Sleeping Duty
Though I don’t pretend to write in such a way that indicates all that much vigor or excitement, I’d like to think my passion for magic makes up for it, and that in my letters I give off the impression of an enthusiastic Mid-Level Mage, even if I don’t always say as much with as many exclamations as others in my field. All this to say, if my tone comes across somehow less lively than usual in today’s letter, you’ll have to forgive me. I am tired. Continue reading to understand the reason for such a subdued written demeanor, and the predicament I found myself in this week at my place of work, the Grand Celestio Council of Wizards.
It started with the ringing of my magical water basin, as these situations most often do. A client calling in to ask about the status of the magic they had ordered. After doing a bit of digging, I discovered that their order had been started by one mage who had to abandon it momentarily to work on another, more urgent order, and after a couple of mages half-heartedly offered to take over without any real commitment or follow-through, the magical request had become buried and forgotten in the chaos of our workplace.
Luckily I was in-between projects at the time I received the call (regard the word Lucky with hesitation as you read on) and thus I assured the client I would pick up the work on their request immediately and get a sample back to them posthaste. The client cheerfully ended the call, and I started looking through the work that had already been completed by my colleague. It was only then did I actually read the client’s initial request.
Most clients, when ordering a spell or potion that invokes a long-lasting involuntary sleep, leave the “intended use” section empty. This client did not, and boldly proclaimed his plan to place the princess of the neighboring kingdom into a deep sleep. If working with that burden of knowledge wasn’t enough to place on my plate, the client went on to complain about how the last three times he had ordered sleeping spells from the Council, they weren’t nearly potent enough. Therefore, he had requested the mage assigned to his order test out each iteration of the spell themselves in order to know the full efficiency of the magic.
My recollection of the next few hours is fuzzy and based mostly on the observations of my nearby colleagues, because I am a mage of my word, and I personally tested every iteration of the magic that I produced as a sample to send to my weirdo king client. To at least get something pleasant out of the experience for me, I decided on a potion as the vehicle for the sleep-producing magic, and I flavored that potion with fizz and lemons and strawberries. After creating each potion (I created roughly seven batches based on the client’s feedback) I wrote down my necessary notes, took a sip, and crashed into the pillow placed with strategic care at my station. Following my crash, my familiar Possum followed strict, specific instructions such as jumping on my head, licking my face and hands, and pulling my hair. After all attempts were made to shake me from stupor, Possum was instructed to pour a vial of fairy tears into my eyes, one of the only sure-fire ways to wake someone from a sleeping spell.
It was an arduous process and some of the most confusing notes I’ve ever taken, but by the end of the day the client was satisfied, and I was able to clock out, go home, and oh boy, sleep.
May the moon shine favorably and without hesitation upon you,
Alexan Drytus
