Pithic didn’t remember when he stopped sighing continuously since he got “promoted”. He was beginning to fear that his exasperated sighs, moans and groans were the signs of a developing tic on his part. Stress was getting to him. Before the Samir Era, he was known to be one of the nicest mage within the Academy. Now, teachers and pupils alike were avoiding him, fearing being snapped at by the grumpy old man. The avoidance he could tolerate. The looks of pity and sympathetic understanding from his peers though… that didn’t sit well with him and furthered his sour mood to no end.
A file sat atop his desk: this week’s report concerning his “dear” protégé. The dossier was as thick as any from the previous weeks, which was surprising, considering that his spy was out of commission this week, having suffered an attack by some mad Venedaemon. A rift had opened from Abaddon, inside the spy’s potion laboratory and, foregoing its magical attacks (strange for such a creature), tried to tear poor Theofyr’s throat, screaming in absolute rage.
The ensuing inquiry revealed that the deamon had been driven mad by being constantly pestered to seek knowledge of… the consistency of some random senator’s stool. It had been going on for weeks now.
The deamon had seen through the summoner’s pathetic disguise and had seen the true form of his tormentor. No one knew how he was able to create a rift big enough to pass through the Academy’s defenses, but it was suspected the daemon made some kind of pact with some powerful being indeed. What price was good enough to attack a mortal, Pithic thought. And the wrong one at that!
Of course, the usual suspect was interviewed, but nothing incriminating could be found.
Pithic didn’t care, quite frankly, as another issue had arisen concerning his charge. He had to reread a half dozen times to make sure he understood properly and it wasn’t some kind of joke played upon him.
To be honest, he still suspected being pranked until he saw it with his own eyes this morning. The sight was simply too absurd to be false.
His reverie was soon shattered by the sound of a cheerful knock on his door.
“Come in” he grumbled.
“Hey, master Pit! How are you doing this fine evening?” Samir said as a way of introduction, plopping himself on his usual chair.
“And good evening to you too, STUDENT Goldentongue” Pithic replied, vexed at Samir’s lack of respect toward his position of authority.
“So, what are we going to talk about today? Theofyr again? How is he by the way? He really shouldn’t harass the same daemon every day, you know. He sh…”
“No, student, we will not be talking about this incident, as no evidence was found linking you to this attack”
“Of course not! Such is often the case when, y’know, one is innocent” Samir said, grinning.
“Indeed… The reason I have summoned you tonight is related to your new… contraption you’ve created to move about the Academy”
“I assume you’ve been informed of my present condition? My bones are now those of a really old man due to an unfortunate series of events in a dream plane, and involving a dragon, no less! Surely you would not prevent the elderly from using tools built to help them move about relatively great distances, yes? I mean, you’re an old fart yourself, so surely you understand.”
“YOU ARE NOT AN OLD MAN, SAMIR!” Pithic screamed, rising. He caught himself, took a deep breath, and continued, somewhat calm. “You are not an old man, Samir, and I’m not here to prevent you from moving about the Academy. It is rather the nature of your apparatus that has been getting attention throughout our halls. In fact, there’s been some complaints, you see. Many mages believe that the Academy’s reputation would be tarnished should the commoners see a mage moving about with a contraption such as yours…”
“Why would they? My Samirian Chariot is a literal work of art, I say!”
“Of course! You have no idea how much of a headache it was to find multiple pairs of boots to fit all the feet populating the outer rim of the wheel! And matching boots to boot! Hahahaha See what I did there?! ‘Boots to boot’… hehehehe”
“And that would make your contraption pretty in your eyes?!! A work of art you say?!!!! There’s a pair of exposed ass cracks on each side of your seat for fuck’s sake! And that’s not even addressing the vomit-inducing ‘pop’ sound the joints make at every turn of the wheel!”
“You mean ‘Wand holders’, Pithic. Those are used to hold my wands at the ready, should I get attacked while moving about. In fact, they can be used a cup holders, too! Sure, it needs to be stretched a little bit in order to insert…”
“GET OUT OF MY QUARTERS!!!!”
“Sure thing, Pithicarino! I’ll see you next week!” Samir cheerfully said, leaving the room.
Pithic slumped back down on his chair, sobbing. He couldn’t wait to see Samir’s request at transmuting his bones into steel (or at the very least making them youthful again) being approved by the higher-ups…