The Start Of Something New
May 8, 2020 21:58:24 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on May 8, 2020 21:58:24 GMT -5
"And...and...so you see. That is why I simply cannot help the Grand Masters in their war on....um. Everything."
What had started out as a pretty confident, firm speech, just sort of...petered out at the end. Anxiety was creeping up, making his cheeks itch with heat and his breathing quicker. He knew the consequences of his actions, knew there was only one conclusion to his rebellion. He knew and yet here he was, putting his foot down and refusing to obey the rules. Giving up everything he had worked for, all his ideas and dreams and...everything.
But they wanted him to make a poison. For their silly little war. And yes, Zirah was really freaking great at poisons and potion making. The best, in those few seconds that he could work up the nerve to compliment himself. But...that didn't mean he liked what he did. Oh, no, he would much rather put his knowledge of chemistry and ingredients and magic control into something far more fun. You know, like baking.
Cakes and cookies, pies and tarts, cupcakes and muffins...the list went on and on. It was his second favorite thing in the world. The first? His book collection and reading. Third? Probably the magic he wielded, with it's warmth and comfort and good little miracles that came from it. All his studies and his knowledge put him in the position of being a mage of great destruction, but. Really? Zirah just wanted to sit with a good book and a cup of cocoa while there was a cheesecake finishing in the oven. That was his perfect afternoon.
Of course, that was all going to end.
No one told the Grand Masters no.
He was probably going to be beheaded.
Eventually.
"Oh, bother." Zirah ran his fingers through his messy hair, giving a brief yank before he turned away from the mirror he had been practicing his speech at. This was no use. They were going to be here soon, to collect his notes and the flask of poison he had already concocted, and....what. There was no way he was going to be able to look them in the eye and say no. He was too much a coward. That's why he was in this position in the first place. Couldn't say no to authority.
He was going to be a good little mage and hand over his recipe and notes and....okay.
That was also going to lead to his beheading, too.
Zirah had absolutely messed up the recipe.
Subtly. They would never know until it was too late. Because he damn well knew what he was doing, knew how to fudge the results, make what looked like an innocent mistake with his calculations and ingredients, and.... And there would still be consequences.
He was too scared to run away. Too attached to his home and shop and books. Couldn't imagine just, giving it all up. For a life on the run. Him? Do that? It was laughable.
"We had a good run, didn't we?" There was no one there with him, of course. No one but the building he had created. Two stories, with multiple rooms that always seemed to be changing to some whim only Zirah understood, it was his pride and joy. Bookshelves lined the walls, stuffed to overflowing with all sorts of books. Another room, still more bookshelves and books, but filled with potion and alchemy ingredients. A beautiful kitchen with (you guessed it) more books and equipment and ingredients in every which way. A back room with the most comfortable sofa and recliner, by a toasty fireplace, with more books scattered around. A bedroom upstairs full of decadence.
Zirah was a hedonist, so sue him. Reason 3452541 he couldn't just run away.
But this home of his? This place he loved so much? Loved him right back. Magic and knowledge had a way of working their way into things, filling them to the brim with something. And when the very foundations were laid with magic, well. Sometimes, just sometimes, weird things happened.
The place had a questionably low-level sentience to it. It could protect itself, protect its creator, and respond to various stimuli. And right now? It couldn't very well let its creator die. If Zirah died, then the building itself would cease to exist. So while Zirah was fretting, it did something extraordinary.
It found them a new home.
It would be several hours later before Zirah realized something was wrong. He'd been too busy panicking, and pacing, and practicing speeches in the mirror only to give up. And, as the minutes wound down to the time he would be visited, he started to become more resigned. Resigned, but more certain of what he was doing. Because it was the right thing to do. And maybe he should do more, with his power and his privilege. It hardly felt like he was doing enough. But time was out, and that was that.
Taking a deep breath, Zirah fixed his robes one more time and walked with a confidence he didn't feel, to the door. He wanted to be standing outside in the hot, dry air as his fate came up meet him. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door...
And did a double take.
"Um."
The newly redesigned bookshop was very pleased with itself. Poor Zirah, the worried dear, wouldn't even notice that the space behind him had been redesigned the moment he stepped outside. The first floor now was devoted to many more bookshelves, in neat isles, filled with books that had not been part of the collection a minute ago. But these books, organized in some fashion that only Zirah and the bookshop itself would ever understand, were not old, magic books that could cause all sorts of trouble. No, there were fairly normal, if anything could actually be labeled 'normal' here on Planet. Fiction books full of riveting adventures, mysteries that would keep even the best sleuths guessing, romantic books that were, without a doubt, going to make Zirah blush the moment he saw them. In other places there were children's books, young adult books, non-fiction books on every imaginable subject, with a huge section full of cookbooks, too.
The kitchen and ingredient nook had just been moved, and the bedroom upstairs was just as grand. The shop had even considered that Zirah might like to focus more on making and selling tasty things, but...one step at a time, yes? There was now all the time in the world.
Zirah was still oblivious to the changes behind him, because, well. He was busy gaping at the world in front of him. This was not home. This was nowhere near home, and he had the sense that he might not even be in the same dimension anymore. Same planet, same universe, same....he didn't know. But there was a village sprawled out in front of him, with other stores and homes and people of all shapes and colors and sizes, in forms he did not even recognize, and, and. They seemed happy. Not war-torn, not terrified, not dying of hunger or disease.
And Zirah? He finally felt free. For the first time ever.
A shaking hand gently pressed against the door-frame, the wood warm under his fingers. Nothing was said out loud, even as Zirah fought back tears of relief and gratitude. But the bookshop understood.
And even the least sensitive could feel the waves of contentment and smugness coming off from the rather average looking building.
What had started out as a pretty confident, firm speech, just sort of...petered out at the end. Anxiety was creeping up, making his cheeks itch with heat and his breathing quicker. He knew the consequences of his actions, knew there was only one conclusion to his rebellion. He knew and yet here he was, putting his foot down and refusing to obey the rules. Giving up everything he had worked for, all his ideas and dreams and...everything.
But they wanted him to make a poison. For their silly little war. And yes, Zirah was really freaking great at poisons and potion making. The best, in those few seconds that he could work up the nerve to compliment himself. But...that didn't mean he liked what he did. Oh, no, he would much rather put his knowledge of chemistry and ingredients and magic control into something far more fun. You know, like baking.
Cakes and cookies, pies and tarts, cupcakes and muffins...the list went on and on. It was his second favorite thing in the world. The first? His book collection and reading. Third? Probably the magic he wielded, with it's warmth and comfort and good little miracles that came from it. All his studies and his knowledge put him in the position of being a mage of great destruction, but. Really? Zirah just wanted to sit with a good book and a cup of cocoa while there was a cheesecake finishing in the oven. That was his perfect afternoon.
Of course, that was all going to end.
No one told the Grand Masters no.
He was probably going to be beheaded.
Eventually.
"Oh, bother." Zirah ran his fingers through his messy hair, giving a brief yank before he turned away from the mirror he had been practicing his speech at. This was no use. They were going to be here soon, to collect his notes and the flask of poison he had already concocted, and....what. There was no way he was going to be able to look them in the eye and say no. He was too much a coward. That's why he was in this position in the first place. Couldn't say no to authority.
He was going to be a good little mage and hand over his recipe and notes and....okay.
That was also going to lead to his beheading, too.
Zirah had absolutely messed up the recipe.
Subtly. They would never know until it was too late. Because he damn well knew what he was doing, knew how to fudge the results, make what looked like an innocent mistake with his calculations and ingredients, and.... And there would still be consequences.
He was too scared to run away. Too attached to his home and shop and books. Couldn't imagine just, giving it all up. For a life on the run. Him? Do that? It was laughable.
"We had a good run, didn't we?" There was no one there with him, of course. No one but the building he had created. Two stories, with multiple rooms that always seemed to be changing to some whim only Zirah understood, it was his pride and joy. Bookshelves lined the walls, stuffed to overflowing with all sorts of books. Another room, still more bookshelves and books, but filled with potion and alchemy ingredients. A beautiful kitchen with (you guessed it) more books and equipment and ingredients in every which way. A back room with the most comfortable sofa and recliner, by a toasty fireplace, with more books scattered around. A bedroom upstairs full of decadence.
Zirah was a hedonist, so sue him. Reason 3452541 he couldn't just run away.
But this home of his? This place he loved so much? Loved him right back. Magic and knowledge had a way of working their way into things, filling them to the brim with something. And when the very foundations were laid with magic, well. Sometimes, just sometimes, weird things happened.
The place had a questionably low-level sentience to it. It could protect itself, protect its creator, and respond to various stimuli. And right now? It couldn't very well let its creator die. If Zirah died, then the building itself would cease to exist. So while Zirah was fretting, it did something extraordinary.
It found them a new home.
It would be several hours later before Zirah realized something was wrong. He'd been too busy panicking, and pacing, and practicing speeches in the mirror only to give up. And, as the minutes wound down to the time he would be visited, he started to become more resigned. Resigned, but more certain of what he was doing. Because it was the right thing to do. And maybe he should do more, with his power and his privilege. It hardly felt like he was doing enough. But time was out, and that was that.
Taking a deep breath, Zirah fixed his robes one more time and walked with a confidence he didn't feel, to the door. He wanted to be standing outside in the hot, dry air as his fate came up meet him. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door...
And did a double take.
"Um."
The newly redesigned bookshop was very pleased with itself. Poor Zirah, the worried dear, wouldn't even notice that the space behind him had been redesigned the moment he stepped outside. The first floor now was devoted to many more bookshelves, in neat isles, filled with books that had not been part of the collection a minute ago. But these books, organized in some fashion that only Zirah and the bookshop itself would ever understand, were not old, magic books that could cause all sorts of trouble. No, there were fairly normal, if anything could actually be labeled 'normal' here on Planet. Fiction books full of riveting adventures, mysteries that would keep even the best sleuths guessing, romantic books that were, without a doubt, going to make Zirah blush the moment he saw them. In other places there were children's books, young adult books, non-fiction books on every imaginable subject, with a huge section full of cookbooks, too.
The kitchen and ingredient nook had just been moved, and the bedroom upstairs was just as grand. The shop had even considered that Zirah might like to focus more on making and selling tasty things, but...one step at a time, yes? There was now all the time in the world.
Zirah was still oblivious to the changes behind him, because, well. He was busy gaping at the world in front of him. This was not home. This was nowhere near home, and he had the sense that he might not even be in the same dimension anymore. Same planet, same universe, same....he didn't know. But there was a village sprawled out in front of him, with other stores and homes and people of all shapes and colors and sizes, in forms he did not even recognize, and, and. They seemed happy. Not war-torn, not terrified, not dying of hunger or disease.
And Zirah? He finally felt free. For the first time ever.
A shaking hand gently pressed against the door-frame, the wood warm under his fingers. Nothing was said out loud, even as Zirah fought back tears of relief and gratitude. But the bookshop understood.
And even the least sensitive could feel the waves of contentment and smugness coming off from the rather average looking building.