A couple of written stories [NOT ABOUT FORUM CHARACTER].

STORY 1: AN EVERYDAY INTERVIEW WITH A MAGE

“Do you want to hear one simple yet useful advice?”
“Yes?”
“Keep your head down. It might save your life.”
The reporter looks puzzled for a moment. Then, noticing a flash to his right, he quickly ducks, managing to dodge a fiery boulder which flies right above his head.
“That was close. Well, thank you, sir...“
“Please don’t ‘sir’ me. Besides, I don’t really understand why you had to look out for me in the middle of such a battle, while there are plenty of good souls that could probably answer whatever question you have just as well as I could...” The Mage pauses for a moment. He leans over slightly and summons a pair of fireballs, instantly aimed and slung at a few Undead trying to sneakily approach the two. “...and who are likely slacking, walking in parks or getting drunk.”
“That’s why I came here! You...”
“I’m fighting some Undead and I still don’t understand why you’ve put so much effort in reaching me.”
“I...”
The reporter is interrupted yet again. “It’s alright. It’s just another incursion, and it looks like they’re not going to last for long. It is annoying when there are archers and necromancers trying to take me down, however.”
“You know, if you didn’t realise you’re standing right at the edge of a cliff...”
He looks around himself. One step and he could fall down straight into the main battlefield, mostly composed of soldiers, Undead and corpses. “You got a point. But it’s a good strategic position!”
“A good position to act as a shooting target?”
“Amongst other things, yes.” Something else appears in the distance, this time a mass of shadowy dark-purple orbs launched towards their position. The mage lifts his hands upwards and exhales a few words; a crystalline surface rapidly covers an area around them. The orbs collide against the barrier and disperse like water splashing on a wall.
“Which works – I’m actually drawing their fire and attention from more ‘important’ people.”
“Aren’t you considered an important person in here?”
“If you want to consider me as one, I am. I’m important as a decoy!”
“But...“
“Well, if a magician isn’t able to either avoid or block ranged attacks, and counter them, who could?”
“Fine, but... Don’t you fear to be continuously hammered by attacks? You mages are well-known to stay in the back lines of armies, amongst healers or archers, throwing whatever spell you think of at your enemy – or at your ally – and fleeing at the first sign of danger?”
The mage throws a glance at the reporter.
“Do you really think I’m that kind of mage?”
“No! I didn’t mean that!”
“Don’t worry, I know you didn’t. Well, for your information, we also have Battlemages, like a few in the frontlines there, who handle sword, spell and sometimes shield – the three S! – just as well, and wreak havoc in the front lines. And, of course, act as living barriers. I could be considered a Battlemage, actually, but as of now I’m simply throwing spells at distant targets while attracting the enemy’s attention. Seems like they found me more useful this way. ”
Both stop talking for a while. The snowy landscape, covered by a recently fallen layer of snow, contrasts with the blood-stained pink and red snow closer to their position on the battlefield and the greyish shades of armours and weapons. A couple of rather flat hills are occupied by allied troops, used as strategic striking positions to rain hell upon their enemies. The Undead don’t show signs of retreat (they never do), but their numbers are constantly decreasing by the minute.
“Well, it looks like you’re almost done with it.”
“I have to admit it, considering some other tasks I’ve undertaken this was... a piece of cake.”
“Other tasks you’ve undertaken? Such as?”
“Let’s see... act as a decoy to make sure a dragon wouldn’t roast my allies? Alone?”
“And did you succeed?”
“Depends on who you ask... I made sure they didn’t get scorched by its breath, but I wasn’t all that lucky.” He smirks. “Somebody had to take the hits after all. At least I’m fast when it comes to recovery.”
“Magically-enhanced recovery?”
The mage snorts. “Not really. I’ve got a good natural recovery, and I should also thank my quite intensive physical training.”
The reporter blinks for a moment then flashes a grin. “Did I just hear ‘physical training’ from a mage?”
“I kindly appreciate your obvious reference to a stereotypical view of a mage...” His voice reeks in irony. “But I can’t say you’re wrong. For as useful as it is, mentally as well, physical training is often overlooked by mages, if that makes any sense...” the reporter nods. “And sometimes it doesn’t even cross their minds. After all, the typical view of a mage is a tall, scrawny old man with a long beard. ”
The battlefield slowly becomes quieter. The last Undead are disposed of, with sword or fire. Many friendly dead and wounded are recovered. Siege engines beyond repair are salvaged, their components teleported back to the closest smithy for ‘recycling’. A few “important” people also approach the duo, the most noticeable of them being a heavily-armoured warrior. With golden plating and a few decorated ribbons, and a lot of stains and cuts in his armour, he’s surely a high-ranking officer. “Arcanist, I can see you’ve been busy during the battle.” He speaks seriously but with a small smirk on his face.
The reporter pales slightly and takes a step backwards. “I... I apologise. I did not mean to disturb...”
The officer motions him to stop talking, but then offers a smile. “You haven’t done anything wrong, have you now? Mage, you’ve overdone yourself as usual! You have our thanks, but...”
“Yes?”
“I do not understand why you refuse to receive any kind of reward or compensation other than access to our armouries and kitchens.”
The mage flashes a smile. “I don’t want nor need any. I’m here to help, not chasing profit. But, as usual, please put my reward to good use: share it amongst the good men and women who fought today and that need it the most.”
“It will be done, worry not! Onto other matters, the General will probably organise a feast to honour this battle. Can we count on your culinary skills for tonight?”
“Of course. Should I put some explosive powder in this cake too?”
Both burst into laughter, the reporter shrugs slightly. Explosive cake? “Maybe next time we invite unwanted guests.”
The officer and the others accompanying him give the two a military salute, they two answer back before the officer and his entourage leave.
“That was amusing. The funny part was that I didn’t even see you do so much.”
“You weren’t here for most of the time. By the way, how about we go back to town so that I can finally answer your questions? I find it quite cold and unfriendly here.” The mage smiles.
“But it’s too far away from here!”
“Did you just say ‘far away’ in front of a mage?” He grins, turning around. A few hand gestures and whispered words are enough for blue sparks to appear in front of him, which suddenly expand into a glowing blue oval-shaped disk. Arcane energy creates a swirling vortex inside the disk which, standing at about two metres of height, floats right above the ground. “I had forgotten you’re a master of portals and teleportation, sir...”
The mage frowns. “And please... don’t ‘sir’ me.”
“I don’t even know your name. I’ve just been sent to you by a friend of mine, which seems to be a fan of your work... But I forgot to ask him about anything except for your possible location.”
The mage smiles. “Don’t worry, I won’t eat you if you ask for my name. Or so I think. I’m actually quite hungry.”
“Okay... Well... I’m Darrick Farland. A pleasure to meet you...” He leans his hand forward for a handshake.
“Kalandras Spellweaver, and the pleasure is all mine. Now, I suggest you walk into the portal before it vanishes – I might be experienced in portals, but holding them up for too long is still an issue for me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“So, we were saying, sir...”
“Don’t. Sir. Me!” The mage’s quite aggressive in saying that.
Darrick almost jumps on his feet. “I’m s-sorry!”
“Sorry. I just hate that quite a lot, for you to know. If you really think my name is too long or too hard to pronounce, you can call me Kal. Or anything else you wish.”
“Can I call you Blue?”
Kalandras looks at himself. His clothing consists of mainly blue ‘robes’, mostly darker shades of blue. A few golden trims, stripes and patterns (geometrical or not) are sewn on his clothes. A golden flame logo sits on the back of his blue, fingerless light cloth gloves. Dark blue metal-padded epaulets rest on his shoulders, adding some protection and a further decorative element to his garments. A plain blue cloak, of a heavier cloth and long enough to almost reach the floor, is clipped between the epaulets and his shoulders. Symbolic inscriptions (with either golden or silver thread) are also stitched on his clothes, most of them on his cloak but some on the sleeves or on the chest. He also wears two rings: a plain silver one on his right ring finger and a gemmed one on his left ring finger, the latter emanating a permanent and weak green glow, and a necklace made of a simple, thick black cord with a representation of a gold heater shield attached.
“Well, I’m not wearing red. So I guess it’s fine.” He smiles.
“If those weren’t robes, I could’ve called you the Blue Ninja.”
Kalandras, differently from other mages, doesn’t wear pointy hats and hardly ever hides himself under a hood. The only thing he’s always got, however, is a headband. Most commonly a black or blue cloth headband, sometimes adorned with miscellaneous items such as gems, enchantments, inscriptions, symbols, blood stains...
“If you mean this” He points at his plain blue headband “it serves multiple purposes. It keeps my hair away from my eyes and forehead and prevents me from getting too hurt if I head butt something or somebody. Or if something or somebody head butts me, for example.”
Darrick chuckles. “Why don’t you just cut your hair if it’s in the way?”
“NO!” Kalandras exclaims, looking shocked (even though anybody could tell it’s a fake, exaggerated expression) “I will never cut my hair. It’s like a symbol to me, I’m sure you understand.”
“Symbol of ‘trampness’?” Darrick grins. His hair isn’t even dirty (though hair is never clean after a long fight) but it’s somewhat... ‘Unorganised’.
There’s no ‘proper’ cut, just mildly long hair, almost reaching his shoulders. Black, quite flat, and rather light: a small breeze could lift it up like wheat in a field. It also covers his ears and sideburns. The headband seems to keep his forehead clear – magically, or physically, nobody knows! –, and his fringe is usually swept to the side.
“Yeah, all we need now is rogue mages – or even ninja mages. You know, dressed in blue and gold and hopping around like monkeys. Really sounds like something I’d do, Darrick.” He pulls out a chuckle.
“So...” Darrick clears his throat. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to start the interview. It will be one of the typical boring ones, containing all the information I need. No problems with that, I hope?”
Kalandras smiles. “No problems at all. I’m all ears.”
“So...” Darren sighs, preparing his interviewing chores. “Full name, and any official title?”
“Kalandras Spellweaver. And what title do you prefer to give me?”
“Excuse me?”
“I got a few ‘official’ titles. Will Arcanist do?”
“It’ll do.” He flashes a smile. “Age?”
The mage doesn’t look very old. No wrinkles, no scars or deformed facial bones, nor obvious signs of lack of sleep and caffeine overdosing, yet he looks radiant, serene and rather tranquil. His eyes have a permanent light azure glow. He’s got rather thick and long eyebrows, but nothing that ruins his looks too much; a normal-sized yet slightly curved nose and slightly chubby cheeks partially covered by a full, trimmed beard surprisingly well-kept (considering his hair) up to and including sideburns.
“Thirty-seven.”
Darrick quirks an eyebrow. He looks at Kal’s eyes for a little while. “Race?”
“ ‘Quarter elf’. Half High Elf mother, Human father. Officially I’d be a half elf, but... Oh, I’m sure you know what I mean. ”
Darrick nods. “High Elves and sometimes half elves are known for being extremely arrogant, power-hungry and selfish. It doesn’t seem to be your case...”
“I guess. And I’m actually proud of my human descent, though sadly there are very few people who would agree with me.”
He nods again.
“Sex... Well, that’s kind of obvious. Occupation?”
“I don’t really have a fixed occupation, I tend to go where people need my services, but let’s say Master chef and world-wandering adventurer”
The reporter nods again, writing down (almost) every word into some sort of notebook, simply a series of crude paper sheets stapled together, using some sort of pencil to write.
“Relatives?”
Kalandras sighs heavily. He pauses for a moment. “None as of now. Mother and father are dead; I’ve got no sisters or brothers and no current real relationship.”
Darrick nods, giving him a brief smile. “So... What drove you to become what you currently are?”
“Hunger for knowledge played a big part in it, and not just magic-related knowledge, but knowledge of everything. My father used to be a battle-mage, one of the very few who started out as a warrior and then learnt about Magic. He used to be a blacksmith, woodworker and stonemason, so he taught me these professions. He always told me that if there’s anything I love or anything I really want, I should try and get it no matter the cost. And that’s what I did, just... Making sure I wouldn’t die in the process or something like that.” He pauses for an instant. “So as a result I think I’ve got a huge knowledge bank, especially because I didn’t focus on a single path trying to master it,but as much as possible about anything I could think of...”
“So what happened?”
He shrugs. “I found out I was actually rather skilled in these professions and continued to practise them. What I did is offer my services as apprentice to master blacksmiths or similar jobs, learn how to do stuff from them and once I learned enough move on to the next job, to learn from somebody else or on my own. I always refused to sell my productions unless I had to or unless people insisted too much. I’m still in contact with some of my old masters, and we help each other whenever we can.”
“So you’re telling me that all that pushed you to do that was...”
“Curiosity, essentially.” He nods, to Darrick’s surprise. “I wanted to discover what it was like to do certain things, and when I found out I liked it I just kept going.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“I expected something overly heroic in the lines of ‘for the Kingdom’ or ‘for my family name’ or ‘for wealth and power’... Well, that’s a first for me, and I can assure you I’ve met many ‘interesting’ people during my life and career.”
Kalandras smiles. “I get that quite often, and even though not everybody expresses it as a compliment I got used to it.”
Darrick smiles as well. He’s somewhat happy that his interlocutor is not the overly arrogant, selfish, ‘I-am-the-best-and-you-are-not’ mage he expected.
“Would you now like to talk about your past? How did you become what you are now?”
Kalandras smiles again. “I hope you have enough paper.”
“Why?”
“This is going to be a nice long story... In fact, would you like some tea before starting? Perhaps some cookies too? I made a good bunch of them before the battle so that I could enjoy a nice snack after I finished it.”
“Hah!” Darrick gives him a hearty smile, and nods. “Sure, why not.”


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“My father was a soldier for the Great Kingdom. He was a front-liner, protecting the soldiers behind him - spearmen and the likes - and a favourite target of allied menders. Usually, shield men need to know how to defend themselves and others against anything that could be thrown at them, at the cost of not being good attackers. Their biggest challenge, however, are magicians. The only efficient way you got to counter magic is magic itself, unless you’re quick enough to avoid a flaming fireball... quite challenge since you’re wearing a huge rectangular shield, a short sword, and heavy-plated armour. So that’s why the Great Kingdom was, and still is, as you surely know, a great ally of the Magocracy. By means of a very simple exchange: troops and raw materials in exchange of magic knowledge and trinkets.
“My father was one of the first to willingly try out this newly-acquired knowledge so he began studying several forms of magic, in particular defensive magic. Magical barriers, shield enchantments and the like.”
Darrick nods briefly.
“There was one big problem with that: Most mages can wield magic by birth, with at least one of their parents being mages or somehow heavily influenced by magic throughout their life. My father was just a son of warriors, so his success would’ve been some sort of revolution. Well, he and very few succeeded to some extent, but the majority didn’t. Apparently, one’s ability to properly study and practise the arts of magic is dependent upon his potential, and very few events can change that. So my father and his friends, around a dozen shield men, became troops under the Magocracy, moving to its capital city.
“There, my mother was the chef and co-owner of a popular inn and restaurant. As you can obviously imagine, the place was a popular place for adventurers and the likes, either resident in the city or just passing by. She was quite skilled and always preferred cooking to anything else.
“Well, essentially, that’s how my parents met and after that... I don’t need to explain myself, do I?”
Darrick grins. “Don’t you like telling tales of romance and love?”
Kalandras’ cheeks gain a light red colour for a while, he scoffs. “No! It’s... Oh, nevermind. So, I was saying...” Darrick grins again. “That’s essentially it. I was the son of a warrior that only recently learnt about magic arts and a cook. Quite awkward, isn’t it?” He pauses for a little while, sips some tea, devours a floating sugar-coated chocolate cookie, and then continues. “Funny enough, I inherited from both. I was attracted by both sword and spell, studying them at the same time. My parents agreed with each other; they would set their differences apart and teach me both the path of Magic and of War. How much I learned would depend upon how much I liked either.”
“And?”
“I liked both...” He sighs. “I didn’t stop there. Noticing that I was a very curious little boy who I kept asking for more and diversified knowledge over the years, I was introduced to their professions. Cooking and blacksmithing came first, followed by others. I did not have my father’s physical strength, however, so my studies focused upon the various magic arts.
“I’ve been admitted to the Capital’s Academy of Magic at a rather young age compared to average students. That was due to the fact I knew more than just magic compared to other applicants, even if my actual knowledge of magic wasn’t that good. Oh, and since I developed a unusual talent for languages. I learnt many of them quickly, with hardly no mistakes and few issues in learning how to pronounce specific letters or characters that are not present in our alphabet. That came in handy in the Academy due to the variety of races from all over the world. So I wasn’t the best student when it came to applied magic and specific magic paths, but I had a rather high average and a place as “Diplomat” within the Academy, I handled any issue with ‘foreign’ students, whether about learning our language or should any incomprehension between the Academy and these students arise.
“On another side I experienced issues with some students myself. Some made fun of me because I wasn’t able to reach top levels in most courses, others were, as you can imagine, jealous due to my versatility and ability to apply to several courses at the same time. Others just hated me for being a half elf.”
Darrick blinks. “And... How old were you then?”
“Let’s see... I stayed in the Academy for a few years, before I moved on. When I left I was sixteen in human years, so around nineteen or twenty in half elven years.”
Darrick blinks again.
“Everything went nicely, except when they played pranks on me – some of them were quite heavy. They once stole and hid my notebooks and spellbook...”
“So what did you do?”
“I had suspicions about who could have done it, so I put an advertisement in the corridors. Either the items were returned to me within a few days or I would leave a few nasty surprises in their rooms.”
“Let me guess, you had to do the latter.”
“A student gave me one of the notebooks and told me who had the other items. He was a friend of mine but he was forced to steal it due to a lost bet. After four days, when I realised my possessions wouldn’t be returned, I started having a bit of fun.
“I had four targets, and all of them ... I can’t say they got scared or traumatised, because I never actually wanted to hurt people’s feelings or emotions, but I made sure they learned their lesson. The first guy saw his room flooded to the brim with a homemade sticky mixture, the second had his room filled in rotten food remnants from the family inn, and the third had to work for a few hours in order to unblock his window, the only source of light and air beside the door, which also got locked as soon as he entered the room.
“The fourth guy tried to play clever and cast a special spell in his room. He did exactly what I thought he’d do, as my ‘trap’ triggered when he cast his spell, making him appear straight in front of the Headmaster in his office. Funnily enough, that protection spell was a secret one, reserved only to the Headmaster and his closest employees. The Headmaster was also informed of my plan (which he didn’t love, but there weren’t many other options), so it all ended with the last guy being banned from all magic practises for an entire year and myself being awarded an unofficial merit for my creativity and use of non-harmful and non-offensive means to incite these students to return my belongings.”
“I have a question.”
“Yes?”
“If you managed to get in their rooms to plant all those traps and items, why didn’t you search your belongings?”
“I did, but unsurprisingly they weren’t in the rooms. I got them a few days later when the students confessed their location, a stash they created for their personal belongings underground, only accessible by teleportation. It was actually a clever idea... Later on I took that idea and improved it slightly.
“So I quit the Academy once I finished my courses. After that, well...”
“You made a good use of your skills and earned enough money to live like a king?”
Kalandras laughs. “Not really. I went into exploration, one of my favourite activities.”
Darrick blinks. He looks rather surprised by that answer. “But...”
“No buts. I’ve always been told I should do whatever I want to do, so that’s what I did. Besides, exploration meant I had the chance to see what the rest of the world was like, and with my magic skills – and money I collected during and after my studies – it was actually quite simple. By exploring the world I also had the opportunity to refine my Archaeology studies, a profession upon which I rely on even today. And, well, I used to sell self-made maps or magical services, which is also how I made most of my money during my travels. I preferred not to abuse magic to survive and gather food, water or necessary items, but do as an adventurer would: pay for foodstuff or gather it on my own, sleep in tents or find temporary places, face dangers in first person... I admit that sometimes I had to rely on spells in order not to get eaten by a hungry bear, splattered by a mountain troll or far worse...I’m sure you see what I mean.”
Darrick nods. “Had to be fun, though.”
“Oh yes it was! That also allowed me to improve my skills in different situations, outside classes or training grounds by doing actual practise”
“And for how long you’ve been wandering around, then?”
“Quite a few years. Sometimes I just stopped in some places, such as villages where they could have needed my help and assisted them in whatever was necessary, such as picking out tiny hidden mushrooms in a dangerous swamp reeking of crocodiles and other scary monsters. I was sometimes allowed to keep some of the items I found or, in exchange of the help, I was given knowledge from elder villagers, shamans, or others. I’ve found some items so rare they’re not even classified in most books, and I keep them in an ultra-safe storage facility, in case I or anybody else need them.”
“Have you ever cared for fame and fortune?”
Kalandras shakes his head, smiling. “No, not really... I’ve always been satisfied of my life as it is. If you want me to tell you what I think of wealth...”
“Yes?”
“In my vault I’ve stored a lot of treasures, trinkets, rare ingredients and all sorts of items. If I wanted, I could sell some precious stuff and buy myself a luxurious home in the city, or show the world my possessions and therefore get myself a nice seat in the High Council. But I’m not interested in doing that. I like to use whatever riches and goods I have to help people. That’s my first and perhaps only true goal.”
Darrick nods. “You sound like a noble person, Kalandras. Sadly, we don’t hear about people like you anymore. This having been said, shall we end our interview? It’s been a great pleasure to meet you. I am honoured, really.”
Kalandras smiles heartedly. “Please, don’t be. I’m but one individual amongst many others.”
“If you say so... I’ll release this interview immediately. I might even write a book! ‘Kalandras, an everyday mage!”
Kalandras grins. He then looks up as if he were pondering. “You said you might write a book?”
“That’d be funny... why are you asking?”
An ‘evil’ smirk appears on his face. “Then this will not be enough. I have a nice collection of stories and adventures you might be interested in...”
Darrick chuckles. “That’s the spirit! I can’t wait to hear from you.”
“I’ll send you some extracts whenever I have time. Or we can have a talk if you feel up for it whenever you wish. Since my parents died I’m the owner and main chef of the family inn; I’m sure you’ll find out where it is by asking anybody. Oh, and of course bring whoever you want, you won’t be paying anything anyway.”
They both smile, almost at the same time. “Thanks a lot. ‘Til next we meet, sir...”
“Please, don’t sir me. I’m Kalandras Spellweaver, Kal for my friends.”




***


STORY 2 : THE TAILOR'S CHALLENGE

Dalaran is called the capital of magic for more than one reason. Except for the fact it’s magically sustained (the entire city is on a floating platform) and that it’s home to the Kirin Tor, there’s arguably the highest concentration of magic practitioners in the entire planet. These mages don’t study all day and every day; several friendly or competitive challenges are issued now and then, some more important than others. A relatively important one is the Tailor’s Challenge. Every year, two tailors must fit two Mages that will fight each other not to show who’s the strongest, but who’s the best equipped for the fight. This year there will be slightly more people than usual, for the two participating tailors are amongst the finest and youngest of Dalaran. The favoured in the competition is Elswyr Flameborn, high elf, skilled tailor and weaver specialised in quality (and expensive) magical clothing. The other one is Kalandras Spellweaver, half elf, jack of all trades and known chef.
The challenge is very simple: in seven days, the two tailors must use all resources and (legal) methods to craft the necessary equipment, weapons exempted, which will be used in the confrontation. Each tailor has the right to choose a friend who will wear the clothing for the duel. Whoever wins the challenge gains some reputation in the Dalaran clothes world and the chance to take special commissions (and some respect) from the High Council of mages.
For the two duellists, Elswyr has decided to pick another high elf and almost rival of his, a powerful Evoker called Hallion Frosthand, while Kalandras decided to take a trusted friend of his, a human named Leanne of Darkshire – a clever and courageous girl, but not the most skilled in the schools of magic compared to the high elf.
There was a short meeting to present the duellists to the competition jury and as soon as the competition officially began, the two high elves teleported away. Kalandras shrugged and smiled at Leanne. “I’ll offer you something to eat and drink and then we can discuss our plan, all right?”
“You’re too relaxed about this... And since I know you quite well, I ask you – why?”
Kal flashes a smirk. He obviously had something in his mind. “Don’t worry; I know who we’re facing quite well. I already have a plan.”
“And I hope you’re going to share it with me?”
“Of course I am, but for now let’s eat. It’s always better to think and work with a full stomach.”


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Brother, I cannot comprehend why you are in such a rush. Isn’t it obvious to you that we’re going to absolutely crush our opposition?” The two high elves stand at a table, scrolls and miscellaneous papers scattered on it. One looks excited, the other far less so.
“Elswyr, you don’t understand. It doesn’t matter if that ... Kalandras Halfling is just a silly cook. We have to show the entire city what you – actually, we – are capable of. You mustn’t take this task lightly.”
“You’re worrying too much, Hallion.” The Evoker grabs his own head, obviously trying to stay calm. “...You do realise I’m soon going to be the best and most famous tailor of Dalaran, right? You just have to stay calm, listen to me and wear what I will give you. You would win even if I gave you old rags anyway.”
“You’re probably right.” He grins. “But I say we should get to work. You think of the cloth, I’ll take care of finding the enchantments we need.”
“I make the decisions here. I need you to get somebody willing to sell an ample enough stock of Embersilk.”
“We’re doing this together, Elswyr. You’re not my boss.”
“Actually yes, I am.” Hallion heads towards the exit, literally fuming. “And do what I told you to do. You’ll take care of your enchantments later...” but by the time Elswyr is done talking, his colleague already quit, slamming the door behind him. He shrugs. “Oh well.”


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“So, what’s your favourite colour?”
“Well... I love pink...” Kalandras grimaces as soon as the word pink is pronounced. “Alright, alright... I also really like blue.”
“That’s a lot better. Do you want more biscuits?”
Leanne giggles slightly. “Is this your secret plan for the competition? Make me fat?”
“Now that you mention it, it isn’t such a bad idea...” Kal smirks. His friend throws him a glare, and he turns serious again immediately. “Not like you’ll need to be fit for the duel.”
She looks perplexed. “What do you mean?”
“I know the two elves well. First of all they think they’re better than me because I’m a quarter elf, which is even worse than being a half elf to them. They’ll also think they’re better than you because you’re a human, and not even from Dalaran. They will surely be aggressive and try to take you out with a single powerful spell. Elswyr will probably tailor something that will enhance offensive spells and ignore the rest.” Leanne blinks, and keeps on listening. “... But you don’t have worry. We’ll just have to turn the tables in our favour at the last moment, and I know how to.”
“But I don’t!”
“It’s going to be a surprise. Not for me, but it should be for everybody else. By the way, what are you going to do for the evening?”
“I thought I’d train for the duel. Why?”
“Good. You’re training with me.” She blinks again. “I’m going to test your resolve.”

Later on in the day, Leanne and Kalandras meet outside Dalaran, on a hilltop.
“So, what’s in the training programme?”
“I’ve told you before. Resolve.” He quickly summons a mass of small fire orbs, which he tosses at her in a quick succession. She hastily raises a mana shield and blocks the attack. “You could’ve warned me!”
“You’re right. I should’ve warned you. I’m sorry.” He goes to summon one far larger fireball and sling it towards her. “Incoming!” Her shield explodes, protecting her from the fireball and almost traumatising her. “Good, good...” He nods. “In seven days you will probably suffer a far worse treatment – and you won’t even use any kind of magic protection.”
She opens her eyes wide open and stares at him. “Do you want me to turn into ashes or something?!”
“Of course I don’t. My clothes and your bravery will take care of it.”
She looks confused for a while, still looking at him. “Are you certain you’re not planning my early demise?”
“Definitely. Oh, and by the way, do you like mantles?”
“I love mantles. Why are you asking?”
“I’m designing the robes. I am absolutely certain you will love them.” He smirks. “Now, to continue the training...”


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“You can and will do better than this, Hallion!”
“Shut up already!” Hallion closes his eyes; he extends his palms forward and summons another barrier of fire, which he throws forward. The flames clash against a stone wall like an ocean wave against a cliff, almost shattering it.
“Should I remind you that you’re not going to fight a Titan but a tiny, insignificant human? Cast something more... practical!”
“I’m the one fighting here, so I don’t see why you should be the one telling me what to do.” He claps his hand together from the previous position; a frost spike emerges from the soil and, like a shark swimming towards his prey, travels forward before exploding against the wall, shattering it.
“Better, better... Keep practising. I’ll work on the robes.”
“Hold on, I am the one wearing them, I’m entitled to have a preference on what I would like to wear...”
“I don’t care about what you want to wear.” Elswyr scoffs, obviously irritated. “I’m the tailor, I’m the one weaving your clothes, not you!”
“So it’s all about you, hmm?” Hallion turns around to look at him, crossing his arms. “Well, I might as well leave and you can have some obedient little slave do your work, then...”
“No!” The Evoker flashes a smirk. “I need you, after all. A master of Evocation of your level is a challenge to find... And you’ll also get some fame out of this. We’re going to win together, after all.”
“Then I want to cooperate with the creation of my robes or at least their appearance.”
“Fine, whatever you say. Come, let’s get started.” Elswyr turns around and walks towards his house. “I hope you get scorched by one of your own spells”, he mutters to himself.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Eeek! Stop it!” Leanne runs, barely dodging a series of fire bolts and frost spikes sent by Kalandras aimed at her.
“I told you you’re not supposed to move!”
“I don’t want to die!”
“I’m not going to kill you!” He stops summoning spells.
“Are you really not? Because it feels like you’re practising your assassination skills on me!”
He sighs. “If you stop just once and follow my plan you’ll have a lifelong supply of cookies! I promise!”
She stops, the thought of endless biscuits bolting through her mind, and turns to face him. “You got me. Please don’t be murderous and peacefully tell me what do you want me to do.”
“The power of food...” He flashes a grin, making sure she didn’t hear that. “Alright, just stand there, don’t cast any shield. Don’t do anything. Okay?”
She nods slightly; somewhat anxious as Kalandras begins summoning a huge fiery mass. “... And whatever goes through your mind don’t run. Don’t teleport. Don’t scream. Don’t anything.” He increases the controlled mass by fuelling it with arcane energy until it becomes almost uncontrollable and gigantic. At that point he tosses it towards her. She keeps her eyes open for a fraction of a second. She closes her eyes and mutters to herself, as if waiting for her death sentence. She keeps waiting, and waiting. Nothing happens. She opens her eyes and finds the fiery mass of death right in front of her. She keeps her eyes open for a while. She doesn’t even blink, even though she quickly realised she isn’t undergoing cremation. Kalandras slowly dismisses the spell, and looks at her as she slumps down like a dropped sack of potatoes. He sighs. “Oh dear, it looks like I’ll have to work on your resolve a little bit more...”


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Seven days passed. The hippogryph landing had been cleared (with plants and grass covered by marble tiles) for the event. A large number of curious people await the beginning of the event. Elswyr and Kalandras stand one aside the other, in front of the jury, four elder mages presided by an Archmage.
“From one to ten, how much are you going to lose, Halfling?” Elswyr tilts his head to the smile, a haughty expression in his voice and face.
“I have no idea, Flameborn... Five or six, I’d say. By the way, I had the chance to observe Hallion’s training. He is a very powerful Evoker and I congratulate you on the choice.” Elswyr is obviously perplexed. Kal’s tone is extremely calm and relaxed, and somewhat sincere as well.
“I haven’t had the... honour... to observe your friend. I do hope she won’t get too hurt in the upcoming fight... Even if she is a human, it’d be sad to see such a pretty little face get seared beyond recognition.”
“I do as well. She’d hate me for the rest of her life.” Kalandras flashes a subtle grin. A little band plays some music to silence the crowd as the Archmage begins to speak.
“Greetings, people of Dalaran, adventurers...” He looks at the two tailors “... and competitors. Welcome to the annual Dalaran Tailor’s Challenge. But let’s start already – I trust your duellists are ready to join us?”
Both of them nod. “Let me introduce to you, Archmage, and everybody else... Hallion Frosthand!” The Evoker slowly fades away from invisibility, appearing in the middle of the plaza. What he is wearing instantly daze at least half of the observers in its magnificence: obviously made from the highest quality and most expensive materials, his robes become the lighthouse of the port. Based on violet shades to represent Dalaran, the garments are covered in gold-thread trims and decorations in a very high elven fashion. Two large, majestic shoulder pads and a superb ornate cape add the cherry to the top of the cake. The entire set seems to shine under the sun’s rays, and a flame-like glow emanates from decorative ‘cracks’ on the shoulder pads. A round of applause rises from the astonished public. “These clothes – which I called ‘The glory of the Quel’Dorei’ to honour our race – have been created using the finest Embersilk and topped with some of the most powerful enchantments Dalaran’s libraries have to offer.” The two elves stand aside each other and bow before the jury, which also looks dazzled by the show. Even Kalandras claps his hands. “I didn’t expect you to pull out such a wonder. You’re truly a great tailor.” A tone of irony can be felt between his words, pronounced in a provocative yet polite tone.
“Why thank you for the compliments... Halfling. I truly can’t wait to see what you’ve got to show.” Elswyr smirks, knowing that nothing the half elf presents can be superior to his craft in majesty.
“Really, you don’t have to be so impatient, my friend. After all this isn’t a beauty show but more of a quality and ‘effectiveness’ demonstration.” Elswyr shrugs, uncaringly. “Archmage, jury and everyone. Here cometh my friend Leanne of Darkshire, wearing what I enjoyed to dub... ‘The Trickster’s Attire’.”
Kalandras holds up his hands and quickly lowers them, summoning an arcane lightning in the middle of the square to ‘cover up’ Leanne’s sudden appearance as the lightning disappears. An almost opposite apparition compared to the elves’... Blue is the dominant colour here, with darker shades prevailing over lighter ones. The clothes have a simple “charm” to them: they’re obviously made with care and quality but don’t have useless or exaggerated decorations to them except for a few golden stripes and geometrical motives. Without shoulder pads, the most exceptional feature is a large, rather heavy-looking mantle that covers her arms, back and shoulders, long enough to hardly touch the floor. No enchantments or magical patterns are exposed, differently from the elves’ garments which are literally filled in them, especially on the cloak.
A round of applause accompanies the show, though smaller than the previous one, as both Leanne and Kalandras take a bow. The two high elves do their best to hold a burst of laughter. Leanne then takes her place aside her friend.
“Mages, you have a few seconds to talk with each other before the duel starts.” The four of them nod at the Archmage and turn to their friends.

“As I suspected, Brother, they aren’t at our height, at all. Just obliterate them with that flame spike you were practising on earlier...”
“Again, this is my fight, Elswyr. Don’t tell me what to do... I already know.”
Elswyr grunts. “Don’t screw this up, Hallion.” The both toss each other a glare before Hallion walks to one side, assuming his place in the ‘duelling ring’. The crowd begins to walks backwards to give space to the combatants.

“Leanne, just think of all the cookies that you will eat in the following years.”
“I’m wondering whether I will be able to eat them or not.”
“Still scared? Just remember what I told you. I took care of the rest.” She nods and takes her place in the ring, opposite to Hallion and at some distance from him. The two tailors, and the jury, take some step backwards to make a large line between the duellists.
“Please, Frosthand, you’ll have the honour of throwing the first spell.” Leanne inclines her head slightly while assuming a slightly provocative tone.
“You’re kind for a human. Now, behold the power of the Quel’Dorei!” Several runes and inscriptions on the elven garments begin to glow golden. Hallion positions his hands as if he were grabbing an invisible sphere – which does appear, in the form of a huge fiery orb which he instantly tosses in Leanne’s direction. She doesn’t move and simply looks at the incoming deadly mass. The sphere quickly envelops her and gives out a large explosion. A thick layer of smoke covers the scene, and the two elves pop a wide grin. They turn to look at Kalandras, which looks at Leanne with an even wider grin. The two suddenly look at her as well only to find her totally intact and almost untouched... except for a couple of scorched hair.
“Ow. I’m so sorry, Leanne, so terribly sorry. I hope you won’t miss them.” Kalandras winks at her. She winks back, and suddenly flips over her mantle. The light blue side of the mantle was actually covered in a myriad of runes, which are now giving out a heavy white glow. The cloth itself seems to be imbued in power as Leanne assumes control of it and musters it – the arcane power quickly turned into a fearsome mass of arcane lightning. Hallion stares forward, as still as a statue. The human continues her work and begins to toss lightning ‘spikes’ at the high elf while still holding the arcane energies in her control, all with two hands. The high elf rapidly raises a shield, which is almost as quickly destroyed after a couple of strikes. Another shield meets the same end as the garments themselves begin to be struck by the shocks. The enchantments are nullified by the arcane lightning’s properties, trims and decorations are scorched and ruined by the bolts and the two shoulder pads fall off after two straight strikes.
“I didn’t sign up for this!” Hallion screams, terrorised at the surprise, as he tries to teleport away but his concentration is annihilated by the continuous strikes for a dozen of seconds, until she depletes the stored energy and tosses the last lightning bolt at his cloak, which is set on fire. The high elf panics at the fire and manages to teleport to safety two seconds later. Everybody except for Kalandras and Leanne are completely shocked (not by the lightning!). Applauses then begin to rain upon the victors.
The Archmage looks at the members of the jury, which nod at him. “I guess we have our winners, then: Kalandras Spellweaver and Leanne of Darkshire, congratulations!”
They nod, and Kal walks over to Elswyr, giving him three pats on the shoulder. “That’s the price of arrogance, my dear friend. I hope you’ll be luckier in the next competition... If Frosthand’s willing to join forces with you again.”



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“So, that was your plan all along?” The two are sitting at the A Hero’s Welcome inn, with the jury and several people invited as guests on Kalandras’ behalf to celebrate the victory. A happy atmosphere surrounds the place (since everybody got free food and drinks) except for Elswyr and Hallion, also invited and both at a table in a corner, humiliated by the defeat.
“Indeed, Leanne. I predicted such a move from them, so I worked to counter it. What I employed were powerful absorption runes. For safety I also included magic-resistant thread and a couple of protection runes and the job was easily done. I’m glad you decided to work on your courage and magic handling skills.”
“And I have infinite cookies from you. Yay!”
“Indeed. As for me, I’ve spent so much this week I should probably think twice before entering another similar competition. But seeing the two elves’ faces was worth all of it and more. And it was fun after all.
“By the way, do you want a cookie? Perhaps some tea as well?”
She pops a smile. “Sure, why not.”


A.B.