Role

Chapter 4

"A guard?" His mother appeared as if he'd just dragged a corpse into her
chambers and told her it wasn't fresh; that transition between curiosity
and contempt between the moments of him telling her he had an idea what he
could do and learning the reality of his revelation. "Absolutely not."

"I am good at fighting, though," Phindarn pointed out.

She got that thoughtful gleem in her eye at that. That one she got when he
said certain things he could never quite connect the dots between, inocuous
statements natural but which obviously sparked some thought. Usually tests
soon followed, though not today.

"You may train with the guards," she magnanimously begrudged him, "But I
have already made arrangements for an alternative line of work. It is time
you started being useful."

Phindarn's elation at getting half his way sank faster than the last elven
request for research into odourless embalming fluid; what dreadful thing
would she have him doing?

"I have obtained you an apprenticeship with the artificers," she said. "You
may be an utter failure at casting, but wand and scroll creation is a
respectable enough calling, and of course a magus who can create weapons of
power shall never want for funding."

Phindarn had to admit to himself he was interested. Wands were okay he
supposed, and weapons were great: but he couldn't help addressing the ghoul
in the room. "What about talismans?"

The embalmed kidney nailed him in the forehead. "Talismans are a peasants
work! Out!"