say."

Let 'em figure that one out, Caden mused as he took to wandering from shelf to shelf. The Emporium lived down to expectations for the most part; if cheap plastic and bedazzling rhinestones existed on Althanas, Jay would've had them in excess. Every now and then though, Caden found something or other with a hint of actual magic to it.

Nothing like Cildorian's occult shop of the future. The skulls all felt like overdone ceramics, the runes in the candlewax were shaped in poorly and without magic, and the wands looked even less sturdy than the ones Caden had blown out in his jaunts through Raiaera. He did find one thing of use though. One of those funny little things you'll always know you need, but you'll never find time or reason to buy it until you visit a tourist town. As a matter of fact, it was one of those things all Wizards need.

A sewing kit.

A small one, consisting of a few needles, a puny pair of scissors and a just one spool of thread. But it was Alchemist's Thread; Caden knew as much just by holding it up to his sleeve and watching it change color for a few seconds.

"I'm going to regret this," he mumbled, and then took the kit -- all three-by-three inches of it, tucked away in a plain wooden box similar to a cigar holder -- and went to the counter. No surprise, the girl and the Wizard (apparently?) were still arguing. Caden's interruption of them will likely go down in history as one of the Sayings Which End Civilizations.

"Where do you keep the good stuff anyway?" he asked ever so innocently as he set the kit on the counter.

[Schrodinger's Nirvana]

The problem with existing was that it brought attention; and coming to Salvar had been the worst idea Nirvana had ever had (her memory quietly excluded that tryst she’d had with that human many years ago, which resulted in more trouble than it was worth regardless of how cute it had been). Her prison of mortal flesh brought all kinds of things to her; and bad luck was one of them; and as a being of chaos she’d never actually been on the receiving end of losing a job; of feeling hungry or having things stolen. She’d tried to remain up-beat; and Tiddles had been a gift. She suspected one of the Gods on her side from her favourite little mudball had sent him to help her; but it wasn’t enough to heal the ache of homesickness inside.

Or the ache of knowing about the battle going on over the lower dweller’s heads.

Nirvana’s plan had been simple: Establish a church. Feed off the belief of her followers; a few hundred would be enough to carry her back home. Smite the ever-loving crap out of her opposite, settle back and enjoy a beer.

Simple.

But she had not counted on other Gods. Gods, full of vim and vigor, brimming with power from the minds of thousands, millions, of devoted followers; hellbent on some form of destruction. This was like the old days; when everyone fought and there was so much blood on the streets before the whole gang settled down and realised it didn’t do well to piss on your own walls. No, these Gods…Goddesses…the whole lot of them were crazy.

Most of them didn’t pay attention to her. She was the smallest of small fry and it was by far more entertaining to pit their fragile minions against one another and watch the splatterfest. This was fine with the poor former deity, but there were the odd demonic presence who was watching her; and she could feel those eyes on her all the time; from the time she got up to the time she undressed for bed. And it was getting tiring.

The stone that still remained in her hand had been sold on the premise it would hide from those eyes. She should have realised that Jay was taking her for a ride, but when you’re desperate, you’re desperate.

Besides, Tiddles had made sure she knew how much of a stupid idea it was when she’d gotten home. Twice, in fact. In both of her former best shoes. She knew the blasted familiar was intelligent, but how he got his arsehole over each opening and managed to squeeze out something so foul she wasn’t sure. Cats had issues with aim, didn’t they?

Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as Jay invited the newcomer into the conversation. Now coming closer; the man reeked of magic like a drunk reeks of alcohol. She raised an eyebrow as he put on a look of mild constipation and answered Jay’s rather stupid and uncalled for question.


"It depends entirely on the Paradigm of Rabbits and Ducks, and whether or not the Hunter is feeling rational enough not to speak with mentally disturbed animal spirits, I'd say."

“Ducks I can entirely understand.” She muttered as his attention was caught by other shiny things in the store. “But rabbits think of nothing but sex even when mentally disturbed.”

Jay gave her a mild look of confusion. “I beg your pardon?”

“The trained birds of Phutsbury. Small town off the coast of some filthy bit of land I came through. Invoked the spirits of long dead ducks to hunt down their prey. It was very effective, but messy due to the fact that even dead ducks can leave a streak of shit a mile long.”

There was a moment here of complete contemplation, before Jay spoke again, watching Law out of the corner of his eye in case the bastard decided to pocket something. “Could these things be trained by anyone?”

“You’d want the Killing Mallards of Svensson - Phutsbury is haunted because of the amount of leyline activity and swampland there. Dead ducks for miles.” Came the answer in all seriousness. “I’m surprised he knows about them.”

Tiddles stared at them both and then went back to washing himself; not wanting to point out to his mistress or the shopkeeper that the man had in fact been pulling words out of his nose.

“I’m wondering if it’s worth importing them.”

“The Svensson clan are very protective of their birds, but if I’m in the area I’ll try to steal a few eggs…provided you give me back my money, you charlatan.”

He made a kissy-face at her. “You’re so pretty when you’re bitchy.”


"Where do you keep the good stuff anyway?"

Both turned to Law; who at this time had sidled up to the desk and was now holding, of all things, a sewing kit. Jay gave him the look of a long-trained person in customer service and drew himself up to at least make eye contact with the buttons on the Wizard’s jacket. “What you see on the floor is what I have…and are you sure you know how to use that?”

Nirvana looked from the fat wizard to the thin; narrowed her eyes and drew her lips into a thin line. Tell the customer that Jay was a lying son-of-a-bitch or watch them haggle? Decisions, decisions…

Besides. The wizard was probably real. If she hoped, really, really hoped, they might have a fight - it would be an interesting moment in her day and in the ruckus she could raid the till and be out of this poxy town 'fore sundown.

She was hoping, so hard, that she didn't notice Tiddles slink off the desk and go into the half-open door behind Jay.

[Caden Law]

"I'm a perfectly capable sewer." Bullshit. "But that's not the point. What you've got out here..." Caden motioned around with a hand, as if trying to convey more than he could put into words. Considering the nature of Wizardry and what it does to a person, this may as well be lying with body language. "It's tourist crap, if you'll pardon my Coronian. No, I didn't come here for Zen Cake and overpriced baubles put together in a Fallien sweatshop." It took all of Caden's self-restraint to not add, I didn't even come here to see you cement your everlasting virginity.

It was a very near thing.

Wizards are not known for social tact by any standard. Orcs have better manners than they do. Caden was just playing Mr. Friendly Guy because the last time he tried to, y'know, act like a Wizard, an Elf wench had tried to light him on fire with her mind. Also a very near thing.

"I want the real stuff. Something you could get burned at the stake for heresy with," Caden exclaimed with a crazy little look that came far too naturally to be fake. Every Wizard gets like that when they're on the verge of Something Epic. "I came here because the door said Arcane Outfitters..."

He left unsaid the blackmail-worthy tidbit about Denebriel liking goats. Because such a thing could get you killed, especially in a time when religious civil war was threatening to break out in even the most moderate, cosmopolitan of towns. Especially when you were giving another customer every reason in the world to hate your guts. Just as well, given what Caden said next.

"...and so did her cat, apparently," he pointed, just as Tiddles' tail vanished into the back room.

[Schrodinger's Nirvana]

She watched it all sink in to the chubby little man; watched it sink in and watched him smile. Like Caden's, it was slightly deranged; but she also saw a hunger there and one she understood all too clearly. This man was a wizard; and for that Jay was thankful.

"Tiddles, as far as I understand, does what he pleases, Mister-Speaking-Bulltwaddle-Fluently." Jay drew back, letting his fingers stroke the desk. The smile remained, sipping coffee behind a ginger beard, contemplating turning into a smirk. "Not many come through here that can actually read it; those who can know they have quality. As you said; heresy, burning at the stake..." He made circling motions with his hands, motions of grandeur. "I might have things that the Gods themselves have misplaced. Of course all of this here..." A wide sweep of the hand took in the shop front, "is nothing more than shiny Fae blood mixed with cheap paint and made with the broken hands of sweatshop children. D'you have any idea at all...any...how many people I've fooled with this?"

There was a pause.

Caden could be forgiven for glancing at Nirvana.

"Except her. She doesn't count." Jay wrinkled his nose at the woman who frowned back. "Haven't figured her out quite yet. Now."

He gestured for the box. "Intermediate user. You have the clumsy hands of a beginner, so wait a moment and I can find something that might be better suited to you. I can also offer you many interesting things if your tastes run further into the areas I specialize in. There might even be...delicious cake."

Why yes! Another pause.

"All I need is credentials. You see; the only reason any of the magic-using book-humping, sex-starved wastrels that populate this area tolerate my presence (apart from, of course, my rather lacking physique, lacking of anything remotely romantic happening and working in customer service) is that I know. My. Business. Question is, do you know yours?"

Wizards. Nirvana rolled her eyes. Her fight had turned into a cock-match. Taking a few strands of hair into her mouth, she sucked at them, eyes narrowed.

"Cake? You never mentioned cake to me."

[Caden Law]

There about ten thousand officially recognized Ways to Prove Wizardry -- and that's just among the Salvic orders. Most boil down to gossip not much different (or more mature) than schoolgirl chatter. Such methods tend to change about once a century, maybe once every two or three depending on how long some old sod's managed to keep himself alive and influential, but beyond them are the more precise methods. The most respected (and not necessarily the most respectable) are in no particular order: Practical demonstrations of proper Wizardry, quotations of regulations (especially sanctioned Hat sizes), a binding Oath of some sort...

...and being able to show you're cryptic and snobby and just plain egomaniacal enough to fit the proper perception of a Wizard.

Caden could've done any of that, but he opted for the latter on the grounds that he was young and stupid and Jay wasn't an armor-clad Elf floutist with a stick up his ass.

"In all likelihood," he began, drawing himself up to his full height and forcing his voice to a deeper, slightly older tone -- easy play for anyone who actually did learn the oratory acrobatics required of Wizardry. "The cake is a lie. Enlightenment is the poor monk's excuse to do nothing concerning the world around him; to place himself upon a pedestal of self-importance and to hold the weight and merit of his soul above the tens of millions who surround him -- the ants that they are. But ants eat cake. And just as ants eat cake, man destroys enlightenment. All that's left is shit."

No, no that did not make any sense at all. Unless you squint really hard or, like most Wizards do, think way too damn much about anything and everything. Caden set his chin forward and deigned to adjust his goggles with an artfully risen fingertip. He started to continue--

And a mushroom bloomed, withered and died on the countertop.

"Now show me the fucking goods already, Neckbeard."

It bears mention that Caden's own Voice does not actually sound like that. At all. This was something considerably more powerful than his; something old and vast, powerful and entirely too giggly to convey a proper show of Wizardly Intimidation. Though the giggles did fit pretty well with the whole Wizards are batshit power-crazy fools likely to blow up the planet someday theme that seems to run through any man in a Pointy Hat. The special effects were also a nice touch, case in point.

Another mushroom sputtered up on the counter, withered and died. Then another, and a few more after that; until they'd formed a looping spiral pattern from one end of the counter to the next. At the crescendo, every single one of them turned the same crimson as Caden's words, ignited and were gone.

Not a single ash or puff of smoke anywhere in sight.

For his part, Caden realized that someone was speaking through him on the first syllable. It wasn't like this was the first time his mouth and throat had been possessed. He was just quick enough on the uptake to hide his shock at everything, and just smooth enough to transition from Giggles to Knowing Smiles.

"My patience," he said, terminally aware of how dry his mouth now felt. "Is thin. I've had a long journey. I don't stop by shops like this often. Please have the decency to make it worth the effort."

[Schrodinger's Nirvana]

Throughout this display of juvenile magic-mine’s-bigger, Jay was grinning. That grin just grew bigger and bigger as Caden continued to philosophise and wave his hands around, and then he just stopped-


"Now show me the fucking goods already, Neckbeard."

-and the man practically giggled and clapped his hands together, not at all disturbed at the mushrooms atop his counter. No, his eyes were wide with childlike delight at the spiral and as the last one died, he dipped close, inhaled and sighed rather suspiciously.

Nirvana took a step back. It was possible Caden may have done the same.


My patience, is thin. I’ve had a long journey. I don’t stop by shops like this often. Please have the decency to make it worth the effort.”

“Hm-hmm…It’s unusual for Jomil Herself to take an interest in the lowly ground dwellers…” Jay drew a finger along the same path the mushrooms had taken. “…And if she has an interest in you, whoooo-eee, you’re going to be living in interesting times my friend.”

There was a clunk as he hopped off the little stand he needed to see over the counter top and his well-made boots danced across the floor with unparalleled grace for a man so round and badly, in normal terms at least, dressed. Wizards never did have much fashion sense. “Agaricus bisporus, although they don’t normally sprout in that colour…that’s how I know, in case you were wondering. Hermitess or not, Jomil is a skint bitch and button mushrooms come cheap. Which reminds me, don’t breathe a word of the name please. Yes, don’t give me that look, it’s the name my enemies would least expect. A few store owners have already made attempts on my life but the names they come up with…Hah! I think their demons mislead them on principle because it’s so daft.” With a wave of his hand he pulled the door aside to reveal a gaudy bead curtain that glimmered somewhat in the light. Noticing the looks he was given he shrugged. “Anti-theft deterrent. You’d be surprised at the amount of young fly-by-nights who think a wand grants them ultimate power and suddenly they want a bloody familiar or an actual magic carpet. Stupid creatures.”

Nirvana waited for Caden to pass then followed the two wizards into the corridor that lead to two sets of stairs – one going up, one going down. Tiddles waited at the ones leading down, watching them through half-lidded sleepy eyes. “Where are we going?”

“The store.”

“But we were just in the store.”

Now Jay stopped to fix her with a frown, hand on the rail to go down. “You’re joking right?” A pause. “Why are you coming down here anyway? Go and watch the shop!" He made a shooing gesture, but she did her best to stare him down. He nudged Caden. "Go downstairs, we'll discuss...wizardly things. What are you after, if it's been 'so long'?"

[Caden Law]

"Oh, you know...things." Caden shrugged, pulling off the practiced vagueries of Wizardry with an ease that actually did more to calm and comfort him than his actual homecoming. "Perhaps a Wand, or a Rod, or..."

He stopped short, in the way that heterosexual men do when that weak little thing clicks in the part of the brain devoted to the abstract concept of Masculinity. The halt was played artfully well, as Caden waved a hand and idled back from Jay a few steps to do it. Chiefly because Masculinity had noticed that Jay was acting a bit queer, even by Wizarding standards (which, among other things, include fully grown men and women running around in dresses and wearing pointed hats and speaking in languages that don't exist). Oh, sure. Caden had faced down lithe assassins, maniacal Warlocks and rampaging barbarians, but that was a bridge he was not quite ready to cross. Yet. Probably ever.

Which is why a few things happened almost as soon as he'd finished speaking. One is that he bumped an elbow into Nirvana's rather ample breasts, which tended to preceed the rest of her a little bit. The second is that he jerked away and somehow made the whole thing look intentional by flinging an arm around her shoulders and pointing forward.

"And pardon my interruption, but I sense magic in this girl's pu...cat," Caden corrected himself immediately. It bears mention that 'Raven had been blue for about two or three years now. Make of that what you will. "And it would be best if she were kept near her familiar, yes." Which is why he very artfully repositioned Nirvana between himself and Jay. "Before it breaks something."

As if on cue, Tiddles was gone when anyone next looked for him. His disappearance was followed by a metallic rattle and a chorus of shrill profanities; not unlike a parrot with a grasp of human obscenity.

Caden smiled, wide and reassuring and wholly natural. Whether Nirvana echoed the expression or not, Jay could be pardoned for a little unn sound as he turned and ambled down the stairs. Nirvana followed, and Caden brought up the rear with an expression of unconcealed relief.

"Welcome to the real Arcane Outfitters of Salvargh," Jay spat upon reaching the bottom of the stairs. The pudgy little neckbeard of a Wizard darted out of view an instant later, and Caden and Nirvana were left to clear the remaining dozen or so steps without his charming presence to keep them company.

The actual shop itself wasn't particularly impressive, but it wasn't quite as ridiculous as you'd expect either. It was obviously a conversion of an old wine cellar, or perhaps a very large basement, but it was one that was well done. The lighting was very deliberate; plenty of dramatic shadows, but all the important details (except pricetags) were readily apparent and easy to see even without moving anything. The walls had been expanded and reangled to form a perfect octagon, hidden away behind shelves and wracks with a good selection of genuine magical items -- and it was all neatly organized too, with a few more shelves and some robe-wracks to occupy the center of the floor.

A single table stood in contrast to everything else, its edges covered in runes and the air above and around it looking strangely compressed. Light bent and thinned and wrenched itself to fit a smaller space, piling in until the actual details were lost. Caden recognized it for what it was though, and whether Nirvana prompted it or not, he gave a whistle and explained: "A desk of holding. Compresses the dimensions above and around it so that the owner can effectively stuff a full-fledged laboratory into a small space."

Looking at the desk drew one's eyes up though, to the lines chalked onto the ceiling; all white and purple and delicately patterned. Lining the interior were harshly etched lines that Caden recognized as Sideways Diamonic -- a calendar set-up listing the Names of every single day in the Occult year as part of a barrier spell. Contain the year and you contain everything in it, including magic. A glance down at the floor and more lines stood out, once you bothered to look for them. These were actual pieces of woodwork though, thin bits of Liviol that had been Worked into the very make-up of the hardwood floors through alchemy or enchantment (or, less likely, with a really good saw and hammer and a lot of bandages for busted thumbs).

This too was a containment spell, but the Sideways Diamonic lines etched into it were passages from containment textbooks. Description theory in action, describing all the effects of magic gone wrong and ending every single description with a symbol roughly translating as and nothing happened. Thorough work by any standard. Caden explained this to Nirvana, who merely nodded. Gods only know if she actually comprehended it or not.

More circles littered the floor, and a few were visible on the empty spaces of the walls and beneath certain things on the shelves. These were all chalk, and many looked fresh enough to show the efforts of maintenance and actual care...

...and then there was the empty guilded cage not far from the Desk of Holding, its delicately crafted door hanging ajar. Not far from it, a pair of almost cherubic little imp-things were buzzing about, chittering like irate parrots while a third was flailing around on the floor beneath the paw of a very attentive (and somehow snarky looking) Tiddles, who had eyes locked with Jay. Listen closely now. Very closely. Inch your ear to the fourth wall, squint a little and you might hear the emotion of the moment playing itself out in the subtext of Jay's obscenities and lack of actual violence against the offending cat.

...do I feel lucky? someone probably asked in another time and place. Well. Do ya? Punk?

"You know," Caden eventually said, more to himself than anyone else. "I'm actually sort of impressed."

[Schrodinger's Nirvana]

For the most part - and unknown of course to Caden - Nirvana didn't notice the touch or the flailing attempt to cover up the 'accident'. The dynamics of people, specifically how they related to each other and what have you, were lost on her. She had few responses in this form; if she'd been her previous self she'd have either killed him or taken him to her personal quarters.

Being a God made everything so much simpler. The dark space behind her eyes that was now 'her' was confusing and disheartening.

Still.

She walked down slowly, watching the room unfold in front of her and listening to Caden talk, stirring awake only when she reached the ground. Now she was standing there, feeling the tamed magic beneath her boots, she found her voice again.

"You should be. He built this place from the ground up. Jay is....I've only known him for a few weeks, but he's full of surprises. I had no idea that this place existed however, and I'm...normally better at picking up on this stuff." She finally sighed, and tucked a strand of dark hair behind a delicate ear.

But then being human means having doubts. And I dislike doubts.

She glanced at the dancing Jay with some interest - the fact he was light on his feet too was rather amusing, although she knew for a fact that Tiddles would not eat the creature beneath his paws at all - it wasn't actually real in any sense - it was magic, and while Tiddles was...special...he preferred his food being somewhat natural. And possibly squirming.

She hadn’t even noticed the actual familiars curled up in their respective holding pens on the far wall - the ones for sale that is. She sensed no sickness, no worry, no fear from them, all creatures of magic they lounged happily and even cooed their respective welcomes to a fellow creature of magic (and perhaps mischief) as Tiddles prowled, the squirming imp in his mouth shouting tiny profanities.

As if drawn by the newcomers, a second one left the safety of the cage and whirred towards the wizard and the mortal, opting more for Nirvana due to the fact she was...well, female. And had long hair to swing on. Reaching up she gently pried it from a lock and peered at it as it peered at her, looking vaguely like a purple-skinned, wide-eyed infant with a mop of curly lilac hair and two perfect ivory horns. It smiled, showing perfect pointed teeth and fluttered it’s wings. Oh, Me, it even has a tail, she thought.

“What is this?”

“It’s Tic.” Came the exasperated mutter from Jay as Tiddles bolted into a number of broom racks and began to slowly make his way towards the comparative safety of Caden.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Tell your damn cat to heel!”

‘Tic’ squirmed in her hand and was happy to right himself and sit and coo at Caden, trying to do a great impression of a happy baby. It wasn’t having much of an effect however, so those tiny wings became a blur and he drifted into the air to move back to a gilded cage where a third was watching them from a nest of what looked like old tea-towels.

“Tiddles dear, drop the dirty thing please.” Nirvana said, attention captured by the creatures there who were snuggling up to each other. They were rather sweet, yes, but her inner instinct said otherwise, teeth like that were there for a reason. There was a muffled squeak, and a sigh from Jay as he straightened up and padded over to the wall to wind the cage down from the ceiling and place the third imp inside and gently close the door as the other two swarmed over him and started to groom him.

“Tic, Tac, and Toe.” Jay smoothed down his robes, aware now that some private joke in class many years ago sounded very stupid now. “My, ah, end of year experiment for my Dark Arts Class. They’re actually fully grown and very helpful but its best if they’re kept caged up when…the public are around.” He shot a deathglare at the cat who was now winding his way around Caden's boots and purring like a maniac. “I’m sure I had that locked.”

“I’m afraid my companion doesn’t believe in locks.” Nirvana said; but she suspected the human wouldn’t understand what she meant – if Tiddles didn’t believe it, it didn’t exist. He’d find a way around it. He was most frustrating sometimes; it was good to be mad at something and complain about it as opposed to finding an instant answer.

Which was why he should never, ever play poker again.

"Stand where I can see you and pick up that cat. I'm doing business here." Jay snapped at her while he petted and soothed the imps before winding them back up again. He fixed Caden with a kind eye. “I’m guessing you need to stock up. But I have to say; Gods aside, you look like a man with a story. Mind telling me what you’re after and why?”

[Caden Law]

"Sacred truth, blessed enlightenment, divine forgiveness, and just a little bit of inner peace," Caden declared, completely unphased by the fact that Tiddles had (somehow) taken up residence on his shoulder for a few seconds. He managed to maintain a completely straight face for the entire duration of this, while Nirvana finally plucked the cat off and fussed at it. From start to finish, Caden kept his poker face aimed squarely at Jay, and neither of them even blinked.

...at least until Jay burst out laughing and Caden slowly snickered his way into an academic cackle. Somewhere in the midst of this, one of them gasp-laughed and the other went derp!, and it's pretty much a moot point to try and guess which did which. It was one of those Nerd Moments that define Wizardry when the Hat-wearing fruitcakes aren't trying to blow each other's lungs out with a death curse. It was also, probably, lost on Nirvana that this was also a rather Evil Nerd Moment at that.

"Good one," Jay chortled at the end.

"I know, right?" Caden asked, and he'd never admit that those were his true goals in all of this. Not to another Wizard anyway. "But more importantly, which do you want first?" he asked, then pointed a finger up and to the left. "The story," and then to the right. "Or the goals."

Jay shrugged. "Should I get the chairs?"

"Probably."

It's here that our perspective will shift for a moment -- mostly to save you from the inevitable pains of having Nirvana and Jay make dudududu, nunununu sounds while waving their fingers around as Caden tells his story. Up the stairs now. Back out into the shop, and pause just long enough to take a look around. Ignore the sound of Jay's mother yelling for him like a strangled turkey. Over the counter, between the shelves, and out through a very tiny opening at the bottom of the doorway; just big enough to race a snowroach on our way out onto the frosted cobblestones of the street.

Turn again, and resume the man's eye view as we leave the snowroach to its unknowable errands. Further up the street where Zen Cake Emporium now stood, all the way to a dingy looking pub appropriately named the Rotwood Reclusionary. It looked rancid in the way of spoiled meat or flat in the way of wine that's been left open for too long. Just fancy enough to be upscale, but the placement was entirely too far off for it to draw the kind of crowds the owners must've wanted. It had a uniquely shop-soiled charm that would look more in place on a Victorian prostitute.

To make matters worse, Rotwood Reclusionary stood (or rather, crouched indecently) in the shadow of Dendrestok's Weather Tower. A tall, ominously thin structure that was supposedly a dozen times bigger on the inside than it was out, its roof accessed by a winding, unsupported path that reached around from its midsection in sheer bloody-minded defiance of petty things like gravity. Home to, among other things, Dendrestok's Clerical Archmage and his personal goon squad of Hit-Wizards. One of the main reasons the city's not imploding on itself (yet, if that riot near Dendrestok's gates is any solid indication of things to come).

But enough about the Tower. Into Rotwood we go...

...or not.

Down again, as a mushroom sprouted and died in front of the door. Quickly; the knob is turning. With a creak, it opened to show a pair of glossy black leather boots; new to within the past year or two, perhaps. The owner started walking with footfalls that were heavy with purpose and light with sound, and as he moved the bottom edge of a dark red robe became apparent. Further up, and maybe with a keen eye you'd look past the thin legs hidden behind black riding pants, all the way to the fountains and the tables and the other places that mushrooms grew, withered and collapsed without rhyme or reason.

Follow this one, and keep drinking the details of his appearance because you probably won't get much of a chance to do this again. Note the black belt holding the robe shut, its buckle a dragon's head leafed from gold and inset with a single green gem where the visible eye should be. Pay close attention to the strangely curved sword sheathed at his side, its scabbard hewn from fine redwood and capped with an icy looking metal.

All the way down the street, with only sparse stops here and there to spread a bit of sedition behind the ironclads' backs. The people of Dendrestok are itching for a fight, and the opposition doesn't matter. Neither do leaders. He is the enemy of their enemy, and thus he is their friend. Round a corner, by a familiar fountain, and to the place a certain tavern once stood.

The last mushroom to sprout and die is on the other side of the front door door, its entire life played out in the time it took for a four-fingered hand to reach down, turn the knob and push. Note the scales, and the softer skin on the palms. Light blue, and the throat and probably the soles of the feet match. There's a ring on every finger, but only the ones on the pinkies glow. Into the Emporium, where none stand watch and none will call the warning.

Now take one last look at this one. Note the broad chest and shoulders, and the long, thick neck to accompany them. Finally take in that draconic head, with its sharpened teeth and watery orange eyes with slit green pupils.

His name is Anton. Anton Wyrmtongue, to be specific. You'll probably find out the specifics of the namechange sooner or later. Or maybe you won't. What matters is that he's one of Jay's more loyal customers, and he's here today on an appointment. Funny how that works, if you stop to consider the cosmic detour that lead him here -- and all the little coincidences along the way.

Better, She told Herself, with a giggle that echoed into the world of mortals as a soft breeze along the docks at low tide. Much better.

[Schrodinger's Nirvana]

Lask Ventrist was almost disappointed the shop wasn’t a cake shop at all, but he’d learned to expect more (Or was it less?) from his employer since he accepted the contract. Pausing in the doorway to adjust a strap on his over-the-top armour, Lask watched Anton sniff around and pick up the occasional tome, long tongue flicking out to taste it’s authenticity.

“You know, this place has a reputation for-”

“Hired help doesn’t disturb the one that’s hired it.” Anton cut him down. “And please! Stay in character.”

Grunting, the larger Icetongue settled back and looked around with the dismal look of someone who knew they were in over their head. The shop was empty, but the owner was probably out back – these small stores were all the same. Gently letting his mace slide to the floor, the hired ‘thug’ stepped in with an odd grace and meandered over to the counter to look at the magazines there. Magic wasn’t really his thing.

The two were similar in that they were the same species, but unlike Anton Wyrmtongue, magic-user extraordinaire, Lask was big, muscular, and had a tail, automatically assigning him the post of hillbilly. This was made more complicated when the simple minds of the folk of Dendrestok by the fact that his eyes were clear, bright, and clearly intelligent.

A cat fancier’s magazine. Gee, ma’d love that.

“It’s very unusual for the owner not to be out by now. I have no wish to wait…” Came the mumble from behind a few bales of cloth marked 'invisible silk, ask me how to activate!!'

“We can come back later if you’d like.”

There was a stony silence of disapproval.

Lask groaned, inwardly, and tried again. “Me go look?” Fucking stereotypes. Humans at least were a little forward thinking. Talking like a stupid, brain-shook barbarian was not what he’d gone through university for. “Me find?” The sarcasm dripped off each word like poison.

“That would be wonderful.”

“I have a name.” Lask muttered under his breath. Nobody had wanted to hire him in the alchemy laboratories, and he couldn’t wait on the dwarven workshops to get back to him on the device manufacture; he’d needed money now. And that money came from Anton. Dirty money. His dear old mother would be so ashamed of her broodling!

He poked his snout across the desk, sharp eyes taking in the register – firmly locked – and the half-opened boxes of stock. He padded carefully behind the counter, looked to the door, and lightly rapped, hoping Anton wasn’t looking and would chastise him for Doing It Wrong. He had been doing that for the last week and it was enough to drive a sane person mad!

But no. There was the quietest of squeals. Lask rolled his yellow eyes with amusement as Anton started to handle a bunch of vials which were probably just weeds. He got so excited about this stuff.

The rest of the stock-room was quiet, with two sets of stairs, one leading up, the other down. Up smelt like cooking (Ooh, hotpot. He made a mental note to go shopping once Anton let him go. It was his turn to cook this evening at the boarding rooms, and the landlady liked a lizard who knew his way around the kitchen) but down had that…smell.

Getting a degree in alchemy had developed Lask’s snout into a fairly good smelling machine, and working with Anton had taught him how to recognise something he had never worked with before – magic. He took off a chain-mail glove and lightly pressed a paw against the wood, cocking his head to the side.

Behind him there was a clatter, and out of the corner of his eye he noticed Anton picking himself up and looking fairly annoyed. Lask grinned.

There was a second store-room beneath them, it was humming vibrantly with incredible power. While he didn’t use it, Lask still understood it was important, and decided this was where the actual stuff might be. It didn’t make sense to sell it to the public because the public didn’t know how to find it’s arse with both hands. It was irresponsible. The snatches of voices meant he had clients and had forgotten to close up. The gentle giant nodded again to this and lightly pulled away, carefully rearranging his tail to not knock anything over.

Anton would be displeased, but a half hour should do it. He’d take him down to the tea-shop and settle him with something nice to eat. His brow furrowed. Scones or something.

“Mr. Wyrmtongue.” He started, then cursed. Anton peeked over a display and narrowed his eyes.

“You. Are not going to get anywhere unless you play your part.”

A few scales beneath Lask’s right eye twitched. “Shopkeep’s downstairs, selling. It’s a private sale. The Snowflake Bowery is on this street and I hear they do wonderful teacakes, sir.” He drew himself up, a full head and shoulders above the mage. “We can go there while we wait, like civilized people.”

There was a clucking sound of distaste. “No. No, shorten your words, be vulgar-”

“It’s demeaning, sir. And it reflects badly on you.”

“But it’s the whole look of the thing.” A taloned hand curled at Anton’s jaw. “You’re the hired help.”

“And the hired help has degrees in Alchemy and Basic Mechanisations.”

Pause.

“Touché.” He picked an imaginary speck off his robes. “But you are paying.”

Lask sighed. Loudly. “I know.”

[Caden Law]

There are times, now and then, where it looks like everything is going to go just fine. Anton and Lask go have frozen coffee drinks, Caden tells his sob story with lots of lies by omission about this and that. Caden finishes, gets himself a spiffy new magic item and leaves. Quickly. Nirvana is left with Jay, Jay basically pawns her off on Anton and Lask when they return, Anton and Lask sell her into prostitution, and about five years later a drug-crazed gnome named Vikintholler Tintinrocknose stabs her to death after experiencing a critical case of nasal impotence. Tiddles gets cake.

All in all, it's a scenario where everybody wins.

Except that's too boring and drawn out and it smells funny in strange places. The Mushroom Maiden simply won't stand for it.

That'll never do, She said, Her voice a twitter of melancholy turning to mischief. It's just too predictable.

Not at all fitting for a Chaos Goddess to go like that either, the Sage pointed out from over Her shoulder. Needs more...

She grinned. It had the sort of beauty that launches a thousand ships on a campaign of genocide; a beauty that nothing good can ever stem from, save for transient acts and atrocities that are fondly remembered because they make history more interesting.

Entropy, She said, and did.


-----

The door of the Zen Cake Emporium swung open. In doing so, it clipped a gnome across the shoulder and knocked the little guy over in an ugly spin that sent him nose-first into someone else's knee. The someone in question promptly fell over on top of the gnome, and the ensuing tumble carried them into the middle of the street. An ironclad of the Watch, full armored in his namesake platemail and wielding a truncheon that looked more like a steel-plated baseball bat, smashed the two apart. Literally.

He took a swing. The human went down with broken legs. The gnome took it square in the face. His corpse ended up ten feet in the air before crashing down in a frozen watermelon stand and causing the whole damn thing to collapse.

When it was all said and done, the ironclad shouldered his weapon and demanded, "ORDER!" at the top of his lungs.

Then the dead gnome's adoring knee-high shrew of a wife shouted back, "Vikintholler Tintinrocknose died for the sins of the proletariat!"

The ironclad gave her a withering look. An instant later, a snowball crumbled on the back of his head. Then another. Then a chunk of watermelon and finally some asshole started yanking cobblestones out of the ground and flinging them with the battlecry of, "Remember Vik!"

Cue the riot. Because people can and will use anything to justify a good bout of raping and pillaging, even if it's their own neighbors being victimized.

Back at the shop, Anton cleared his throat while Lask just stared at his unintended handiwork. Eventually, the Warlock started clapping unenthusiastically. "There goes the neighborhood," he said out loud, just as one of their fellow Wyrmfolk charged by with the medieval equivalent of a television set: A printing press. The size of a small car. A dozen Dwarves and one ugly little bastard of a sailor were helping him carry it.

"Shit," was Lask's eloquently worded response.

"This puts a slight monkeywrench into things," Anton commented. The actual Glorious Revolution of Dendrestok wasn't planned to happen for another month or so, when he and his immediate pack of minions were a nice, safe distance away -- far enough to avoid the fighting, close enough to take the credit. "You did remember to tell everyone about the back-up meeting place, right?" Anton asked. Right on cue, the Billard Butchery exploded from an untalented amateur's misfired spellwork. The Wizards and ironclads wouldn't be long after that.

"Me...was...po-rob-uh-bleeeeee...not? Clarified fooorrrrrrr dat," Lask replied. He did a pretty good job of hiding the eyelid twitch too.

Anton had no comeback. Only a subject change could save his authority on this one. "Welp, that settles it. Time to go shake down the store owner. Come along, minion."

Note the mumblings of sassafrassin'demmahrnf and so on.


-----

"...which brings me to my current respite here," Caden finished up, rather neatly omitting the bit about the Necromancy that'd driven him to come here in the first place. He left in the timetravel, the alternate future and even the apparent divine intervention with a side of psychotic rival; these kinds of things are hardly uncommon for Wizards and their ilk. It wasn't that he didn't trust Jay when it came to the Necromancy either; he didn't trust the fat little Neckbeard at all.

He just didn't want anyone to know about that until long after he had dealt with it in his own way, by "Heading up to Icehenge and seeing if I'm worthy."

He looked at the pudgy Wizard squarely now.

"Now can I purchase my necessities or--"

Whatever quip he had was cut off by the sound of an explosion happening outside. All three of them turned to the door and waited.

They heard the sound of boots falling heavy on the stairs leading to Jay's real shop. Then they heard the steady schlupping of a classic minion's reckless strides. Then they all got to see it -- and Caden got it in a kind of horrified slow motion -- when the Warlock called Anton finally stepped into view.

Silence followed, if not for the entire group then for Anton and Caden. They stared at each other so hard the air between them practically sparked.

"Nice Hat," Anton finally declared, smiling like death warmed over. He was a picture of serenity as he opened his robe and started to draw out an awfully familiar sword.

"Nice minion," Caden lamely replied, a cold sweat breaking out all over his face. The temperature in the room was starting to drop. The Wizard stood up without taking his eyes off Anton for a second.

"...I should've joined the union," Lask muttered.


-----

The ball's in your court now, my little Uncertainty, the Withering Woman whispered to herself.

[Schrodinger's Nirvana]

“…Mister Wyrmtongue?” Came the astonished murmur of Jay as he backed into the bookcases that lined the walls. “What in the world…HEY. RULES STATE YOU LEAVE WEAPONS AT THE DOOR, MISTER.” It was punctuated by a sharp hiss from the lap of Nirvana where Tiddles sat. Well, had. Now he was standing up with a tail like a toilet brush and bared teeth. His claws were also going through Nirvana’s skirts which explained her facial expression of pure murder.

She got up. Rather quickly, with a flourish of skirts in the classic ‘Quick! Distraction!’ motion women in these sort of dresses do. She almost tripped over the chair as well; which kind of ruined the effect but by then the distraction had done it’s work, and Tiddles on the other hand, went flying. The furry ballistic missile of spite and bile shot through the air at an amazing speed and directly at Anton’s head, but was stopped just in time when Lask had a Bodyguard moment and leaped in to intercept. It went unnoticed - flailing at the close-contact-cat, Lask was shoved out the way by a furious, hissing Anton who was only too eager to get at the wizard BlueRaven. There were teeth, people. Teeth.

This provided Nirvana with enough cover to vault over a table top, happily forgetting Caden in the process due to self-preservation needs and the realization that Lizard-Man knew Wizard-Boy. It wasn’t a chummy knowing either, and there would be giblets in a minute. If she could keep her head down it meant bodies to pick-pocket, and Lizard-Man was possibly packing something. Equipment went flying; supplies and otherwise, some coarser liquids making pockmarks in the opposite wall as she surveyed the situation and listened to Jay screaming. “Gods Almighty, Anton! Is this about your subscription to Witches Weekly?! I got onto the publishers already; they’ll get you your free naughty almanac-”

Another crash. A barbarian with a faceful of fur does not a dainty creature make; and he just had to crash into the weapons section into the miasma already on the floor. “SIR. I AM BLEEDING. HEAL, PLEASE.”

“Shut up, minion.”

Jay howled in dismay, watching his profits mix and sink to the floor; staining precious artefacts and causing a Sword of Justice to start to rust. Nirvana on the other hand was not impressed; grabbed a Bunsen-burner and threw it as hard as she could over her head. There was an “OW” but she wasn’t sure who it was from and she looked around for more things to throw until a better idea presented itself. The floor was starting to smoke which didn’t bode well.

“It’ll only take a week, I swear!” The fat wizard howled tearing his hat off and using it to try and wipe Snork bile off a rather nasty looking book – its title was mostly obscured by the fluorescent yellow slime but the words ‘impress people’ could still be seen; which was probably why it was locked shut with a padlock as thick as Jay’s arm. “Oh please! Just stop!”

Tiddles, who at this point had let go – Lask was not the one he was bothered with, and anyone covered in armour and waving their arms about was asking for trouble - curled his whiskers in his classic I can haz cheezburger? expression of adoration. This was not lost on Lask, who took the opportunity to whip around, cat still in hand, and stare at Anton, blood dripping down his snout. “What? You got worked up and all that shit about a fucking calendar?”

"Almanac! It has more pages, imbecile!" Again, another distraction. As Anton had turned to answer Lask, across the room and sweeping majestically (Again. But give her time, she’s new.) Nirvana appeared, brows furrowed and lips puckered to mumble a spell. The ball of fire lasted for a half second as she wove it into being in the palms of her hands to send flying at the three with an excited “Hah!”, burning brightly.

“NOT IN HERE!”

The fireball, which had now travelled halfway across the room and was no bigger than a baseball fizzled out with a final, sad little pop. This only caused Anton to grin – a wide, wicked grin with plenty of teeth. “…That was pathetic.”

“…What?!” Nirvana, who had been quite proud of her little achievement, promptly answered with a pouty face. Surely she’d gathered enough energy to actually do it, she was a freakin’ Goddess for crying out loud, caged in mortal flesh, sure but what the fu-

“I dunno, boss, that was kind of co-”

“Shut up, minion. This is how someone uses magic.” Cue the hand-movements, the ominous deep voice and the light show of epic doom. This was accompanied by Jay saying a few choice words and ducking behind some Impervious Shields and Nirvana scurrying for cover. The mumbling became cackling before resounding in a thunderous: “ZIEG. SADOH.”

Distantly, Jay muttered. “Oh bugger.” His little demons cackled in answer, swinging gaily in their cage and watching the whole scene below with glee. The only thing they were missing was popcorn; and they were making do with their bedding and possibly, in Toe’s case, their own droppings.

The words rippled into the air, glowing green and lurking in corners as they swelled and dripped with magic. This was real blood-and-bones stuff, except without the body parts, and with what could be thunder, unless you looked too closely at Lask who was shivering in armour that was ill-fitting.

The words formed into wisps of light which did a circle around Anton – highlighting his expression of pure delighted evil, then pooled to the floor at his feet. Bubbling and boiling like a pair of tarpits, twin snouts broke free of the ooze, snapping like crocodiles and snorting bubbles of gak at their master as he bent to give them an affectionate caress. Now a scaled paw – or was it a hand? Blank eyes opened as massive shoulders heaved themselves out, then the spine-

pfft

The twin demon hounds, against a shiny background of the kind of magical seals any sane wizard would put on a collection of highly volatile and experimental artefacts, stiffened and erped. And then; horribly; they began to shrink. In less time then it took for Anton’s face to fall and for his Oh, shit! moment to come to pass, the two crocodile-dogs became clockwork crocodile-dog toys, jerkily padding across the floor. The group watched in stricken silence as one actually front-flipped, then returned to making odd strangled yipping-noises, only to be followed by it’s sibling in a continual weird dance of circles, flips and yap. Yap. YAP.

“Fuck, me.” Lask said, in awe and very impressed.

“This is a lab, people.” Jay muttered tiredly, popping his head around his shelter, beard bristling with frustration. “Throwing around magic like that, gah, I ask you…Oh go…OH MY GODS. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

When your best spells go awry, someone had to pay. And Anton had by far too much to choose from.

[Caden Law]

Caden was suspiciously silent throughout this little display, his hands hidden behind his back and under the heavy cloak he'd bought earlier on. An attentive eye might've seen the sparks of light at his back.

A schooled eye would've realized those were spells forming and dying at his fingertips. No matter how hard he focused, Caden couldn't get a single thing to stay coherent long enough for it to be of use. Cold deep enough to turn the air blue faded out just as quickly as heat that came within a degree and a millimeter of setting his clothes on fire. Arcane energies dissipated at the same instant they were channeled and he couldn't feel a single open leyline anywhere.

A Wizard without his powers is a Wizard likely to panic. Caden was no different. Without his powers he was just a bookish nerd in funny clothes with some odd survival skills and a coward's reflexes. Without his powers he was a linguistic genius and a half-decent librarian. Without his powers he was a twiggy little schmuck who was going to die any second now.

Because Anton didn't need his powers.

Caden knew that from experience. He still felt the bruises to show for it. Anton was a Warlock. He drank paranoia like cheap ale. Murder was practically one of the only job skills life had ever given him. Without magic he still had martial prowess and a sword to go with it.

"Oh," Caden mumbled.

He had a sword too.

"Well. That settles that."

Calm clicked into place. The kind where terror isn't ignored, merely delayed and left to stack into an ugly mess that's likely to cause a heart attack later. As Anton's creations petered out into disturbingly cute little toys, Caden threw open his cloak and drew his sword. It was a poorly styled move. No talent for flourishing at all. On a battlefield, a draw like that would've gotten him killed. Any sloppier and he would've taken his own thumb off.

But he brandished the sword now, and as Anton charged him, Caden took a deep breath and tried not to shake too badly.

"Fear is the--"

"I don't know what it is with you," the Warlock screamed over him as swords met, enchanted dehlar ringing against plain old steel. "But Familiars or not, you will die today!"

Caden parried the first attack more on luck than skill. Anton pivoted through it and hit him in the stomach with a low spinning kick that sent the Wizard staggering back and knocked over the chair he'd been sitting on to tell his story. Anton lunged in after that and the only thing Caden had going for him was the situational awareness of a bystander and escapee from too many tavern massacres: He kicked out another nearby chair and used his boot to drag it into Anton's path at the same time. The Warlock stomped right through it but lost his balance and stopped short of attacking to keep from falling over.

Caden tried to take his head off right then and there. It was a swing like a baseball player on a bad acid trip. Anton deflected it with style, speed and grace; his sword laid flat across his forearm, swung up and sent Caden's blade wide. In the same motion, Anton flipped his sword back around and went for the kill. Caden jumped out of the way and smacked against a wall full of shelves, mostly filled with chemicals and dark gods only know what.

"Ever notice how your Familiars always screw up when you try using them on me?" Caden asked, that calm terror degenerating into hollow sarcasm. "That wouldn't have anything to do with problems in the bedroom, would it?"

Wyrmfolk don't necessarily scream. Sometimes they roar loud enough to shake small houses. Anton lunged forward with another wide swing, and Caden ducked under it in the same moment. Glass shattered and chemicals sprayed and mixed and wound up as some kind of acid on the floor. Caden rushed by Anton, turned and took a swing -- and missed. The Warlock bent forward and stuck a leg back and Caden took another foot in the stomach.

It was around this time that Jay finally stopped discouraging them and started calling their mothers whores. Some of the things he accused them of were, in Lask's educated opinion, "Relatively improbable...from an academic standpoint."

Tiddles mewled. Nirvana looted. Jay tried to fling a death curse at someone and forgot that his own precautions turned it into an impossibility. The runes even survived against acid and the churning miasma that was spreading on one side of the room.

However it happened, Anton and Caden locked blades and the Warlock surged forward. Caden wound up slammed back-first into the countertop, bent at a rather severe angle and holding Anton's blade from his face by a few terribly short inches...

...and he was serene.

Absolutely calm and thoughtful, his eyes a little bit glazed and a trickle of blood and spittle coming from either corner of his mouth.

"Arcanist's Rod and Bag of Holding," he said. "Satchel, preferably. Do you think you could fetch that for me?"

"SOD OFF!"

"I'll take that as a no then."

Roaring again, Anton finally managed to press the Wizard flat on the countertop. He opened his jaws. He went in for the kill. Wyrmfolk teeth are not merely for show, and it's technically not cannibalism if you're not the same species.

Caden blocked him by tilting his sword just enough to lay its blade in Anton's path. The Warlock's breath was still like getting hit by an arctic chill, and no amount of magical diffusion was going to stop that.

"Get off," Caden ordered without the talent or the strength to make an action movie moment out of it.

Another funny thing about Wyrmfolk: They can speak perfectly without the use of their mouths.

"...peel the flesh from your bones!"

"Hey," Nirvana said to Lask from a respectable distance. "Gimme a hand here." She was trying to singlehandedly push an armory rack's worth of goods up the stairs. She was also decked out in enough magical clothing and items to supply a small Wizards convention.

Lask stared at her for a good minute or so. Then he shrugged. "When in Salvar."

From a perch on his shoulder, Tiddles mewled. It somehow had the same effect as a twenty page essay on the evils of theft and rationalizations of men.

"I wasn't asking your opinion," Lask muttered as he got behind the shelf and shouldered it up the stairs. "And he doesn't pay me enough for this anyway."

Jay only caught sight of them when they were half-way up from the basement shop. About the only thing that could rankle him as much as rampant arson was opportunistic thievery. He grabbed a rod from behind the counter and chased after the two, heedless of the fact that the miasma had spread to the acid and started a small fire. In a very wooden room.

"You know what...I just...realized?" Caden asked as the room started to fill with purple smoke. "Jay...was able...to use barrier spells."

A Wizard never stops thinking. An especially shrewd one never stops looking for loopholes.

Caden closed his eyes and focused. Jay's diffusion arrays had been thorough, but they were left with an intentional loophole -- that last ditch Just In Case measure so that even if they failed, Jay would have enough time to set up more protections unimpeded. Magic, when you strip away all the mechanics of it, is about intentions. Willpower focused on a specific goal, for good or for bad or for neither. Get through the wording of it and Jay's barrier was a negation of the bad and the neutral.

It didn't do jack against a barrier spell.

Admittedly, Caden didn't have any actual barrier spells in his repertoire. What he did have was gravity.

He focused now. Focused until the whole world, the miasma, the fire, the smoke, the teeth all faded away. Until the only thing that remained was a feeling of weightlessness and a gentle repulsion; exactly 9.8 meters per second. Squared.

"Get away," Caden ordered. It wasn't exactly an award winning invocation for a spell, and it wasn't even a real attempt at creating one, but it did the trick.

Anton went from zero to 9.8 in exactly one second. Two and he was up to 19.6, and then he slammed into the ceiling and the far wall as a mere consequence of Caden's anti-gravity substitute for a barrier. It hadn't been the intention. That's why it worked. Caden didn't mean for Anton to crash and fall like that. He just wanted space to breathe.

...and once he got it, then he felt the bloodcurdling terror that constant fighting had kept at bay.

"Oh shit," Caden said. Because Anton was already getting back up and the miasma wasn't effecting him and the fires were almost deliberately going around him like they were afraid. "Oh shit, oh shit."

"I'm starting to tire of that mantra, Wizard," Anton rasped. "But I've waited two years to repay you for stranding me here. I'll make sure you have enough time to scream out a new one."

"Piss off, wanker," Caden replied.

Mostly because by the time Anton had gotten his bearings again, Caden was already at the stairway doing what Jay, Lask and Nirvana had all forgotten.

He slammed the basement door shut. Then took liberty of every single one of the deadbolts and chains and pad locks that Jay had put on there -- never to keep anything out, because they were on the wrong side to do that. They were there to keep things in. After that, Caden took the stairs four at a time, straight up a hallway that now seemed far too long for any measure of comfort, and finally out to the front shop where Jay and Nirvana had resumed bickering and Lask was standing there looking moderately ashamed and Tiddles...

Tiddles was sitting on the countertop, looking at Caden like he knew exactly what was about to happen. The cat meowed plaintively. It was about as close as anyone ever got to saying Shut the other door, you idiot!

Caden did just that. He had one deadbolt on it when the basement when sub-nuclear. Jay had done his work well: The containment runes were probably going to be found intact later on, and the workshop was so far down in bedrock that it did little beyond shaking an entire city block or two. When it was all said and done, the pudgy Neckbeard might even walk away with a bigger shop.

Unfortunately, for all the work he put into it, the containment spells and the reinforced door were unable to stop the funnel effect. Which promptly barreled up the stairs, blew the door off its hinges and out into the street. Not only did this scorch the ceiling a little bit, it had the added side effect putting Caden into a fountain of icewater and attracting the attention of the Dendrestok Ironclads. More so now that the riots had been put down.

Wouldn't be long now...

[Schrodinger's Nirvana]

It wasn't long, but seeing as the fight had been inside and for the last...however long Caden had been with Jay and Nirvana, the fight outside had gone unnoticed, unheard and unseen. Smoke billowed out of the broken doors, smelling faintly of mint, ozone and a faint whiff of scorched money, and Jay just stood there, his eyes wide, and face white with shock. He turned, slowly, his skin colouring to purple with rage.

“YOU IDIOT I SHOULD HAVE CLOSED THE DOOR AND LEFT YOU IN THERE. WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU AND YOUR FRIEND THINK-”

He was cut off as a massive hand closed around his mouth and pulled him aside. Lask at least had been thinking; and he was thinking very hard about the men in armour coming towards them. Jay at least quietened, but not before shooting a dripping – and freezing – Caden another glare. Tapping Lask’s scales, he was gently released and turned to face the snarling features of one of the many interchangeable guards that made up Dendrestok’s ‘finest’. Armour clanking, weapons on show, even Nirvana stopped her looting for a moment to stare at the man in the door.

“’Ere, you orf startin’ trouble again?”

“Magic spell backfired.” Jay lied, looking straight at the man – or at least trying to, it was hard being so short. Runes were drifting down from the scorched corridor like sparkly confetti, but Jay had more to worry about than just the breaking of his spells. It would take him a week to get everything operational again and to reassess stock. Provided, of course, he could rope Nirvana to actually help him seeing as she was carrying most of it right now…

“Pretty big spell.”

“And you’re a pretty big boy.” Jay put his hands on his hips. “What’s the term? Nothing to see here, I believe. Go keep chasing your thieves, good sir.”

“Bin a fight.”

Behind him, Lask gulped. Jay wasn’t moved. “Then shouldn’t you be tending to the losers?”

“Wonderin’ if you got somethin’ to do with it.”

Jay opened his mouth to respond, but a colossal banging began. Outside, scrambling to the side and ignoring the small children shrieking and trying to throw stones at him in a well-meaning and sort of evil kind of way, Caden had caught on what no-one else could – Jay was a true neckbeard.

He lived with his mother.

Now Jay, being Jay, had backed up considerably the moment he heard the banging of the cane. In turn, Nirvana scrambled over the desk, and Lask tried to make himself as inconspicuous as possible. Jay frantically shooed Tiddles off the desk, only to have him grabbed by a worried Nirvana and-

“WHAAAAAT’S GOING ONNN BOOOOY?”

Something was lurking at the top of the stairs to the back of the shop. The stairs were hidden by a bookcase, but the bookcase couldn’t hide the ominous creak of a door and the smell – which had been there all along but hidden by various aromas of herbs, spell components and soap, now banished by fire – of thick, foul smoke. There was also the possibility of body-odour and stale perfume too, but the cigars definitely took the cake. The creaking was nasty enough; the grunting of each step worse still. She was coming down the stairs.

The arrangements weren’t by choice, but Jay didn’t see it as being a necessarily bad thing, which is why he did what no man should ever do to another man at this point. Firmly pushing the other two to the door, Jay smiled at the copper and yelled back. “COPPERS ARE HERE, MA. SOMETHING ABOUT A COMPLAINT ABOUT SMOKE. YOU BEEN AT THOSE CIGARS AGAIN? Quick you idiots, outside now.”

The monstrosity turned the corner, and the guard promptly crapped himself. It was entirely missed due to the comic tumble into the slush outside and Jay being given a wide berth by the other two – three, counting Tiddles, who knew a true cat-hater when he saw it – and there was the final realization that Caden was in fact outside, in the cold, and sopping wet.

“Shit.” Lask muttered. He darted over to the well, broke the ice off forming on Caden’s clothes despite the shivering and inwardly groaned due to lack of anything to put around him.

“Does anyone want to tell me what happened?” Nirvana finally asked, clearly confused. Jay spared her a glance and waved her away, ignoring her pout.

“Give her half an hour, she’ll get bored and want a nap and we’ll help the brass get out. And it looks like another riot, although this one was rather large.”

“Anton and I-”

“Quiet. There are still people around. And that cunning snake…sorry, lad I meant no offense-”

“None taken.”

“-Used one of my spells to get himself loose. Blast it. It’s going to take ages to redo those seals. The missus is going to kill me.”

“You’re married?!” Cold made Caden forget to keep his mouth shut.

Jay ignored this and merely stared at his shop, looking annoyed. Nirvana wandered over to the wizard and took off the remains of her cloak – half of which had been torn up during her escape, and offered it. “He’s wearing a wedding ring.”

“Seriously?”

“I’m a…” She paused. “…Woman. Yes. A woman. You notice these things about people. Ahem.” Caden tried not to notice that there was a pair of tiny button mushrooms that had sprouted in the woman’s dark hair, looking almost like a hair-clip-decoration-thingie. “What?”

“Nothing.” Caden muttered. The cloak wasn’t helping much. “How long we got, old man?”

Jay cocked his ear. There was a lot of yelling inside by the building wasn’t giving that much of an inkling to what was being said. “Give her another twenty minutes…and us another ten.”

“What do you mean?”

Jay would say nothing more, and Caden took this moment to cuddle into Nirvana – the only warm and perhaps cuddly creature there at that moment as cats weren’t exactly his thing – and try to ignore her annoyed looks. He could always say he was cold, which he was. The squishy factor was a plus, provided the cat stopped giving him filthy looks.

People stared at them, the children took turns in toying with Lask’s great tail, and the door was flung open to allow the poor, stricken guard to run out and find his mates, snot streaming from his nose as a few tears rolled down his face in embarrassment. The other Ironclads decided that the public were more interesting at this point and began to edge away. While Jay’s mother did not come to the door, there was the faint whiff of cigar smoke and ominous creaking of the steps again as she made her glorious retreat.

“Jealousy makes a woman a bitch, you know. Poor sod. Didn’t want to do that to him but what choice did I have…” Jay finally muttered, shaking his head and aware that the rest of the Ironclads would probably want a word as to why one of their men had regressed to a childhood moment where he wet his breeches. He padded to the fountain, gave them all a bright little grin and then waved at someone behind them. “And help has arrived.”

Caden was the first to turn, but only because if he didn’t, he’d freeze to a solid block.

There was someone coming towards them. Someone which clearly boggled the wizard’s…and the hired help’s minds. Nirvana on the other hand simply went “Cooorrrr!”

Jay was a dark wizard. Jay was an adult dark wizard who had had a lot of fingers in a lot of pies. And Jay was married to someone most men would give an arm and a leg for. Walking towards them, steaming faintly with sizzling sexual energy in the struggling light, Dendrestok’s only retired succubus was moving towards them and completely ignorant of the way her velvet cape continued to caress her bronzed skin and highlight her hips and chest. The horns were a little off-putting, but they were small and she’d attached little bells to them. The same went for her long, slender tail, complete with tiny arrow-head on the end. Her hair was long, messy and escaping it’s plait, and her eyes –

-Oddly enough, were trained on Jay.

Then they widened, she dropped the basket of the week’s groceries, rilled anxiously and ran towards him, making several men sigh and women blush.

“JAAAAAAYY!!” Cue yet another squishy hug. Struggling beneath the velvet, Jay could only just manage to point to where Caden was sitting. The succubus stood up, horrified, and rilled again. “Oh my gods, that poor boy, c’mere!”

To which Caden found himself being very aptly warmed by something that he’d normally – and quite happily due to his last foray into dark magic – brutally kill.

“Caden Law, this is Daphne. My wife.” Slightly stressing the last two words, Jay adjusted skewed glasses.

“What happened to shop? Oh gods, is your mother alright? Who are you two? You look like you need feeding, you big scaly man you. Oh you poor dear, who put that in your hair? Why are all these guards here?”

“Bloody hell.” Nirvana muttered.

[Caden Law]

Caden was blind and deaf and loving it. A lot. This was the sort of situation that he would have, and had killed for, give or take a few minor technicalities here and there. He was more or less seated on the sidewalk, if only because he'd collapsed outside and the lower half of his coat had frozen to the ground by the time Lask showed up to beat the ice off of him. Nirvana was huddled to one side, perhaps kneeling, perhaps not. He had been a bit too cold and numb to care.

Along came Daphne. Along came her rack. Which now, by hook, crook, or purely devious good luck, rested on his opposite shoulder. Daphne, being Daphne, had extended her arms and hugged Nirvana. Caden was stuck in the middle and loving it. Enough that sympathetic magic kicked in and the air started to grow warm around him, along with the fact that his soggy, frozen Hat slowly but surely began to inflate up between the two women in a towering display of, er, Wizardry.

Daphne crooned about a space heater, Nirvana finally returned the hug. Things got squished. Caden's Hat now stuck up between their faces, right as Daphne went and delivered one of those I'm Not From Around Here kisses aimed at Nirvana's cheek. It hit the Hat.

Lask looked at Jay, who had a bit of murder in his eyes.

"Dear, I think he can't breathe," Jay said, though not unkindly. Which was fortunate, as nobody saw the slight trickle of blood from how hard his hands were clenched.

"What happened?" Daphne asked, not loosening one damn bit. Caden's Hat was actually starting to bulge near the top. Jay deliberately coughed into his fist a few times. Daphne frowned. Somehow, she made this look like an unspoken invitation to bed. Nirvana, who was close enough to catch it full blast, blushed a bit. Lask, who was not close enough to catch a whole lot of it, simply looked away and adjusted himself.

The top of Caden's hat actually exploded.

Sparkles, folks.

White ones.

Interpret that as you will.

"What aren't you telling me, Neckbuns?"

With great dignity, Jay answered: "We...they...yes, wekindasortablewuptheshopdownstairs."

Blink, blink. At which point, Caden started shuddering and Nirvana tilted her head to avoid the rain of sparkles. Which ended up in her hair instead. Ew. "Say that again, Jay?" Which, while spoken in the same tone as your average housewife demanding to know why the dog is on the couch, had the net effect of making Lask's mouth run dry and his tail spasm about in uncontrollable swirling motions. How Jay remained unmoved is probably due to sheer immunity built up over the years.

"We, by which I mean they, blew up the shop," he began, and then went on a very long and very detailed explanation about how a Warlock customer had busted in, gone ape, and...everything afterwards.

When he was done, Daphne merely tsked. "Does your mother know?"

"...n'yet, no..."

"Jay, Jay, Jay," she sighed, and finally released Caden and Nirvana in order to stand. The skinny Wizard promptly fell over. The ground was steaming where he landed. Daphne sauntered over to the pudgier Wizard, reached out and lightly poked him on the nose with one finger. "You need to tell her, honey."

Jay gulped. It was going to be a really long night.

"Buwhabou'theshop?"

"Salvic, please." Lask collapsed nearby, trying and miserably failing to curl into a fetal position. He was close enough to get the full effect this time.

"But. What. About. The. Shop?"

"Well, you'll just have to rebuild it again," Daphne said with a nod. "Have you thought about how?"

"Er...well," entering into familiar territory, Jay stroked his own beard a few times and nodded. "I was going to start by having a clearance sale...and by billing the snot out of those two over there," he pointed at Nirvana and Caden, sneering. Lask didn't get any of the blowback because he really was a bloody bystander. Daphne responded with a frown.

"No, no. He bought you all time to escape and he didn't attack first, remember? Chivalry is to be...to be...rewarded, I think."

Here, Jay also entered into familiar territory - familiar in the sense that he knew it and dreaded it. Jay had been the one to introduce the vague concept of morality to Daphne. She was a succubus. Her very nature demanded her to be an evil soul-thieving monster. While Jay wasn't necessarily big on morals, the chivalry thing had been what got the ball rolling. Confuse that and...

Better to let this one go, some small part of the Wizard decided. More so because his wife was more important than indenturing another Wizard to servitude and working him to death. Daphne was better looking, for one thing. That left Nirvana, but Daphne cut him off there too. She did so with nothing but a raised eyebrow and a pointed finger.

"She has mushrooms in her hair."

Silence.

Jay considered this.

"Right," he said with a feeble shrug. "What do you suggest?"

"Well, the Wizard came looking for a rod, didn't he?"

I'd say he found that, both Jay and Nirvana thought, though neither said it aloud. Caden twitched on the ground, his glasses hanging by one ear as the Hat finally started to deflate.

"You can't be serious," Jay said, and then palmed his own face. "Bloody Jomil. You are, aren't you. Can I at least charge him for the sewing kit?"

[Schrodinger's Nirvana]

Cue the face.

He was fairly sure she’d picked it up from the little ones that occasionally came into the shop, hoping for sweeties. Or being used by their strapped-for-cash parents to wheedle components out of him for whatever spell was going to help them make it big. Daphne’s lower lip wibbled. Her eyebrows arched and those gorgeous eyes of hers became moist with what he knew were real tears, scratching at his resolve.

“Look, love…”

She turned up the intensity. Jay heard Lask choke behind him, and sighed. In a way he was glad that she was using this tact, if she got angry it would have been a whole different game - there had been enough of that when his mother had moved in, two years ago. Trying not to make eye contact with the struggling puddle of Caden and trying not to smile when Nirvana shook her head and dusted herself and the human puddle with silver sparkles, he scratched his beard thoughtfully.

“The stock room is gone. The stairs will need to be repaired. Compensation is required for wizardly egos. Now a sewing kit isn’t much, but it’s a start.” He raised his voice just a little to stop her from ‘arguing’. It didn’t seem to work.

The wibble got worse. “But whhhyyyy?”

“THIS GLITTER FEELS WRONG.”

“Remember how we tried our hand at economics?” Jay began, keep his voice as sweet as possible. Daphne’s face fell. “Gods almighty…”

“Yes? Also, GLITTER.”

“Shut up, Nirvana.” Jay sighed. Daphne didn’t have to refuse him anything to get her way. It was her genuine innocence and misunderstandings about humans that endeared her to him long past the initial lustful stage of their relationship. His nerve broke, not because of what was right, or what was wrong, but because he just couldn’t say no to those eyes. “Fine. You know what? Fine. But you’re going to have to explain this to my mother.”

The succubus still smiled, straightening up. Unfortunately in doing so her rather unrestrained chest area bobbed with her – in Caden’s eyeline as he sat up. The noise he made as they bobbed down to greet him was highly amusing, but the crack his head made on the pavement as he went down again was not.

Nirvana peered at him in an invading-of-the-personal-space kind of way, before tilting her head up to catch Jay’s eye. “Your woman for hire?”

“No.”

A calculated pause. At Jay’s shoulder, Lask stiffened, realising she was looking directly at him. There was also the distressing sense that a certain fluffy cat, who had been calmly watching the proceedings from the shadow of the shop had now trotted over and happily leaped onto the woman’s back, purring in her ear. “What about him?”

Jay glared, his eyes narrowed to slits behind his glasses. “He’s not mine. And don’t even bother asking about that pathetic excuse for a wizard currently eyeballing your cleavage. Now let’s get this circus…close to inside. This has been a rather frustrating day, don’t you think?”