Imagine a shitty wizard to desperately wants to keep a professional distance from you that he calls you by an extremely respectful title. At times you get the feeling like he's mocking you, at others, it's like he's punishing himself for wanting to say your name

You are this shitty wizard's

You are this wizard's rival, a master in your own right. He lives in the tallest tower in the queen's castle, and you live afar in an enclave where wizards study the arts. So why must you spend time together with this wizard?

Because you must

It’s an emergency. You must work with him to invent a vital spell, even though he’s impossible. Because he’s the only one who could possibly assist you, though he’d be offended and say it was the other way around. you’re the only two known wizards who specialize in

By the way, why is the shitty wizard unbearable?

Because everyone knows he’s

(Of course, you’re not asking him to the wizard ball. That’s ridiculous—he’s unbearable. You’re just there to deliver the invite because he’s a wizard, and it’s a ball for wizards. But there’s a strange flash of something in his eye when you start with, “So the Wizard ball....”)

(Whatever it is, it’s quickly smothered when you deliver the invitation, instruct him he’s limited to a single plus one, and say masks are mandatory. He’s in a temper for the rest of the afternoon, as if you’ve inconvenienced him tremendously by hand delivering the invitation )

You, who are also a shitty wizard, are not very good with people.

You would rather be learning how best to heal people from the brink of death. Like the child princess, your emergency. She was found with mysterious slashes on her arms that seep black ichor, and they won’t heal.

She sleeps, her breathing steady for now. While the shitty wizard believes the first step should be to determine what existing spells won’t work to heal the girl’s wounds, you know that you should

As you check for curses, while he tries all the ways he knows to heal (it has taken him hours), you can’t help but feel impressed that he asked for your help so quickly.

A child’s life isn’t worth his pride.

It’s nearly serene to be working with him rather than fighting.

Bent over the child, studiously applying a salve to the strange wound, his hair gets in his eyes, and for some reason, you can’t break your gaze away for a moment. His hair is

Shaking cobwebs from your head, you continue your own investigation. The magic you use comes from manipulating currents of energy in the world and within yourself, and to use it, you must

"Nothing," he says. "No effect, once again. So much for this salve's exorbitant price. Worse than useless."

He hasn't slept since the girl was found in the forest. It took you days to arrive, and he's been working without stopping.

"It may not be the salve's fault."

He looks at you with tired eyes.

You continue. "You may not have encountered this in your experience, but I believe this is a curse."

His lips flatten. "Please, enlighten my ignorance."

"Gladly," you say, pleased he is finally asking for your input.

You love to lecture about things you know all about. “They respond to nothing, so the wounds are either more powerful than all of our healing magic.” Your voice makes it clear that idea is ridiculous. “Or it’s not a wound at all. It could be an illusion hiding a curse.”

The wizard frowns in irritation, but then looks thoughtful. “So it wasn’t a magical animal or freak accident, but something deliberately done to this little girl.”

You nod. “She is a princess.”

“You think this was leverage against the queen?”

You hadn’t thought that far ahead.

“Perhaps,” you say. You don’t want to admit it, but since he lives at court, he would know more about the political situation.

The wizard turns to weave a new spell to find the truth. When he does, the marks on the little girl

When the wizard mockingly calls you by your title, sending a weird feeling up your spine, what exactly does he call you?

The ichor forms old, angular, magical runes.

The wizard’s hand clenches. “It is a curse. Only three days until she dies.”

“That’s all it says? But... a ransom note should have a demand.”

“Not if whoever did this just wanted the girl dead.”

You step toward the wizard, and he startles at your nearness. “But why all this? Why not just manufacture a fall from a horse that breaks her neck?”

“Someone went to a lot of trouble. Punishment for the queen? But then, why disguise the curse as if an animal had done it?”

There’s a long moment of quiet thought, and it feels almost like it was, back in school together. You’re not a nostalgic person, but you smile, remembering how the wizard used to sneak out of the enclave

He would do it to search for rare magical ingredients for weaving. Things like unicorn mane, fresh moss, or spiderweb, gathered with a silver scythe under the full moon. It was dangerous and incredibly stupid, but he was always ambitious.

And since you couldn't let him get ahead in the healing arts, you went out as well. You both got into trouble for sneaking out many times, and people thought you were friends, or maybe closer.

But you weren't ever friends.

You would weave hexes at each other to trip, or put out lanterns, or cut yourselves on your scythes. Or get each other in trouble with the wizards. Anything to get an edge, and be the best.

It was almost nice, until the end--until the night he betrayed you.

The betrayal truly made him your enemy forever. He's still never apologized for what he did to you, or even acknowledged it.

That is one of the reasons why you are not a nostalgic person.

Your teeth clench. Maybe you could have been friends. You spent so much time together,

and share so many interests. But the wizard truly only cares about himself. Even his concern for this child is probably manufactured. You need to keep a level head about him, and never give him the chance to

"You cannot weave a curse without the remedy entering the world at the same time," you say. "Even if someone just wants her dead, it isn't too late."

Time is of the essence. What should you suggest to investigate first?

“We need to find who did this,” you say. “Only a few people alive could weave this spell.”

A darkly amused light enters his eyes. “Two are standing in this very room. Don’t you suspect me, Enchanter?”

How much do you suspect him of cursing the child?

(note: most readers chose some variation of “the wizard is sus”)

Something in you shrinks at the image of him hurting this child. You don’t want it to be true. But you know too well what he is willing to sacrifice to ambition.

“I know that very little is beneath you."

The wizard looks as if you slapped him.

“You didn’t think to check for curses?” you press. “Even days later?”

For several seconds, a wave of something passes over his already tired face. His lip curling in a sneer, he abruptly turns his back on you to look down at the child.

“I had not yet used every healing method I knew. I feared if I stopped healing to chase after a hunch, the princess would die.”

When you arrived, he did seem like he was doing the best he could, dark circles under his eyes.

But he could be acting, and you refuse to feel guilty for doubting him. He could have made different choices.

Only in the world where he never hurt you, does he still have your

"I sent for you at once, didn’t I?” he asks, his voice rough. "Tell me, why would I call you to court, if I was responsible for this?”

"So that I would confirm your story to the queen. You always looked down on me as a healer, so you thought it would be easy to trick me, too.”

For a long time he just stares at you, like you’re a strange creature he’s seeing for the first time, revealed in the light.

"I see,” he says finally. “So that’s what you think of me. I had thought...”

His mouth opens, and only a breath escapes in a sigh. His shoulders hunch forward.

"Believe what you will, enchanter,” he says coldly. "As long as you help me, as the enclave directed you to do. You will do as I say.”

Anger nearly blinds you. "If you were responsible for this, know that I will discover it.”

"I have every faith in you, enchanter, and I look forward to your investigation,” he says sarcastically, gesturing sharply to the door of the tower. "For now, we go to

Enchanter.

Every time he says it, you want to scream. He draws it out, emphasizes it too much. In his mouth, it sounds like an insult.

He knows your name.

From the window comes a small sound, and a small animal appears, one that gives you a pang to see. Without a word, the Wizard’s familiar alights on the bed near the child to stand watch.

The wizard’s familiar is a

The wizard has already stormed down the steps of the tower without waiting for you.

You feel your anger drain to something older and more hollow, looking at his familiar. “Hello,

The animal flicks angrily, a pool of black against the blanket. They don’t say hello back, though you know they can speak.

The hollow feeling spreads.

“Fine. Give me the silent treatment. But you know I never did anything to you.”

The animal just flicks again, irritated.

You remember well, how their weight felt on your shoulder, years ago. And the strange look on the Wizard’s face when he saw that you had actually coaxed his familiar to you.

It could be good revenge to win them over again, to see that look on his face again. Last time, it took

But more likely, that’s ruined forever—the familiar will always hate you now, reflecting their master’s feelings.

A breath escapes you.

Not in a hurry to follow after the Wizard, especially after he said, ‘You will do as I say,’ you deliberately investigate his tower room.

There is a single proud shelf filled with the wizard’s personal spellbooks, however many he’s been able to afford in the few years since your Test.

It surprises you that he seems to own fewer than you do, given his naked greed toward books.

But maybe he just doesn’t see the need when he has access to the extensive castle library any time he likes.

You, you think darkly, do not have that luxury.

What otherwise strikes you as odd are the huge curved shelves full of potions, unguents, and salves.

Not that he keeps them, but the sheer number of them, filling walls from floor to ceiling. There are also hanging herbs everywhere, for dressings and poultices. You didn’t know he had such an interest in the lesser, non-weaving aspects of healing.

You feel that ancient worry resurface—that he’s somehow passing you up in the healing arts again.

The large bed with the princess is in the center of the room, shrouded by a canopy and covered in magical artifacts.

Do you search through the wizard’s personal things?

Roll a D20 to search through his personal things. (The 1st roll will be used)

http://rolldicewithfriends.com/rooms/towerroomroll

You know his usual magical safeguard charms from the days when you would try to outdo and undermine each other. You aren’t sure what evidence you’re expecting to find in the chest, but there are two things.

The first is a small hand-written notebook detailing what at first glance look to be healing experiments.

The second is a leaf.

You almost didn’t notice the leaf at first, but when you do look more closely at it, you realize it’s soft and green at the wrong time of year, preserved with magic. You can’t tell what the point of it is—the spell would have been expensive to cast.

You put everything right. Your own familiar is left sleeping on the other side of the princess when you finally follow the wizard down the staircase.

You find him mounting a horse in the courtyard. His expression goes darker when he sees you.

Your familiar’s name is

Your familiar is a

An old man in resplendent robes of office has been complaining to the wizard as groomsmen ready the horses. He turns, seeing your robes. “This is a dereliction of duty! You cannot just leave our princess to die.”

The wizard looks impatient. What message do you send the queen?

“We discovered the princess has been cursed, not wounded, chancellor,” you say. “We must discover the perpetrator to save her.”

The man looks flabbergasted.

“What, ho—a curse, you say? Who would have done this? Those blasted elves? I knew the High King couldn’t be trusted.”

“We don’t know, your excellency,” you say, mounting your own horse.

The wizard’s expression, when you glance at him, is absolutely black. He shakes his head subtly. “Charge the Ring Knights to guard her,” he advises, voice deliberately quiet.

“But do not touch her. If there is a change, my crow will know. We will return shortly.”

Then, the wizard starts off at a trot.

The chancellor is left behind you, talking in a loud voice to the Ring Captain about the treachery of elvenkind.

Outside, the gray stone walls surround you. The queen’s castle is enormous, proud and crenellated under clouds threatening rain, a rich home to the court’s hundreds of players. The highest tower is a good, defensible position to leave the girl under careful guard.

“That was foolish,” he says, overly calmly, as soon as you catch up. “Now we’ve lost our advantage against our enemy. They will soon know their game has been discovered.”

“The queen should know what’s happening,” you say firmly.

“Should she?” the wizard asks cynically.

“It’s her daughter,” you say. “She should know about her daughter.”

At that, his expression finally softens, and his grip on his reigns unfists. “I understand your first instinct. It’s admirable, enchanter, but think. What if whoever cursed this child now feels threatened,

and are pushed to move another piece on the board when they wouldn’t have otherwise? Curse someone else?”

Your temper flares. “What if we are killed in the search, and the Queen wastes the three days without ever knowing her daughter was cursed? You’re so

The wizard grits his teeth. “I’m short-sighted? Too cruel? For wanting every possible resource to succeed?”

Yes, you think, remembering. You are.

The anger turns old and empty again, until you feel only the cold of the air.

The wizard seems less angry than tired. “We are at court. We fight an unknown enemy who targets children. We cannot afford to be this naive. You don’t warn the animals before you hunt them.”

“Perhaps you don’t want the queen to know because you did it,” you say coldly.

Once more, this lands and seems to hurt him. His eyes shutter. “That’s enough. Don't let your feelings toward me blind you to what might have happened, or you'll be no help to that poor girl."

“You act heartless! Then act wounded when I suspect you. Choose one or the other.