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

Ivory weaved through the crowded foyers with fervour. His heart was pounding and his face was red with strain; many [Mages] were casting a variety of glances at him as he bounded through the crowd.

He heard a masculine voice call his name. With the amount of blood pumping through his head, he couldn’t rule out that it wasn’t Fabian’s. He kept his enchanted stride steady.

The final corridor before the main entrance was, surprisingly, empty. The walls seemed a lot plainer than he remembered, for all that he was capable of scrutinising his memories of the place’s art in his current state.

Afternoon sunlight temporarily blinded him as he burst forth back on Gonesworth Street. The crowd of [Guards] and everyone else was no fewer than before; all eyes were now on the flustered Ivory standing there, rubbing his eyes with a certain lack of dignity.

“Are… are you okay?”

One of the lesser [Guards] called out to Ivory from the other side of the gate. He thought to ask of his wellbeing, which was considerate. Even the [Watchwoman] from before was visibly taken aback by Ivory’s… state.

“Yep, yeah. See ya.”

“Wh—”

The first [Guard] was silenced by a hand on his shoulder by his superior. The powerwalking [Mage], he would say, is not under their jurisdiction to police in this instance.

____________________

Ivory appreciated the crisp breeze as he slouched down against the side gate entrance to the arena. It was not comfortable, nor was it an appropriate choice to sit at this minute, as the aforementioned crowd could not only still see him, they were all still looking at him.

The cold air was a comfort, though it did little to calm the tempest of emotions swimming around his mind.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in, b—that didn’t bloody help! Sleep, then… [Slumber Mnemonic]. One Frenchie, two frenchie, three…

Iv

Distractions. Six Frenchie, seven Frenchie…

e up

Shoo! Ten F—

“Pfffshhhh.”

Ivory jolted upright, banging his head lightly on the gate behind him. He felt… hot?

He opened his eyes and saw Misoe centremetres from his face, her lips pursed. His [Bond of Friendship] stopped him from knocking himself out due to fright; the impulse of fright was negated.

“Hey.”

Ivory grabbed Misoe, holding her tight to his chest. She nuzzled in, fitting snugly between his chest and legs.

A wave of relief for the both of them; their mutual feelings feeding into the Skill and amplifying it.

“Sorry,” Ivory said, opening his eyes. “I think I went a bit mad.”

Nozumu was standing there patiently, and nodded at his words, smiling with a vague hint of ruefulness.

“That was… barbaric. I am glad you won. That man was not a fair fighter.”

“You can say that again. I’ve decided that I want very little to do with combat and fighting. If I practise again, it won’t be like that. The fun died.”

What a harrowing thought. Nozumu dipped his head again, and offered Ivory a talon up.

“I want to take you to someone. The woman whom I told you about before, the [Meat Witch], Jeanny. Jennifer.”

“Oh? Sure. Why?”

“She has been a sort of… mentor. I thought you would like to meet a [Witch], too.”

Ivory paused a moment.

“I was too caught up on the ‘meat’ part. Fuck yeah, [Witches]! Lead the way.”

“I have. We are here already.”

He turned around and flapped a talon the way they came.”

“Oh,” Ivory giggled, “right. Carry on.”

Knock knock knock.

“She’s… striking,” Nozumu whispered.

“I’d expect it. Back home, witches are weird as hell, and usually like evil. They’re cool.”

Nozumu didn’t reply. He knew that he should have expected a response like that.

A few more seconds passed without an answer. Ivory touched the smart-looking door and activated his Skill, at the same time Nozumu inwardly sighed in relief.

Teak, Equus glue

“What the—”

“What?”

“The door’s made of—”

Ivory recoiled as the door opened slightly. Ivory’s eye was nearly taken out by a pointed hat that headbutted out through the narrow space.

“Ah. Young Nozumu! And his friend.”

She retreated her head and opened the door fully.

“Come in, come in. I’ll prepare some tea.”

The [Meat Witch] retreated back inside before either youth could say a word.

“We—we’ll wait in the sitting room.”

Nozumu pointed at the opened wall partition and began walking to it.

“Okay… Horse glue, though?”

_____________________

Ivory and Nozumu sat in a room that could only be described as… well, you couldn’t describe it as one thing. It was your parents’ dining room, with a shiny wooden table with beautifully carved legs; it could sit ten. It was your grandparents’ TV room, with its otherwise randomly patterned carpet, and portraits of loved ones displayed both on the walls, and in little picture frames underneath a mirror that was a little bit too high.

It was each of your younger siblings’ bedrooms—male and female respectively—with esoteric tomes on philosophy, history and Satanism, and with wind chimes, witchy spells that purported to work, and too many doodads.

Except, in this [Witch]’s case, it was pretty much all magical, all [Witchy], and artefacts, not doodads. And certainly no dark tome of religion.

It was unlike anything Ivory had ever experienced; poor Nozumu was, again, wholly overwhelmed by the everything of it.

Ivory was curious at the naming of it—‘sitting room’. To him, a sitting room was where you retired after a family meal, to talk shit and watch TV. You’d be lounging on a couch, or perhaps having a lovely sit on the reclining chair. If there was a table, it was one to put your beverage on, next to the TV remote.

Not a dining room, which this seemed to be. Like one would host in to make a business deal over a small snack.

It didn’t cease to provide some light entertainment to really take this kind of stuff in. What a weird world. And it would get weirder, when the [Meat Witch] returned.

Her gait was measured and appropriate for a household setting. Perfectly reasonable—except for the fact that she was balancing a large teapot and three cups and saucers up her arm. Ivory tensed all over at the sight.

“I do so love tea,” she declared, nonchalantly edging her arm to coax each cup and saucer onto the table. “I love a rich, strong brew that could age a steak a month—”

The comparison caused Ivory to snort. He covered it with a light cough.

“—it brings people together. A black, herbaceous cuppa with a kick.”

The [Witch] lifted the beautiful teapot a good two feet up and poured a three-quarter serving in each cup. The stream was uniform in its transit, hitting the base of the mug without any splashback disasters. The boys—and girl—were mesmerised. The [Witch] just waved her free hand.

“Nothing without my tools. It’s Drathian—”

The [Witch], performatively, made an oooh face, which after a beat turned into a frown.

“—though, given the present company, that doesn’t work as well. Young Nozumu has surely seen far grander back home; the vessel crafted for the purpose of international trade will pale in comparison to the humble [Ceramist]. Ah, but you let an old woman harp on.”

She faced Ivory directly.

“I am Jennifer Wright, [Witch]. Jeanny, to my friends, which I hope I may count you as going forward.”

Jeanny smiled and tipped her fitted, cream-pink hat to Ivory.

It almost looked a bit too on the nose—pink hat, for a meat… specialisation. The rest of her outfit—a grey fleece tunic and leggings—didn’t continue the trend, so perhaps she just liked the colour. At a guess, he’d say she was in her late 60s, maybe early 70s; her voice didn’t have that ‘oldie’ cadence to it, nor did her face have much in the way of age-blemishes. Maybe she was just taking the piss by calling herself an old woman?

“Hello, I’m… am Ivory Henderson, [Sorcerer] and [Beast Tamer]. Actually, I have another class, but it’s low level, so…”

Nozumu deserved an award for keeping his composure—nary a feature on his face twitched. Jennifer, though, raised an eyebrow.

“... I see. I’ll cut to the chase then—you just came from that [Mage]’s clubhouse, I take it. Young Nozumu, was that an adequate demonstration of divination? Oh.”

She had to smile—Ivory was out of it. The adrenaline from the past hour was all but spent, and getting all your energy back from a generalised area-of-effect spell wasn’t something you could run on for the rest of the day. Nozumu glanced at Ivory’s fluttering eyes, as Jeanny’s twinkled.

“I can see it on your vitals—hells, you can’t even hear me can you—you’re about to crash. No time like the present, then! Dear, have him drink some of the tea.”

Nozumu looked at the steam rising from Ivory’s cup, and back to her.

“Have a little faith. I’m not going to burn him to wake him up.”

She looked idle for a moment, and continued.

“Burning isn’t as efficient as this. Go on, go on.”

Nozumu reluctantly lifted the cup to Ivory’s lips and gave another glance to the [Witch], who hurried him along with a motion of her hands. Ivory’s head was lolled back and his mouth ajar slightly, like an exhausted relative on a recliner chair after a large meal. Except there was no meal, and joyous exhaustion.

Nevertheless, he ever so delicately angled the tea cup onto Ivory’s lip and edged it over. Nozumu winced, despite the barely 15mL of tea having successfully not spilled anywhere. Confused, he took the back of Ivory’s head and angled it up with the concern that he’d choke.

“A good measure of safety there, young Nozumu. If there was any danger of Ivory choking, well, you’d have lessened it a bit. A Skill or spell would have done the trick—most working classes have some sort of accident prevention Skill, and a basic hydromancy spell could suck it out. But here he comes now? Welcome back.”

Ivory heard the entirety of the [Witch]’s magical OH&S spiel with crystal clarity. He felt no fogginess or exhaustion, other than some mild tiredness that he felt was tied to his mana usage. He knew he’d not nodded off, but was in some kind of inbetween state; he reflexively swallowed the tea that had been force fed, but was trying to figure out what on earth it was. Stamina Potions were distinctly awful, and almost instantly brought you into an almost amphetamine state of awakeness.

This was like if the awfulness was gently coaxed away and thrown in the provided bin, and how about a lovely moist towelette for your forehead? Not that his head felt wet, but he felt refreshed.

“Bweh.”

Ivory cracked open his eyes, staring up at Misoe.

“Glad to have you back. How was the tea?”

Misoe nestled once again in Ivory’s lap as he straightened up.

“I was about to say ‘magical’ but, well, you know. It’s not Stamina Potion.”

Ivory said that matter of factly.

“Bloody well hope not! It’s a recipe from a fellow [Witch]. ‘Recipe’ is pushing it; she taught me how to add my craft to it, as she does.”

Nods followed, from both Ivory and Misoe. The former bit his lip to the notice of everyone.

“Oh, ask. Young Nozumu has told me of your voracious desire to learn magic, and of witchcraft. I’ll do you one better—tell me, what is a [Witch]’s craft, Ivory Henderson?”

“Erm. It’s like… a [Witch]’s gimmick. Not gimmick! But the main ‘thing’ they do. [Prophecy Witch]! That’s the one I remember reading about.”

Jeanny nodded, taking Ivory’s comment in good faith.

“A term many use to describe the craft of a [Witch]. Crude, but in a general sense applicable. A [Witch]’s craft is what is the basis of not just our magic, but our personalities, too. It’s more than just a thing, it’s an ideal, how one acts, and how one perceives the world. To cut to the chase once more, my craft is community. How do you think that might work, young Nozumu?”

Nozumu recoiled slightly at being spoken to; he expected this to be another episode of ‘Ivory and magic’.

“Satisfaction and contentment is what you told me. Though, perhaps… similar to how a [Mayor] or other ruling class needs the people they rule to support them?”

She and Ivory nodded.

“An interesting idea. You are right, in a sense, though satisfaction and contentment are but two sides of a many sided die. And you, Ivory?”

“Hmm.”

What, indeed? ‘Community’ is such an abstract concept… how might she get her power from that?

“You are a [Meat Witch], so maybe you get some kind of abstract power from providing people with food to eat? Everyone’s gotta eat, after all.”

Even Nozumu was nodding his head; he was getting into it.

“Another interesting proposal. You, too, are right in a sense, though you’ve made a mistake in your thinking. [Witches] are not a popular class, especially here on Terandria. For a [Witch] to ingratiate herself as a staple in the capital city of a major nation—which I am—is no easy feat. I assist struggling [Farmers] in getting their produce sold to [Butchers] and [Grocers]. In our current lockdown situation, I have been pivotal in sourcing protein for families of most economic levels. I am relied on, you see, as much as I provide for the community. I give and I take. But that is not what directly fuels my craft, and grants me my power.”

“What is it, then?”

The [Witch] smiled a true [Witch] smile, causing Ivory and Nozumu to erupt into goosebumps.

“I give and I take, and I have just given. What can you offer me for that information? A [Witch] is a master of bargaining, and knowledge is seldom given freely.”

“I know of a very interesting place in Drath, Yurluxiamo, populated entirely by Snake Beastkin. Heard of it?”

He didn’t even skip a beat—and, Ivory knew, he could have gone a lot more nuclear with his response. He almost name dropped Jiji.

Jeanny, in response, took a sip of tea and crossed her legs the other way.

“[Refreshing Sip]. It has a week-long cooldown, and was spot-applied to your tea just before. That Skill would not have worked had I not been introduced to you formally, and established at least somewhat of connection. Community is my craft, and I am empowered by the people I meet and hold me in any regard. You see, a town, let alone a major capital city is no place for a [Witch]. Mine is an uphill battle, which means…?”

She gave Ivory and Nozumu a knowing, expectant look. Nozumu got there first.

“You level more.”

“Well done. I admit that I asked my question in jest; I did not expect such a swift response, and one that I actually hunger to hear! Perhaps another day you will tell me about it. Oh, and [Meat Witch] isn’t my class.”

Before either youth could respond. Jennifer Wright clapped her hands crisply.

“Auspicious is it to say the same thing thrice—but once more I cut to the chase. Young Nozumu, our business is at hand. Do you have an answer for me?”

The air grew tense with anticipation, as Nozumu once again was struck by verbal whiplash from the [Witch]’s words.

“Yes.”

She looked flatly at him.

“Yes, you have an answer? Or is that your answer?”

“Yes… is the answer.”

Ivory’s head darted between [Witch] and [Stargazer], not in on this no-doubt wicked scheme.

“Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful. Watch carefully, now—”

Nozumu felt a tug at his core, instantly putting a talon to his chest.

“My promise fulfilleth. That was payment rendered: your reluctance to believe, your awe at my successful divination, your relief at its success—I have taken some of it. Your skill, it is still active on me, yes?”

“It is.”

“Excellent. Misoe, darling, would you mind terribly bringing this slip of paper to Nozumu? There’s a treat in it for you.”

The [Witch] saw Misoe’s eyes light up. She lifted her hat slightly, revealing some greying hair, and put her other hand inside, pulling out the small piece of parchment.

“Ah, cheeky, aren’t you?”

Misoe flopped down beside Jeanny, her eyes looking from the paper to her. A chuckle was her response.

The slip of paper wafted harmlessly down beside Misoe, as the [Witch] put her hand back inside her hat.

“So neither of you two quiet boys don’t get any ideas, this isn’t the same skill—[Hat of Holding], by the way—[Meat Mastery: Weekly Raffle]. I believe this will do—off you pop!”

The group of three all stared at the juicy strips of bacon. Ivory had a look of scandal.

“You’ve surely not just kept that up there, right? Can a Skill just generate fresh food? Is it nutritionless?”

Misoe didn’t give a butcher’s. With the fervour of a seal on a mission, she hurled herself through the air at Nozumu, dropping the paper with a certain lack of care, and rushed back to the [Witch].

“A cornucopia Skill? Not quite. My skill gives me any kind of raw meat: edible, safe, ready to prepare, but most importantly, real. I believe this is from a Florentine Swine, a breed reintroduced by the [Piggers] of Ailendamus. They’re at the forefront of, well, everything, despite their warmongering ways! And look, the little ball of pudding has gobbled it all up! Yes, you certainly have. I wonder who the real master is, hmm?”

A burp was her reply, and that was that.

“Go on, then. Read it.”

Nozumu picked up the ever so delicate paper, realising it was folded upon touching the tips of his talons. The air of anticipation had dissipated somewhat upon seeing a woman produce raw bacon from her hat, but it had most certainly reappeared.

“So what exactly is happening here?” Ivory asked, very conscious that this was the continuation of a conversation, or arrangement, made prior. He looked at Jeanny for answers, as Nozumu was visibly intent on the task at hand. She simply raised her hand and inclined her head slightly. He returned to look at Nozumu.

“This… it’s—ack.”

Nozumu’s avian chirp was telling.

“What is it? What does it say? Give it here, man.”

He handed it to Ivory, who unfolded it without ceremony.

“‘Dear Nozumu,’” he began, pointing a hand at Nozumu without breaking eye contact with the note, “‘one of the following is what you will require to perform the ritual.’ Ritual, interesting. Kind of like before? Anyway: ‘obtain, ‘fore the ascension of the chartreuse moon; let your mind and class guide you.’ And I suppose here is the rub:

Whale spine,

A live Desolate Stinger,

Shark eyes,

A dolphin’s dorsal fin,

Mouth horns of a ray,

Walrus face—preserved.’”

Ivory gulped; Misoe licked her lips.

“I—that is to say—hmm.”

He didn’t know what to say. This task would be virtually impossible back on Earth, as there were probably myriad laws preventing the acquisition of all of them; if not, it would generally be impossible without some… dodgy connections.

“A suitable sacrificial conduit for a seaside city of prominence,” Jeanny said. “The bounty of the sea is one [Witches] have oft beseeched, but a [Witch] you are not. You are touched by that which the vast ocean holds in reverence.”

Ivory instantly felt goosebumps erupt again over his arms. He looked over at Nozumu, whose talons were hooked over his knees.

“Looks like you both get it. That helps… Now, off you pop—you’ve got some stuff to find! There are many hours left in the day; plenty of time to comb the fish markets for what you need.”

She got up matter of factly, adjusting her hat.

“Oh, and one more thing. Tell anyone you ask that you’re on an errand from me—full name—that will help.”

The boys exchanged glances and got up, following her out. Ivory had completely forgotten to drink any more of his tea—he quickly drained it, shuddering as he did. Misoe flew up and perched on his head.

“Nice. Nozumu, there’s a lot of gaps for you to—actually, no. You do you; I’m sure it’ll be good.”

He instinctively bowed in response.

“I do not know what I am doing, but thank you.”

“Mate, no one does. And that’s not even taking magic into it! We’ve got an invisible friend doing all the calculations and all that, probably. Anyway, we just have to hope we don't get our heads lopped off by this nutter.”

“That did cross my mind. It’s still day time, and Jennifer would not send us to our deaths.”

He didn’t say that with much conviction; [Witches] were a strange folk. Said [Witch] was standing at the front door, holding it open.

“A word to the wise: this is the calm before the storm. [Serial Killers] are not your average [Thugs] or [Roughnecks]. That the populace is going back to a sense of normalcy despite the looming threat means that they have left, or this is a ploy to lure more to their deaths. They have struck at night each time. The word is this: do not leave your home tonight until they have been dealt with. Don’t act stupidly, and don’t be a hero”

They stiffened at that, not realising she was listening in. It was yet another sober reminder that there was a literal [Serial Killer] on the loose. Their lives were constantly on the line

“I will, Witch Jennifer. Thank you for your guidance, and I—we—will return to you when it is safe.”

“Good boy.”

She reached over and squeezed his cheek, giving it a ruffle as she withdrew. She addressed the three of them.

“Farewell, and good luck.”