Robin spat the sand of the training ground out of his mouth. His tongue and teeth felt gritty, and when he bit down it felt like he was trying to grind miniature boulders between his teeth.

‘Up! Up!’ Khavren called.

Easy for him to say. The lout was the one that had downed Robin in the first place. And even for Khavren, the knight was going a bit hard this morning. Hadn’t Robin learned enough about ‘honour’ yet?

‘Up!’

Clearly not.

Robin groaned and levered himself up with his aching arms. Bad enough he had to have these morning training sessions, but did he really have to do absolutely everything without magic?

Well, that wasn’t strictly the rule. Magic was allowed. Just not ‘base trickery’ like, oh, say, almost every spell he knew. Illusions were right out, for some reason.

The rest of the party was also in attendance for his daily beat-down. Drev, Jhess, and Savra were standing outside the ring. They were supposed to be watching because Khavren thought it would be ‘informative’ for them to observe, but Robin could see (and hear) that they were just standing there gossiping. He supposed it would be a lot more interesting to him if he knew any of the politicians or rich people involved.

Or if he weren’t constantly distracted by Khavren’s incessant attacks.

Robin brought his quarterstaff up to defend. Block, block, parry, thrust. Khavren dodged, a look of disgust on his face.

‘Still too slow!’ He lashed out with his sword.

Robin blocked again.

‘I’m not good at close combat!’ Robin growled at him. ‘You’re not making Dee learn this!’

‘Dee is a respectable mage using proper spells!’ Khavren didn’t let up his attack as he spoke. ‘Not filthy illusions or other such trickery.’

‘What’s wrong with illusions?’ Robin pressed the point as he pressed his attack. ‘Magic is magic. How is it different to fly out of your reach and attack you from afar than to hide within an illusion and do the same?’

Khavren had never before gone into detail as to why, exactly, he had such a beef with Robin’s skill set. Not that Robin had pressed overly hard for details. That would require talking to the man, a thing he preferred to minimise at all costs. But now, well, he was getting rather fed up, fighting without his strongest abilities for days on end.

Surprisingly, Khavren answered. Perhaps he saw Robin making progress and thought an explanation would cure him of his wayward trickery. Perhaps he just liked the sound of his own voice.

‘Not all magic springs from the same source,’ Khavren lectured. ‘There is that which is good and flows from the gods, that which is natural and springs from the world around us, and that which is inherently evil and was created by demons and dark primordial forces to tempt the peoples of the world to sin and ruination.’

That sounded like some freeze-dried bullshit to Robin. The mention of sin was a big red flag. People obsessed with sin were usually more interested in controlling other people’s behaviour than they were in what was actually right and good.

‘That’s not what I was taught,’ Robin countered, swinging his quarterstaff at Khavren’s wrist. ‘Power is power. Magic is magic. It’s the intent of the user that makes it good or ill.’ His quarterstaff his with a crack. Robin grinned. ‘You can be a bully and a tyrant with strength of arm or you can protect innocents behind a shield of illusion and enchantment.’

Khavren just shook his head, a look of pity on his face.

‘You were taught incorrectly. I suppose that is not your fault.’ He lashed out and smacked Robin with the flat of his blade. ‘But it must be corrected! Illusions and such trickery are to be shunned at all costs!’

‘But flying out of your range and pelting you with fire spells is an acceptable tactic?’ Robin ducked an overhead slash and attempted to strike Khavren’s knee.

His staff rebounded off the man’s cursedly resilient armour. The stuff was enchanted to the nines. Money was as unfair an advantage in this world as in his. Of course Khavren didn’t see it that way. He didn’t even see it as benefitting from his mother’s wealth and position. To him, it was just his right.

‘It is an honourable enough way to fight.’ Khavren sneered. ‘For a mage. Far more noble would be a fair contest of arms, however, which is why you are learning as you are. You need to distance yourself from all magic until you have learned to eschew the dangerous magics that have infected your soul.’

How was this idiot getting more intolerable the longer Robin knew him? Well, if he was going to insist that ‘proper’ mages fight one way, maybe Robin could accommodate.

It would certainly be worth beating the smug expression of Khavren’s face for once.

Screw it. Robin was going to do it. It would cost him revealing a secret, but he was in an alternate identity anyway and it’d come out eventually adventuring with the group as it was.

He needed just a bit of space to work with. Robin whirled his quarterstaff at Khavren’s head. The knight ducked and the bard turned to dash across the training ground.

[Mask of Myriad Faces] was an incredibly versatile power, but it had limitations. While he could shift freely between forms of his same general mass and arrangement of limbs, he didn’t automatically get all of the accompanying abilities. Certain supernatural abilities were entirely beyond the peculiarity’s power. Most extraordinary physical ones—like flight—were not, however.

Not if he used [Assume Quality] and expended enough of his store of spellcasting energies to power the transformation for a time.

The problem was it required his entire store of available spell points to pull off. Yes, the transformation lasted a bit over half an hour, but it would exhaust him magically, save for cantrips, and he could not freely shift between forms for the duration. He got the relevant quality for only one form during that time, so whatever choice he made he was stuck with.

Robin willed the change as he dashed away. At least this power didn’t require any words or gestures to effect. Might come in handy if he ever needed to escape shackles, actually. He made some changes to his clothing as he went as well, kicking off his shoes and changing the illusory raiment that covered him from a long coat and trousers to shorts and a vest.

Feathers sprouted from his shoulders as arms transformed into wings. His bone structure lengthened and lightened and his feet transformed into highly dexterous claws. ‘Riv’ had become a bird-man, not unlike a harpy or an eaglekin.

Robin launched himself into the air, shoulders straining as he fought the air to get some altitude. There was a bit of heat rising from the warm sands of the training grounds, but he’d not practiced enough with his flying abilities to fully take advantage of it. [Assume Quality] granted basic competence, but not fine control. At least for now.

He banked into a turn to come about and bring Khavren into view. The man was shouting, red in the face and shaking with what Robin presumed was fury, but he couldn’t quite hear what the knight was saying.

Robin didn’t waste any time. He might not have hands but he had selected this form precisely because its claws were supple enough to perform the needed gestures for his cantrips. Without waiting, he launched a [Lesser Witch Bolt] at Khavren.

A playing card, the Ace of Spades, appeared in Robin’s claws, dancing with azure flame. The witch bolt was shapeable to an extent, and Robin was comfortable sailing cards. Besides, he thought it had a bit more style than your basic dagger. The spell did the same amount of damage no matter what it looked like. He could hurl flaming teacups or pine cones and the result would be much the same.

Robin sailed the card toward Khavren, scoring a direct hit to the man’s torso. The flaming bolt left a small scorch mark on the otherwise shining perfection of his armour and Robin felt an indecent surge of satisfaction at that.

He sailed a few more bolts Khavren’s way. The knight was running to the edge of the training grounds and it felt good to see him scurry away.

How long had Drev had to rain down spells before Khavren conceded the point? It was several minutes at least. Robin flapped his wings and followed Khavren, keeping the knight in range of his cantrips.

The breeze carried snatches of words to his ears. It sounded like Khavren was shouting about…abominations? Unclean shapeshifting monsters? Robin blinked.

Oh fuck.

Khavren had seized a quiver of razor-tipped javelins from the pile of his gear and hauled one out, flinging it with extreme power and thankfully little accuracy at Robin.

Fuck fuck fuck.

The knight was outright trying to kill him! Robin pulled up from his current course, feeling the strain in his shoulders as his wings fought the currents of air.

Robin took evasive action. This was not something he had practised! He was regretting not seeing the need before. Of course being a massive flying thing in the sky made you a target! There was nothing to hide behind! Even his illusions were harder to use. There were fewer objects or forces he could conjure to hide within that wouldn’t be obvious illusions hanging in midair.

Two more javelins flew at him. Khavren’s aim was improving! And he was shouting at the other adventurers to join him in bringing down the abomination. None had as of yet, but Robin didn’t really fancy his chances if even one of the archers on the grounds decided to humour the knight.

No. This was definitely a moment for the better part of valour. Robin didn’t even trust that if he landed and resumed his Riv guise that the knight wouldn’t just keep attacking him. No. For now he’d retreat, let Khavren cool off, and figure it all out later.

Robin flexed his claws through the gestures of [Lesser Phantasm] and left a message hanging briefly before the eyes of Drev, Jhess, and Savra. Best make sure they didn’t accidentally earn Khavren’s ire as well.

Pretend you knew nothing. Meet at the tavern tomorrow.

Then he threw all his energy into flying. He gained altitude and used [Visual Phantasm] to wrap himself in the illusion of a wisp of sky-coloured cloud. First he had to escape.

Then he had to figure out how to fix the mess he’d just created.