[Magus]

Sitting in a corner, Magus sat sipping his wine as the music came to an end. Not bad, he thought, regarding both. The Umar Inn’s atmosphere was boisterous but controlled, which suited his tastes at the moment just fine. A successful traveling wizard, he had money enough to stay where he wished, but he rather enjoyed the energy and activity of the less luxurious spots in town. Besides, where the spirits flowed freely, the tongues wagged in unison. One could find all sorts of rumors in taverns; the trick was sorting the ones with the ring of truth from the fabrications and everyday nonsense. In the past, he had found links to many jobs and adventures in places just like this.

But today he was just here to relax. His last job had been quite lucrative, especially considering the effort it took to unravel the item’s simple curse. An exquisite thing it had been: a gold ring speckled with expensive jewels. Able to remove it at last, the noble was all too happy to give it over as payment. Good riddance, as far as he cared. With the curse removed, Magus had made a small fortune off its sell, enough to live comfortably for the rest of his extended life. Instead, he’d had tailored the robes he was wearing now: a fine blue-violet garment (his favorite color), enchanted to turn away minor blows and as light as silk. But most of all he prided himself on the enchantment he himself had crafted into it, a useful little cantrip that repelled dirt and moisture. Quite handy, really. Now if he could just figure a way to adapt it to living skin…heh, but he wasn’t going to toy with that again anytime soon. Last time he’d tried THAT, he’d been in bed for a week, itching relentlessly until the effect finally wore off. My, but wouldn’t that be quite the offensive spell! Magus’s Irresistable Itching! Too bad the target would need to have the vitality of a leper for it to actually work…and even then it’d be a bit redundant.

“What’s so funny?” a small unmuffled voice asked from within his robes, sensing his smile.

Magus briefly shook his head, hiding his surprise. “Nothing really. Just the meandering of a tired mind.” Could his newly-acquired familiar already sense his feelings?

His hand drifted idly to the pixie’s favorite pocket. Empty. His eyes widened. He glanced around the room, slowly and cautiously. How could he have let her out of his sight again?

He finally spotted her drifting unseen toward a table where the two performers from before were engaged in casual conversation. As surrepetiously as possible, he rose from his table and followed, intending to rein her in before she started any mischief. He had almost reached her hiding spot near their table when he noticed the two gentleman staring at him. “My pardon,” he apologized, feeling a little foolish. Seeing his discomfort, perhaps, the two invited him to sit down—before he knew it he was snagged into some sort of friendly debate, and they were merrily appealing to him to decide once and for all who had given the better performance.