The Way of the Sorcerer: A 'The Wandering Inn' Fanfiction

It hadn’t taken long for Nozumu and Misoe to turn up. She had flown into and nuzzled his arm; Nozumu beamed at his friend.

It was nice to see a familiar face—two, in fact. They swiftly left the Mage’s Guild, riding the traffic out.

Their exchange was wordless; a beckoning talon and a bob of the head. Or, if it wasn’t, Ivory didn’t hear it over the boisterous hubbub of the keen [Mages].

The Mage’s Guild was not situated on the banks of the Whitewash Channel. It, currently, was smack bang in the ‘centre’ of Levaintstil, at least relative to the distance to its northmost boundary.

That was the thing with an expanding village. You build your pinnacle building at the edge of your town, away from the salty decay that plagued unprotected masonry, and a decade later there’s some development further north. And then some homes. And so on. And that’s not even considering eastern and western developments.

But, a hub it was. Certainly, your average Lizardfolk treat peddler wouldn’t have business often in a Mage’s Guild, but like all places of habitation, there was a quirk, or gimmick, that set itself apart.

Exit the Mage’s Guild, enter the Levaintsil Polytechnic. Avail yourself to its amenities as you please—cafes, restaurants, sweet-shops, a library, Wistram-grade playgrounds, a [Trinket Boutiquier]...

And that’s just within eyesight of the Mage’s Guild. Walk further down the high street—whichever direction you please—and help yourself to any number of Polytechnic trained [Artisans] and artisans. Harvest honey with experienced [Apiarists], hire a [Landscaper] to liven up your yard, consult a [Mage] about affordable cooling runes… perhaps your shoes have gotten a bit scuffed from all the walking? Your friendly [Cobblers] and [Leatherworkers] can fix it in a jiffy!

A [Tourist] would eat it up and ask for seconds. Her citizens would not paint it as such a gold-driven, desperate sounding place. They would describe the salty sea air, despite being so far inland, and the booming fishing industry. The opportunities she provides to learn a skill, a trade, or a class—for anyone. The respect held for one another; even the most prominent [Socialites] apprenticed and worked for local businesses to earn their enrollment at the Polytechnic.

She would be described not as perfect, but fair. It spoke much to the esteem its citizens held towards it stood out as exemplary to an ancient, dead spirit. Her [Guildmistress] certainly thought so.

—---------

Business at Taste of Flavour was as expected for a weekday afternoon. The open-air cafe had many available seats, far more in fact than it needed—in its four-month lifespan, it had not yet filled to capacity.

When you had a hearty parcel of land on the shores of the channel, such concerns were trivial.

Ivory and Nozumu sat at a table-for-two, embedded into the sloping bank of the Whitewash Channel. It was high tide; their table was two metres above sea level, and far enough away from the channel itself to get the best of both worlds. That is, everything but wet.

Earth magic, geomancy, had been utilised, Ivory was certain. How else could you have so many tables and chairs jutting out of a wet landslide waiting to happen?

He had to laugh. Such concerns were pedestrian; from a ‘wow, what the hell?’ to ‘cool; wonder how they did this’. He took a sip from the delightfully chilled glass of water as he looked down at the calm, slow-moving body of water.

“Chalk, huh. It never occurred to me that it was something that you mined.”

“It is a mineral.”

Nozumu’s reply was dry; he looked straight at him. Ivory just shrugged, missing the provocation.

“People in the olden days used it to write on the board at school. Doesn’t exactly scream iron or coal. Though I guess it explains why so much stuff here is white.”

Ah, Nozumu thought, more Earth-stuff. He did ponder that Ivory was simply just, well, yes. Lack of common knowledge or not, that wasn’t what Nozumu was concerned with.

“Ivory, I wanted to ask you if you are doing… okay? We went through a lot a few days ago, and although we have not been together here for long, you have not been your usual self.”

Instinctively, Ivory took a deep breath. Nozumu wondered if he had crossed a boundary. He had been chided for not sharing his feelings about… her, but to Nozumu, this was different.

“Just a bit dull, y’know? I’m sure I’ll get over it. No [Serial Killer], L—Clarissa’s dead, and we’re way removed from it now.”

The image of two incorporeal Humans gripping each other as they faded away flashed in his vision, making him inhale another sharp intake of air.

“It should be fine. Really.”

His words were truthful, yet Nozumu believed them not. A burning man thinks he endures, but the spectator knows he will cook. He was glad that Ivory didn’t pretend like nothing was wrong, and he decided not to push the issue.

“Think we’re about to order.”

A Lizardwoman came bounding down the earthen stairs, her tail slapping against the chiselled ground with each step she took.

“Hiya, customers! What would you like?”

The yellow Lizardwoman was clearly straining to stand still; she held a menu to her chest with both her arms, and her right foot was fighting against its oppressor to bounce up and down. Her eyes broke contact with theirs as she looked at the clear table.

“Uh oh. Nagas help me! Here’s a menu and I’ll go back and get another—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Nozumu said, and the worry almost physically dissipated from her face. “I will have a herbal tea. Ivory?”

“An iced long black, please.”

That was the thing about cafes—they sold coffee! She practically smelled of the stuff, not to mention the other customers that had had suspiciously coffee-coloured, hot beverages in front of them.

“Herbal tea, okay, great, and…”

She snatched up the menu from the table a little too fast, and scanned it twice.

“We don’t have that one, Hu—sir, but let me go ask. Sorry, I’m new!”

The [Apprentice Waitress]’ voice trailed off as she ran up the earthen stairs.

“That’s… pretty standard. Huh. Guess it’s not all Earth stuff.”

“What is it?”

“Literally just coffee, without milk, with cold water instead of hot.”

“And this is something that everyone likes on Earth?”

“I mean, not everyone likes everything, but it’s super popular all around the world. I don’t like cold milk drinks, for example.”

“You had cereal, though?”

Ivory spluttered, before realising this wasn’t actually a gotcha.

“That’s food, ya drongo.”

“A…? You Australians speak a strange language."

“Well, yes—”

“Sorry, excuse me!”

They looked to see a panting, frazzled Lizardwoman.

“I didn’t ask if you wanted… milk in your… tea.”

Nozumu's beak opened for a few seconds before anything came out.

“No? Thank you.”

“Sugar?”

He shook his head, not trusting what he might say should he speak his response.

“Okay. Great! Uh, I asked my boss, and we don’t have that—” she turned to Ivory with her best approximation of an apologetic, customer service smile—“sorry. Here’s a menu for what we do have.”

“Can I…! She’s gone.”

“This reminds me of the tea houses back home. A neighbour once had a breakdown at getting the wrong herbal tea and swore never to return. In spite, I think, he drank the entire pot in one go, and made it a few steps before screaming in pain.”

A chilly, salty breeze made him close his agape mouth.

“Christ. I mean, I won’t do that, but what happened after that?”

“They had tonics for burns, which they charged him triple for. Turns out he was getting divorced, and was very stressed.”

“At least he didn’t take it out on anyone. Okay, he did, but he didn’t throw it at them.”

“That was what they said.”

This felt good. The conversation between friends; the weird anecdotes from two widely different lands that could have happened scene-by-scene in the other.

“Here,” Nozumu said, reaching into his tunic with two talons, withdrawing a huge frame. “I was going to wait until we had our drinks, but I got a gift for you.”

“Bloody hell, where did you pull that from?!”

His reply was instant; he’d done the shirt equivalent of taking a bunny out of a hat.

“Bag of Holding. I bought one yesterday. Did you know that ghosts also visited here?"

Ivory gulped.

“Yeah, I did. Yanzix, you met her I think, told me.”

What the hell was that picture going to be? His body almost went numb with anticipation.

“Two Dragons.”

“D—Dragons?”

Misoe rose up to avoid being crushed between him and the table. Some other punters enjoying a sweet drink looked over, amused.

“That’s right.”

“Well, what did they want? Are Dragons the big-fire-breathing-lizard type, or the hyper-intelligent gold hoarding ones?”

“Both, I think. They are probably extinct, at least that is what they say back home. As for what they wanted… the locals mostly just ran away. This is a framed [Magic Picture]. They are usually very expensive, worth far more than I have in savings.”

Ivory’s eyebrow rose; there was a catch. You didn’t just say that and then procure said item.

“Here.”

Ivory carefully took the framed landscape picture from Nozumu. It looked identical to one from home—from the back, anyway—and there was a thick wedge on the back to prop it up. He turned it around and almost dropped it.

It was a full-colour image, in a higher quality than Ivory saw every day with his perfectly fine eyesight.

Taking up the majority of the [Magic Picture] was a Dragon. A jet-black Dragon hovering in the middle of a busy street, mid-flap of its wings; the wintery sun shimmering on its onyx scales that covered its body like a suit of armour. Each of its eyes, blood-red and aquamarine respectively, bore a look of contempt. Through its leathery wings came stained sunlight, positioning it as some kind of heavenly saint. Its facial expression contrasted sharply with this image—the great beast almost looked bored, like a [Philosopher] hearing a conceited [Lordling]’s musings. Like a Dragon bearing witness to mortals’ insipid lives.

In its great shadow was a far smaller Dragon. It was sitting upright like a cat, but with an almost Human-like dejection; its head, while not dipped, hung lower than what looked to be normal. Like its airborne custodian, its expression contrasted with its body; its vibe. Its body was a matte, fleshy pink; the colour of a newborn, and the size of a horse. One of its eyes was visible from the angle of the shot—it was a bright, lemon-yellow, covered by its eyelid. Dejected.

The more he looked at it, the more he was drawn in—literally. He felt the mana from the image linking with his own as it engulfed his vision, revealing intimate detail down to one terrified bird-man engulfed in the larger Dragon’s shadow, down one of its loose feathers, about to fly off in the wind.

Ivory was drawn to it. It was merely a picture, yes, but the sight of something so… mythical, and grand, looking so sad? Disappointed? It was harrowing to witness—yes, witness: Ivory was seeing this, as if he was there. He knew, instinctively, that this [Mage] who took this photograph was specialised; [Magical Photographer]? [Magic Picture Mage]?

The two Dragons were ghosts. Their presence was purely visual, like a projected image from the afterlife—unlike the two ghosts Ivory had made contact with, empowered by a zone of death that had been cultivated. The physics of such a large creature would have had an immediate effect on everything around it, yet all that manifested was fear. And opportunity by one [Mage].

The question on his mind was simple. Why were they here? This world’s history spanned untold thousands of years; there would be billions—trillions, even!—of ghosts in this world’s afterlife, which was itself dying. Yet, these Dragons chose to appear there.

It gnawed at his mind as the smaller, pink Dragon’s expression pulled at his heartstrings. It was not an immediate sadness that it wore on its face—it was an expression that it wore almost naturally; whatever life this poor creature lived, both in the flesh and in spirit, was pained. How many thousands of years had this majestic creature—

“Ivory. Click—”

He snapped back to reality; the Dragons now out of focus as Nozumu clicked his talons by his face. The tiniest movement of air against his face felt cold.

“I’m here.”

He wiped a tear from his cheek, perplexed. Ivory looked to Nozumu, whose look was neutral.

“You can imagine why I got it cheap. People do not want something in their home that home can make them sad, even if it’s something like this.”

Nozumu had raised his voice to speak over what he knew would be Ivory’s arguments that it was ‘cool’, or something.

There were layers upon layers of cultural differences that separated Ivory and the rest of this world, Nozumu had quickly learned. He’d seen pictures on Ivory’s phone of his room on earth—terribly messy, but it was anything but empty. Posters and pictures lined its walls of [Singers] and ‘bands’, as well strange artworks showing otherworldly themes that would make a native of his world flinch. Movies, too, that he had seen, showing all manners of fantastical things: [Witches], Vampires, wondrous flying machines…

It was mundane, Nozumu thought, for Ivory—the fantasy wasn’t real (nor had it ever been real), and those flying machines were used more than horse-drawn chariots.

“... Your drinks, gentlemen.”

A Lizardman with a voice disparate to his kin set down a tray with a steaming teapot, two cups and a glass of iced, black liquid. He must have been waiting for me, Ivory thought, as he noted his rather mottled skin. It was a light green, with occasional spots of emerald green. An old Lizardman, perhaps.

“I run the Taste of Flavour; Patols, a pleasure to serve you both. A Human, the strange race that popularised coffee, has come into my shop and ordered a beverage I had not heard of. My Skill told me an iced black is simply an americano, prepared slightly differently.”

Ivory perked up, oooing at the drink.

“Yeah, it’s basically the same thing. I should have read the menu. Ivory, Misoe, and that’s Nozumu.”

“Nonsense,” he said, with a wave of his hand, then a nod of his head, “I have your race to thank for my business! If you don’t mind me asking, what brings a Human and such an exotic Beastkin to Levaintsil?”

Nozumu poured himself a cup of tea, eyeing Ivory briefly. You’re up.

“Oh, you know. Just travelling. We are enrolling at the Polytechnic.

“How exciting for you both—” Patols eyed the snoozing seal in Ivory’s arms—“come to claim our bounty of wildlife? The [Beastmasters] run a tight ship, but they’re a good sort.”

“You never know what will happen! This one’s a good friend of mine—thwack thwack—any newcomers will have to be vetted by her.”

It was a new experience to be identified by his secondary class. Patols put a hand to his face; his grey, bottom lip hung out as he smiled.

“May Baleros be kind to you. Have these on the house—hope to see you back another time.”

Ivory waved a thank you as the Lizardman skipped up the stairs, three at a time. He took a long sip of his drink.

“Eesh. It’s sweet as hell.”

“I learned this the hard way. I knew that Lizardpeople loved sugar, but most of all in drinks it seems.”

Nozumu held a teacup up. Cheers!

The temptation was to just surreptitiously throw it behind him; no one would notice, save perhaps for a hopped-up worm or something. It didn’t taste bad, just different.

When in doubt, magic. The glass was tall and thin; the height of a milkshake cup, but about half the circumference. It was filled to the brim with ice, an inch about where the coffee started. A job for [Melt Ice].

One of the ice cubes melted in a manner of seconds, as if watching a sped up video. Ivory gave it a good mix around, noticing the liquid had got the slightest bit lighter.

Nozumu was watching; a clever idea, he thought. Ivory took a heaving sip… followed by a pained expression.

“Now it’s just watery. For fuck’s sake.”

It was objectively worse, now. It was a bit less sweet now, sure, but it was a weaker drink. Original option #1 was tempting, but there was a tickling in his head—a familiar one, but more refined.

It was pretty simple, and he knew the science behind it, or at least why it happened. Ice melted above a certain temperature, and froze below a certain temperature. The finer details escaped him, but nevermind that.

Simply take the water and reform it. Emulate the ice. None of the coffee, though—but coffee was just water. Fine, just remove the original melted liquid from the coffee. He could see it clearly.

What Nozumu and Misoe saw was the [Sorcerer] hunched over the table in a staring contest with his regrettably sweet beverage. They kept their gaze squarely focussed on the silent battle.

His vision began to double after staring so closely at the iced long black. Slowly, after correcting his vision, the liquid began to shift around one of the ice cubes. A bubble of clear water enveloped it, and he could see tiny strands of his mana coaxing the coffee away from the ice; the bubble was slowly growing as his mana pulled the resulting water.

Okay, now freeze, he thought, encouraging the water to simply just copy the ice. Just do the exact opposite of what my other spell did.

“Are you seeing this?”

Misoe slapped her belly gleefully as the bubble froze.

Sip.

“That’s how it tasted before. Maybe—[Learn Spell].”

Ivory blinked as a new spell locked itself into his mind.

“[Generate Ice].”

Nozumu sipped his tea. Maybe he didn’t have much to worry about, after all—like a kid, you dangle some magic in front of him, and he forgets all ills.

He happily drank his too-sweet drink, bobbing side to side with contentment.

“That was a lot easier than it was before,” he muttered, looking down at the calm, white waters of the channel. “I think I know what they mean when they say that hardship makes you level.”

They shared a knowing look, one that Nozumu had understood the day prior. They were now in the next chapter of their great adventure. Ivory hoped it would not be marred by any great cataclysm or conflict in this charming city, on this hot and busy continent.