Esun Wentworth worried about his fields. Just a week ago, he found a winged grasshopper eating a stalk of wheat. It might be the first of its kind, but the farmer knew an omen when he saw one. There weren’t visible signs of swarming locusts, but he knew grasshoppers can turn into those monsters if you had enough of them in one area. Locusts would be a disaster of massive proportions to any farm. It didn’t help that the city took a quota of his harvest — instead of a percentage. If he didn’t produce enough wheat, his family could starve.

It was time to make a deal with the devil — and fortunately, the devil came to Bountiful.

Not that Jeremy was the devil — but he sure had the reputation of one, not to mention the aura. Just standing close to him gave the farmer a feeling of dread. It was like teetering on a cliff or swimming with giant gars. His short stint as an adventurer exposed him to dangers and horrors, but not as visceral as being in close proximity to the wizard.

One striking thing that stuck to the back of his mind was that the wizard wasn’t pestered by biting insects. Mosquitoes and bees kept their distance from the wizard. He noticed this when the wizard spent a couple of days asking about farming procedures.

Sure, it took him half the day to somewhat ignore his instincts to flee or grovel at his feet — but he came out of it a stronger person. In the end, the wizard was somewhat affable, if a bit crass. The wizard gave him 6 gold for his time, as well as a bunch of fertilizer. To his surprise, he later found out the wizard planted dandelions. Of all the crops he could have chosen, that idiot chose weeds.

The farmer’s musings were interrupted by a looming feeling of impending doom. It seemed familiar, and unless a horde of ogres suddenly appeared on his farm — the wizard was probably close.

His instinct was pulling him in one direction, but the farmer chose to ignore it. Destitution was more frightening than death, and the farmer had learned to dismiss his fear of the wizard.

“Esun,” Jeremy calls out once he neared the farmer. He took a liking to the wheat farmer during their past meetings. Scared as he was, Esun maintained a calm and professional exterior, providing helpful insights that were helpful to the wizard’s own farm. Two days of interaction with the farmer gave him a sense of familiarity. Unfortunately, it was one that the farmer didn’t share.

“Magus,” Esun replies with a short nod. He was unsure how to address this particular wizard — however, necromancer or the more popular scourge was definitely out of the question.

“No titles today Esun,” the wizard demanded. “Today, you are my employer. It is I who should be respectful.”

The statement took him by surprise — it was a very unwizardlike thing to say. Most wizards had an air of arrogance. This one — even with his dreadful aura of death, darkness, and hellfire — felt more like a lowly merchant selling his wares.

“Is there a problem? Captain Levan told me you wanted to see me.”

“Indeed wizard… uhm Jeremy,” Esun starts, fumbling with the familiarity the wizard displayed and seemingly demanded. “I happened upon a locust on my fields. It was just the one, but there be lots of grasshoppers nearby.”

“Grasshoppers?”

It was a simple problem, given the reach of his life ward. He kept it constantly reined in to avoid problems — like spreading death with every step and the like. Now was time to unleash its might and rain death on the small little insects that plagued the farmer’s fields.

He immediately adjusted the idiosyncrasies of his ward, keeping it from penetrating soil. If it was a spell instead of a natural aura, affecting a large area would require complex preparations and massive amounts of mana.

Fortunately, it wasn’t a spell — not that he lacked the mana. His conduit to hell provided a seemingly limitless supply, albeit the infernal kind. Ironically, infernal mana was much cleaner than the world’s mana. Wizards manipulating it through a medium like a staff or wand were fairly safe — but those that used themselves as a conduit for mana would eventually be corrupted by its use. There’s a reason old mages who use magic for longevity grow cynical or homicidal. Warriors had it the worse. Using mana to strengthen the body induced gradual changes that left them a bit more violent, reckless, and bloodthirsty.

“Are you keeping other insects? Jeremy asks the farmer. “Bees perhaps?” His unleashed ward would wipe out every living insect within half a mile. It was prudent to ask.

“No. I’m not one for bees.”

The wizard sighs in relief. His life ward didn’t allow him to detect living creatures. He only finds out about them after they fall dead.

A pulse of power spreads through the field and beyond. The farmer felt a wave of fear — but this one felt more subdued. It was more like an unexpected tap when you’re going about your business or the split second after missing a step on a stair.

Before long, dust particles started converging on the wizard, seemingly flowing on invisible rivers in the air. Instead of dread, the specks of dust invoked a feeling of vibrancy and life.

“That’s it?” Esun asks dumbfounded. He was expecting a long protracted ritual. He even prepared a few chickens as sacrifice, just in case one was needed. He certainly didn’t expect a display of sheer power.

“Yes,” the wizard smiles.

“The fee then?” Shaken as he was, a different kind of dread filled the farmer. He was prepared to offer a portion of his savings. Hopefully, the wizard would not require most of it.

“For you Esun,” Jeremy pauses. “It’s free — if you help with my harvest.” It was about time to go to the next phase of his money-making projects, he just needed the manpower to get the job done. Soon, manpower would be the least of his problems.

“Gladly!” the farmer answers. He was expecting to lose 10 or even 50 gold, a bit of work for saving his crops seemed like a good deal.

“What are we harvesting exactly?”

“Dandelions, mostly. I need the roots for my experiments. No rush, you can come by any time this week or the next.”

It took the farmer most of his willpower to keep his eyes from rolling. It was a weeding. The wizard probably learned the folly of cultivating those weeds — now he wanted new crops. Needing the roots was merely a sorry excuse for clearing his fields.

He offered some refreshments, and to Esun’s dismay — the wizard accepted. Still, he would play the gracious host — especially to someone who saved his fields for a day of labor.

They left for the farmer’s cottage. The farmer hurries ahead, bringing out a table and placing it underneath a large tree. He bows at the wizard in apology before bringing out two chairs.

“If you please,” Esun gestures at the table. Inviting “the Scourge” to his home would be too much — even if he had an inkling the name was undeserved. His wife would have given him an earful and his kids would probably faint in fright.

Jeremy takes the offered seat. He expected a glass of apple juice, not afternoon tea. While the farmer didn’t go all out and invite him to his home, he appreciated his attempts to play host.

“I heard you were harvesting some wheat today?” the wizard starts. “I would like to see how it’s done, maybe try my hand at it if you will?”

While he usually did his harvesting in the evening, the farmer wouldn’t deprive the wizard of his wish. Wheat was fairly easy to harvest anyway, and it took just a few minutes to learn how to handle a scythe.

After a snack of cider and biscuits, the two headed to the barn where most of the farming implements were housed.

Jeremy immediately gravitated to a scythe, taking it off the wall and making sweeping motions on the ground.

“That’s the wrong scythe,” the farmer informed him. “That one’s for cutting grass — this is what you want,” he says as he gives him a strange-looking scythe.

This one had a rake-like contraption attached to the shaft near the blade. Most likely to catch wheat stalks after they’ve been cut.

Jeremy takes the offered scythe while relinquishing the one in his hand. He marveled at the ingenuity of the bulkier design, imagining how it would make work much easier.

They took to the fields — an eager wizard and a reluctant farmer.

Esun carried a cradle scythe of his own and led the way to a plot of wheat. He made several cuts to demonstrate the movements of the scythe, as well as how to deposit the wheat in a general location.

The process was efficient, Jeremy notes. The cradle served as a guide, accomplishing two tasks in one motion. The sweeping motion also made full use of major muscle groups, minimizing fatigue by distributing work to larger portions of the body. It was a simple motion, one easily replicated. He imagined emancipated children wielding these contraptions and clearing large tracts of land.

No. Children were inefficient. He had better options — especially if his dandelion venture proves successful.

Jeremy tried a few sweeps on the farmer’s urging. There was no fumbling or early struggle, the movements were easy to follow. He didn’t deposit the wheat as smoothly as the farmer, but that probably came with repetition and experience.

He imagined how his adoptive father would react to seeing him working on the fields. He was given full autonomy once he reached the age of 16, but his father expected him to pursue the arcane arts instead of going the merchant route.

“You do know that scythes won’t work for your dandelions.”

The farmer’s voice shook him from his reverie. Indeed, the scythe would be quite ineffective if he wanted to harvest roots.

“I just wanted to learn,” he replies. “Having the scythe in my hand feels so natural.”

The farmer nearly choked on a repressed laugh. He imagined the wizard carrying a scythe garbed in his dark cloak. He was either unaware of his reputation or he cultivated it lovingly.

“Indeed it suits you.”

Even with the grain cradle, the scythe in the wizard’s hands- was beginning to look ominous. It seemed like the wooden cradle was taking the form of wicked claws — ripping out the soul as the scythe took one’s life.

The wizard played farmer for a few more minutes. Esun was getting concerned a passerby might catch a glimpse of what was happening and spread word that Death was harvesting his crops. The bastard didn’t even take off his cloak, even putting up his hood to avoid the sun.

Finally, the wizard seemed to tire of harvesting. One side of the field was lined with wheat, and the farmer admitted to himself that it was a good job for an amateur. Sure, it took him double the time compared to his teen daughter — but the wheat were lined in a uniform manner, much like it would be if he was the one harvesting. The kid certainly has potential — but he wanted to make sure this was the last time he was harvesting his crops.

“Thank you for your time and instruction,” the wizard says, seemingly dusting off his clothes.

The farmer raised an eyebrow, noting there was not a hint of wheat or even pollen on the wizard’s clothes.

He gladly took back the scythe. It was getting stored in another place — most likely until he could find a cleric to perform a blessing. He had an inkling the wizard wasn’t wholly evil, but his presence left a taint of death that took a while to dissipate — much less forget.

He was glad he chose the smallest plot of wheat. He was considering burning it or using it as fodder — no, even his animals might die from the taint. Then again, he could always….

“I will have the wheat delivered to your home, wi- Jeremy,” Esun blurted out. “An extra payment for the cleansing, as well as a reminder of your first foray as a farmer.”

“Is that so? Then I would gladly accept,” Jeremy answers gleefully. “Here,” he puts an orb into the farmer’s hand. “Crush it and use it as fertilizer for your crops.”

The farmer gladly accepted the orb. The wizard’s previous fertilizer proved quite effective. Even if he only used it in a vegetable plot a short distance away from his home. There was no feeling of death in the orb. It reminded him of a monster core during his adventuring days. He could probably sell it in the city if he wanted to — but that would lead to questions and associations the farmer was not comfortable disclosing just yet.

“I will be off then. Live well Esun.”

The farmer’s gaze follows the leaving wizard. His words meant well, but they came out as a portent of impending disaster.