You tried, really tried, to keep the petulance from your voice, but is was hard. Your Master, Oolanson the Mageforger, had made you do many dumb things over the last couple of years, but this was a little extreme!
"Can't I even use a flying carpet or something?"
"NO Thomas!" comes the sharp retort in his biting tone "Ach, ye young uns never 'preciate 'ot ya got do ya?"
At fifteen years old, you were a bit of a tearaway, with short, messy dark hair, a little lanky and maybe five foot five tall. You towered over your Master. The great Oolanson was stocky, rotund, but with a lot of strength for his size. People joked he was a dwarf, but that couldn't be true. No-one had heard from the dwarves in centuries since the Mage wars when Man had won mastery over the Leesi Heirarchy of creatures and demons.
You'd apprenticed with him to learn the noble art of Mageforging, putting arcane powers into everday items. Oolanson made horseless carriages, eternal lanterns, Animated brooms for cleaning, anything like that. So far you'd managed to make a match that lit itself when a word was spoken. Not a very good start!
Now he wanted you to go on yet another stupid search for ingredients up high in the mountains. You'd been to other towns, searched along the coast for Flinberries, even ventured into the caves for bat guano (EWWWWW!) but going up into the Leesi Mountains? There were still some wild monsters up there!
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