Vignette- A Spark

“Goal” Regi yelled, comically drawing the word out to contain a dozen vowels. Sure the excited group of sub 12 year olds probably wouldn't get the joke, but such reminders were precious. TO be treasured rather than flinched at. From Howard jonesing for a fast food burger to Gabrielle sobbing about her favorite hair care product. Was it simply teasing? Or was a valuable reminder of what they once had.

Regi was in the second camp. As long as they had memories worth keeping they had goals. Things worth finding a way to reproduce, even if the methods were completely different. He took pleasure in remembering the good times. Even if two sets of children kicking a ball made literally from pigskin around paled in comparison to Amȇrica vs Guadalajara in Mexico City. He savored that memory, the energy of the crowd and the passion.

His smile faltered as that memory overlapped with the present, dodging forward with jungle trained reflexes he barely snagged a child from the air before he landed on the celebrating scorer.

“Now what do you think you're doing Bobby?” He asked, in his mind he realized that some portions of that passion had apparently transcended worlds. The memories of the violence after the game were not nearly as straightforward. The feel of a nose collapsing beneath his fist while an improvised club bruised his hip. He pressed the memory down. This was not the time or the place.

“Nofin...” Bobby, dangling two feet off the ground, muttered. He was generally a cute child, three plus feet of height, maybe 80 pounds with short brown hair in a bowl cut, green eyes and sun-kissed skin that was so much more common here in paradise then back in Runehold. Unfortunately, the sullen look on his still chubby face was not doing him any favors.

“Really? You're 'noffin' didn't look very sportsmanlike.”

Bobby looked away, shame starting to show in reddening cheeks.

It was a good opportunity for a teaching moment and Regi was more than happy to take advantage of it. “Gather 'round please!” He raised his voice, although he didn't have to raise it much. It's deeper tone carried quite well without help. A great help for maintaining order, although less pleasant when he was trying to slip through the jungle unmolested.

He waited for the youngsters to form an irregular circle around him. “Did you have fun today?”

“Yes Mr. Regi!” they chorused back, slightly out of breath and all the cuter for the way it brightened their eyes and cheeks.

“Would you like to do it again?”

“Yes!”

“Then you need to think about sportsmanship. It's a word that means playing the game right with the right attitude, win or lose.”

He heard a few 'ok's' but not surprisingly, saw very little understanding.

“I know, I know. It doesn't sound very important right?” He waited for their assent.

“Let me tell you why you need to care. Next time we do this we won't have the same teams. Every time we play the teams will change up as different players are available. If you cheat or throw a fit today, even if it helps your team win or gets revenge for a loss, you will anger the other team. Next time will any of them want to pick you? If you keep doing that, sooner or later, no one will want you on their team.”

He paused for a moment.

“On the other hand if you lose with dignity, congratulate your opponents on the game, then you might just be invited to play more often.”

“One way you feel good today but no one will play with you again. The other you swallow your disappointment but get to play more often going forward. Everyone around you, wearing red or blue scarves, is a potential teammate. Treat them well and they will do the same in return. Be loyal to them now and it will pay off when you need them for something.”

“Ok” The group raggedly called out.

“All right, this is as good a time as ever to call the game. Red is up three points to two! Congratulations Red Team!” He paused while they cheered. “But it's getting dark soon so head on home! No groaning, we have been playing for hours! Off with you!”

They complained and grumbled but still split in every direction to head home leaving Regi to pick up a handful of dropped colored scarves. He deposited them in a covered bin before doing one last once over of the field.

“A bit early to start indoctrinating your recruits, no? A musical voice drawled out from behind him. The evening light gave less clarity then he might have liked but her Rubenesque frame and lightly bronzed skin stood out. Her eyes danced with good humor as she braced him.

“It's never too early to indoctrinate kids into becoming decent adults, but calling a scratch game of football recruiting is a bit much.”

“So you say. I'm a might doubtful. Everyone wants kids to grow up to be good people, but then everyone has a different idea of what that is. A bit arrogant of you to assume you know best.”

He smiled, he had never been one to shy away from a good verbal brawl. Or a non-verbal brawl for that matter just so long as the shore patrol didn't get involved. “Call it arrogance if you want. I would rather take a stab at teaching them to be my idea of good. Better than dithering about in indecision.”

“You tell yourself that sugar, but sometimes 'dithering about' is code for thinkin'. You could do with some of that your own self. Might want to let thems as responsible for a child to decide that matter.”

“Ah but you could say they did. They know who I am, what I stand for and they sent the kids to play under my eye. About as good a recommendation for trust as any I can think of.”

“The poor dears. Sold down the bayou already, whatever will become of them? To be remade in your image? Now don't get me wrong sugar, it's a mighty fine image it is. But I'd just as soon have them make their own image. I'll be keepin an eye on you. Two eyes probably. Call it a fringe benefit.”

She turned and sashayed away, his own two eyes tracking ever hip roll and sway. A backbone, a spine, and hips that did not lie. He didn't usually go for the more voluptuous end of the spectrum, but the woman knew what she had, and damn him if she didn't know how to move it, move it!

Chapter 29

Timothy kept returning to that moment in the garden as he gazed out at the river below. The spray was light and warm on his face as the river parted in a shroud of white about the Nellies prow. The sheer majesty of the view fought with residual sadness. He really hoped that it had helped. Whatever it was. People were obnoxiously complicated. Nothing simple and clean that he could track and predict.

It was an age old complaint and it was not likely to change any time soon. ‘♪People are people so why can it be, that you and I get along so awfully♪’. The song didn’t quite fit but it captured his melancholy.

He straightened his back, took a deep breath from the misty air, held it for a time, then let it out only to begin again. It was slow progress, but it was his mind. He owned it and controlled it. It would not do to forget that simple fact. In time the melancholy fled. Not gone, he didn’t want to neuter himself of all emotions. It was merely contained until he had time to dive within it and find its cause. From a cause he would fix it if he could or accept it if he couldn’t.

It was a practiced task by this point but he missed the mirror of self. He glanced down at the bag of tools carefully propped between a lashed down barrel and the solid rails of the boat. There was a card within that bag that called to him. He didn’t have the skill to make a full up reproduction of that Mirror. Yet! But his bastardized sub copy was within his reach.

It could not enforce introspection. It could not open the mind's eye and allow one to see themselves in all their tawdry glory. All it did was measure the depths of a person's belief. In particular the belief in what was coming out of their mouth.

He chuckled as he once again considered naming the device ‘the politicians bane’.

“Care to share the joke, Timothy? Be about the last chance you’ll have before we make Paradise.” Sven spoke from behind him. The older ex-sailor was selected (or was it elected? Voluntold?) as the head of his rather oversized bodyguard. Ten guardians in full kit.

Now full kit sounded like a diplomat's nightmare, but magic had its ways. Sure they had the obvious ELR’s, but the rest of the kit was fairly subtle. A shovel enchantment engraved on the bracers. Body armor hidden as light green foresters cloaks. Even motion wards merely looked like stone playing cards placed in belt loops.

“Make Paradise? That sounds like an epitaph.” Timothy shuddered at the bad omen, but answered the question nevertheless “It was nothing worth sharing Sven. I’m just glad we're almost there and that the trip was benign.”

“How would you know, Timothy? You slept through most of it.” Sven replied, his eyes dancing with humor.

“Exactly, a great trip! I never stepped foot in the swamp. I just appeared on the other side. I salute the miracle of sleep.” Not that it had been that easy. Even a large boat rocks about when moving at a decent speed.

Svens was not the only snort that he heard in response. But they didn’t raz him beyond that. He wasn’t the only one the swamp creeped out.

The bluffs of Paradise finally broke through the mists and stood proud above the trees. Still clothed in clinging fog, they revealed themselves in increasing detail as teh Nellie approached. Stunningly tall the walls glittered in the diffuse lighting. Deep browns intermixed with balck spots clad the flawless vertical expanse of the mesa. Granite smoothed to perfection beyond the scope of human hands. Or at least non-magical human hands. On top of the massive non natural cliffs was the beginnings of a wall. Not of large bricks and wood scaffolding, but rather a polished expanse of off white protruding up like a tooth that extended as far as Timothy could see. It was just barely peeking through the gums of the wall, a foot or two high perhaps. But he strongly doubted it would stop there.

Like Runehold they had continuously improved their defenses since the first dawn. Having witnessed a beast wave in all its feral glory had only encouraged them in this regard.

Even the original pier had been improved. Now sticking up a good ten feet above the river, jumping piranhas were no longer a risk. Not to mention that the new height made it much easier to disembark from the tall sides of the Nellie.

A not inconsiderable benefit for Timothy. He had never acquired sea legs, and even river legs was asking a bit much. Sven had a firm hold on his elbow as they stepped down, and he did not relinquish it until they made the end of the pier. A bit overdone, Timothy wasn’t that bad! Worse still, Timothy could not even complain! Sven had a thankless job as it was. Only a fool pissed off his own bodyguards.

A welcoming party awaited them on a small landing at the base of the towering cliffs. He recognized Oscar in the lead from the scrying pool. The older man stood 5’8” with long greying black hair drawn into a simple ponytail emphasising his sharp angular facial structure. Five well dressed men and woman stood behind him in a loose semi circle. Their brightly colored clothing was unworn and sported numerous decorations. Beads, feathers and small charms carved from bone or metal dangled and danced about at their every move. He took a second look at their outfits and could see why they were crisp and new looking. He recognized the base cloth. Trade had been quite good between the two towns. Metal and salt for fabrics, ropes and clothes.

And perhaps, Timothy mused, Brotherhood recruits for a bath.

“Welcome to Paradise Timothy, I’m grateful that you were willing to travel through the dangers outside.” He paused to give Timothy a piercing look. “You don’t seem to be the type to need your ass kissed, so I’ll leave it at that. Be welcome to our home, I offer you hospitality and all that goes with it.” His tone was sincere and it fit with what Timothy had heard about him. He was usually described as the wise elder, definitely not a politician. The bit about hospitality was a nice touch. It offered Timothy stiff protection… as long as he behaved like a guest.

“I accept your hospitality. I will respect you as the host and will act appropriately as a guest.” Finding the stiff formal tones somewhat trying, Timothy broke into a grin. “Will you offer me bread and salt? Such luxury! Guest rights are going to be very popular.”

Oscar’s eyes laughed as he reached into a belt pouch and pulled out a long stick of jerky, “Salted meat will have to do. We don’t have any more bread than you do.”

Timothy grabbed the Jerky and deliberately took a small bite. Chewing deeply he felt the magic field convulse around him. Traditions had power and hospitality in various forms was older than recorded history. Requirements were given to the host to protect the guest, and for the guest to act appropriately while so protected. Not that Timothy had intended anything untoward but that pulse of magic made him… not nervous but careful was not a bad description. He didn’t know what the backlash would be for violating it and he wasn’t going to use his own body to experiment.

He sadly reflected that he wouldn’t need to. Humans being human, all he had to do was wait and sooner or later he would find you.

Passing back the stick to Sven, he deeply hoped that it wouldn’t be anyone on this trip.

Then again, perhaps he didn’t have to wait, “I don’t suppose you have seen what happens when someone violates hospitality?” He asked, eyes coming alight with curiosity.

Sven, having barely taken a bite himself, started coughing as the chewed meat went down wrong. Timothy frowned and stuck him on the back several times.

Sven caught his breath quickly and rushed to speak, “Timothy! That’s not really an appropriate question to ask right now.”

What? “You’re going to have to explain that.”

Oscar, hiding a few suspicious chest vibrations with an upraised hand, spoke, “It could imply that you had an interest in breaking them yourself and wanted to see how bad it would be.”

“Ah, fair enough, we can discuss it some other time.”

“No, no, I don’t mind at all. It’s quite easy for me to tell you all that I know since that’s nothing. We don’t offer hospitality to our own, only to outsiders and you are the only outsiders we have met.”

“Huh. Guess I will have to wait.”

Oscar lost it and openly laughed. “I don’t know what's sadder, that you assume that people will eventually make this mistake, or that I agree with you.”

He deliberately changed the subject, “I hope your trip down was pleasant?”

Timothy was hardly going to admit to sleeping through it, but he was also trying to avoid lying. How to split the difference… “Trip was fine. I’m not a fan of that damn swamp but it’s nice to be outside of the same old walls. Don’t get me wrong, they are very nice walls! Well provisioned and we even have hot tubs. It’s still the same old walls.”

“I understand, we are all getting a bit stir crazy. But then I talk to one of the foragers and suddenly I’m grateful for these walls once again. Still, I would like our walls to become as nicely appointed as yours. The baths of Runehold have almost become legendary in the retelling and these old bones are really looking forward to a soak.”

“I’ll make sure the reality lives up to the hype. Regi told me he talked to you about the locked in basic shapes yes? You can add a lot to it in the way of local color afterwards but the magic I have prepped assumes that basic shape.”

“Yes, we got a sketch and the general dimensions on last week's boat. The measurement tool you sent was particularly useful.” The tool in question would carve out small grooves at the correct sizes, the addition of a series of upright poles would show the height as well. “We do have some small requests but hopefully nothing that will really delay the construction I hope. We have the underground area marked a stone’s throw that way.” he gestured up the cliffs to the right. “Fairly close to water and on the sheltered side of our mesa. The local color, as you call it, are some skylights, a fire pit and some minerals in the water that we don’t want filtered out. But I am being remiss, you have just arrived and I have neither given you a tour nor fed you. Let’s worry about these details later.”

“I rarely say no to free food and I am very curious about your town, by all means lead on.”

Oscar turned and began to climb up a switchback staircase embedded into the side of the bluffs. Timothy would have said carved, but there were no tool marks. Instead it seemed as if the stairs grew naturally. But the right angles distinct to stairs are not a natural phenomenon. The disconnect from what his eyes saw and his mind told him could only be the result of magic. The old man likely told the bluff to grow stairs.

And it did.

The entire pier area had the same feel. On either side of the weather polished stones the bluff dived down to the river bottom. No promertary of stone lifted up the ground beneath them to make this pier possible. Naturally unnatural.

The contradiction made him smile.

Oscar stopped on the first of the wide, deep stairs, each a full stride in length but with a fairly short rise. There was enough room for six men to walk up them side by side, a fact he took advantage of to invite Timothy to walk beside him.

The stairs were gradual enough that they required numerous switchbacks to reach the top of the towering bluffs but this wasn’t a problem. Between ladders and the ramps at Runehold Timothy was in excellent shape and Oscar was an enjoyable conversationalist. He had very different insights on the nature of magic and despite his age he had no trouble keeping that conversation going despite the climb.

It did make Timothy curious. Curious enough to break off the delightful debate on the nature of intent versus conceptual magic to ask a question. “Do you really carry all the water you need up these steps? Seems like a real backbreaker.”

“We don’t have any trouble with it but the ‘we’ is the key. If you see a human carrying a yoke of water up these stairs then he is being punished. With the amount of water our town needs, we farmed out the task to domesticated hogs. That's why these steps are so large.”

“If you have it covered I won't interfere, but I could set up a cistern at the top that could be filled with a bit of magic work rather than back breaking labor.”

“Let's just worry about the baths.” He demurred, “The hogs do a fine job of moving water. No need to spend precious magic on it.”

Timothy was hardly going to fight to do more work so he let the matter drop. He cheerfully dropped back to their previous magical debate. Intelligent and insightful conversation was far too rare to not take advantage of.

He broke off for a minute as they crested the stairs. From atop the massive cliffs the very world spread out at his feet. The river played peekaboo beneath the everpresent mists while the strong midday sunlight did the same behind large billowing clouds. Here and there a full stream of sunlight would break through like a spotlight, illuminating and inflaming the mists below. So inflamed they gave birth to rainbows in all their colorful glory.

“You picked a hell of a spot.” He managed, slightly breathless, although whether from the climb or the view, even he wasn't sure.

“Thank you, we call it Paradise for a reason. Both for what it already is, and for what we hope it can become.”

A sentiment Timothy could 100% stand behind. The world was what you made of it. There was no reason to aim small. Make mountains and tame the rivers. The sky was not the limit.

It was a familiar thought, but he was happy to see it was not a unique one. Humanity had to think big to truly prosper. It wasn’t enough to just aim to survive. This entire trip was a validation of that concept. Beyond mere survival there were luxurys just waiting for them to find, there was joy and wonder. You just had to be willing to see it through the danger and the blood.

“Come, let me show you the council fire before we get an early lunch.” He led the way towards the center of the mesa, past various gardens that ducked up and over the small sod huts spotted about. They had to detour around a few pastured hogs, a ripple moved through Timothy’s guard detail as they moved closer at the sight. Timothy tried hard not to blame them, he had to suppress the urge to go for a weapon as well. Still it sucked some of the joy out of the morning. It put a lie to the pretense of a nice walk through a pastoral village with a witty friend. Diplomacy reared its ugly head.

Ah well.

They approached a wide grassy embankment, circular from what he could see and rising fifteen feet above the surrounding crops and fields. Climbing up to the top a large amphitheater spread out below him. He had seen them multiple times through the scrying pool but it was absolutely worth another look now that he was here in person. Like the stairs before, the natural looking grassy terraces were far too regular to be truly natural. They descended in smooth steps down to a central stage that held an enormous everburning bonfire.

There was nothing natural about that fire. The smoke it gave off was a very pure white. Almost transparent, its smell reminded Timothy of lemons and pine nuts. It couldn’t actually be pine nuts considering the jungle environment about them, but his mind jumped to a cleaning solvent that shared their name.

He imitated his host, taking a deep breath of the fragrant smoke that seemed far more like steam than any smoke he had felt before. It filled his lungs with pleasant tingling and left him clear headed and invigorated as he breathed it back out.

“The spirit of the bluffs manifests through the smoke. Purifying those who live in harmony with it. It protects us and we revere it in turn. It’s become something of a bathing substitute for our residents considering how much work moving water can be.” Oscar smiled as he took another deep breath. “It’s also one of the local color requests I mentioned earlier. Smoke and steam are pretty important to us. They are an easy medium for spirits to manifest through. When you make the baths we need to have a bonfire in the center. We will need some way to feed it as well.”

Timothy nodded in acceptance. A hint of a sweat lodge or sauna on top of the hot tub aesthetic sounded pretty nice to him. Enough that he might steal the idea if it worked.

“Now let's go get a bite to eat, to fortify us for the task ahead! We even have a bit of alcohol that's not really deserving of the name rum. Sugar cane grows in not so miniature forests on the edge of the swamp, and it would be a real pity to let it go to waste.”

Timothy threw back his head and laughed, “I wonder if there are any settlements out there that haven’t started making some homemade hooch.”

“There might be, but they won’t be human settlements. Some things are just bred into us.” Oscar chuckled in return.

“Unfortunately it’s not a good idea to drink before working. Alcohol and mental precision having the relationship that they do. Tonight when I am done though, you can definitely talk me into it. I do love a mug of berryaid, but variety-”

“-is the spice of life.” Oscar finished for him, nodding.

Timothy just hoped it wouldn’t taste like paint thinner. It was a bit early to get a real batch of rum going. Berryaid had a lot of magical help and the benefit of tasting mostly of fruit juice. Like cutting vodka with orange juice, it covered up screw ups in the fermenting process.

Oscar led him back over the embankment and along a winding path to an extremely large garden roofed building. The cavern beneath was only a single story, if a tall one, but it spread out in every direction. There were no walls and in the fluttering of tablecloths Timothy could see a pretty reliable breeze cooling the interior. Tables dotted through the space in every shape and size that would seat a human given a pretty easy hint to the building's purpose.

They trooped within and found a seat at one of the larger tables, giving both sets of bodyguards (considering they had not involved themselves with the conversation, Timothy was willing to bet on the occupation of Oscars five friends) a chance to sit with them. They had barely sorted out the seating arrangements when a troop of youngsters, probably somewhere between 12 and 15, came trotting out with covered baskets. They placed them on the table and whisked away the coverings revealing a heavy mixture of what looked like massive rice grains, peppers, sausage and piranhas fillets, all with a heavy tomato base.

“This looks fantastic, is it Paella?” Timothy wondered, fondly remembering trying the colorful dish during a farmers market in college.

“Some say that was the ancestor of this dish, but no, this is Jambalaya. Our head cook is Creole and we are blessed to have her, even if she does sometimes go a bit heavy on the spice levels.” Oscar responded with a wry smile.

The children beside the table stopped and looked at him in shock, as if he had just spat on a holy cross. “Miss Lissette will get you good if you speak like that Mr. Oscar!” One of them whispered, clearly worried.

“Yes, yes, thank you Tony, don’t you have other chores to get to?” He smiled as he waved them on. Getting a chorus of cheerful goodbyes out of the bargain.

“They do have a point though, I don’t dare say that too loudly. Lissette is a bit of a character.” A couple of his bodyguards shot him sidelong glances while another choked on a mug of water.

“Just a bit hmm?”

“Exactly. Take a bite and you will see why she is welcome to display whatever character she feels like.”

Feeling like the butt of an inside joke, Timothy still reached forward to scoop a handful of the mix onto his plate.

He did the Jenney sniff out of habit and quickly sneezed. There was some serious heat in this dish, but it wasn’t just heat, spices mixed with the pork and fish to provide a siren song of scents, begging him to try it. Hell, even if it had smelled like pure fire he would have had to take a bite. Hospitality required one to be appreciative of what was offered. When the host gave you food, you ate it and thanked him for his courtesy. No ands ifs or butts.

He placed the spoonful into his mouth somewhat gingerly, making sure there was plenty of water near to hand. Flavors exploded on his tongue along with the expected heat. The interplay of sausage, fish and well blended tomatoes was highlighted by the everpresent heat. Sweat beaded up on his forehead and upper lip as he lost himself in the interplay. “Damn-”. His mouth was on fire, but it seemed almost sacrilegious to dilute the flavor with mere water. He managed another five bites before being forced to such a state.

“Wow.. Say what is the punishment for kidnapping around here?” He managed, smiling to show that he was joking. Mostly… Probably.

“You’re not man enough to pull it off, skinny.” A melodic voice trickled in over his shoulder. Turning his head he saw a largish woman, not much taller than him at 5’6” but wide and voluptuously curvy, strutting towards the table. She had layers of necklaces about her stout neck and even more bracelets about wrists that led to long fingered and calloused hands. Her skin was a light bronze that refused to give up its nationality to Timothy’s untrained eyes. She placed a plate of crispy fried Bananas on the table, each one the size of Timothy’s biceps and the length of his forearm. A small glass jug next to it contained a deep brown liquid that had to be some form of syrup.

The food and comment could have clued in a much denser man. “Lissette I presume? You my dear are an angel and my taste buds thank you!” He stood up snappily and gave an exaggerated bow.

“Now, now, I know what a man's word is worth when I'm filling his stomach. Nothin a’tal. Besides, I like my men big enough to make me feel dainty. That brother of yours might manage it, fine figure of a man he is. But you just won't do.” She shook her head, setting her necklaces to jingling as she said it with enough vivaz and charisma that Timothy just had to laugh. The mental image of his brother spinning her in the air like a damsel in a period piece didn’t help.

He certainly wouldn't turn her down as an inlaw. It would be a shame if he had to drop by and eat this kind of food on a regular basis. A damn shame!

“Well I wish you the best of success with that!” Sven, clearly on the same wavelength, said with a great deal of sincerity and a grin fit to split his face. His pale Norwegian skin showed the sweat even more than Timothy’s Irish freckles did. It didn’t stop him from chowing down.

“You do that sailor man, you do that!”

“Are you a pathfinder ma’am? I could swear a meal like this requires magic.”

“Ha, flattery like that will get you an extra serving,” Her actions matched her words as she tossed a loaded serving spoon onto timothy’s plate, “but I am no such thing. Merely a bit Canny, but no shaman I.”

Oscar took up Timothy's unasked question, “Names mean something. From what we call the town to what we call ourselves. I choose to called shaman, called a medicine man. I guide those who choose to listen to call themselves what feels right. Instead of a guardian they chose to call themselves the Canny. The Canny men and woman of the bayou’s and fens have long had a powerful reputation. That history is far more important than the names given to us by an outsider.“ His old eyes pierced Timothy for a moment, “What do you consider yourself? Do you really think pathfinder in the privacy of your own head?”

“I think of myself as a wizard actually.” Timothy tossed back without needing to think, it was true after all, even if he had just never really put it together this way. More of a joke than an important designation, it had never mattered what label he hung on his nonexistent hat.

He would have to fix that. An important man required a silly hat. A wide brimmed pointy one would do the trick. A ridiculous hat and a silly wand to hold. “I guess you could call the guardians who follow me 'wandsmen' if you wanted to.” His upbringing screamed that this was ridiculous, labels and silly titles didn’t matter, what you do matters. His sense for magic disagreed. Names and labels had kicked his ass when he tried to write runes in English. They were the symbols people believed in and belief was not something to ignore. But it was also not something that was easy to control. It was in English and the term ‘wizard’ meant very different things to different people.

“Do you think a new name will change who they are?” Oscar prodded him along, not so much questioning his decision as forcing him to fully examine it.

“Naah, enough of the wise old man shtick please. You made your point and I even agree. Names have power. Enough power that I am not about to try renaming myself or those who look to me without spending some serious time searching for pitfalls.”

“That I can understand. Every step must be studied and examined, the cliffs the outsider spoke of will show themselves sooner or later.”

Timothy’s face lost all levity as he nodded, “It’s early yet, but I can already see some hints. Be careful how you build your foundations there are going to be some significant deaths in the future.” he shook his head, enough of that. In a much more cheerful voice he dropped back to an earlier question, “You may be as bread poor as we are, but what about this rice? It's delicious.”

Happy for the change in subject Lissette responded, “You're a VIP honey, the rice is a treat we don’t get to taste often. It’s harvested from the wetlands that border the swamp propper. Very similar region to the sugar cane. A very dangerous region for people to wander about in looking for scattered rice plants.”

“Ah? Then I thank you once again for the excellent hospitality. I haven't eaten this well in quite some time. Not since I had a golem to order about.”

“Now you wouldn’t be implying that a hunk of stone was a better cook than me, would you?”

“Of course not, Lissette. I would not dream of saying such a thing.” Waiting out the massed laughter he continued more seriously, “I thought about it alot in the tutorial. There are a vast number of ethnic foods that I used to be an addict of. From Indian to Polish to Ethiopian. It’s a tragic shame to lose all that culinary history. I am ecstatic that we've managed to hang on to this Creole cuisine.”

Oscar smiled as he spoke, “I wasn't widely experienced in different foods, but I'm happy enough to enjoy what we have. Perhaps we will need to do some culinary trades as well. Variety, as you said before-” He said leadingly.

“-is the spice of life!” They responded, bodyguards, cooks and wizard together.

And the spice, Timothy reflected with a snicker, must flow.

Later, as Timothy pulled a large stack of essence stone cards (he normally just used stone, but didn’t want them to break in transit), he thought about variety. No matter how skilled, they were in the end just one small town of humans. Two with the inclusion of Paradise. How many more were still out there, alive and holding on to many things he had assumed were lost.

He set up a stone plate with two small pegs sticking up at the bottom of a shaft at the center of the planned baths. He grabbed the top card from the stack, checked to make sure it had a ‘1’ on it, placed it so the indentions on the back of the card fit neatly over the pegs and activated it. In front of him and to the right the first pillar was condensed from the surrounding rock. Five foot diameter and twenty foot tall each pillar was a bit stumpy and probably over engineered. Considering anything like the math to calculate such things was lost it was better to be conservative.

Rinse and repeat with ‘2’ ‘3’ and ‘4’ had him surrounded by four pillars that were thirty feet apart. ‘5’ formed the remaining stone above the pillars into great arches that blended together to create a ribbed vault, incidentally closing off the hole he had climbed down through.

The dark was a bit creepy, but he was well prepared. He triggered the persistent light rune hanging from his belt. ‘6’ and ’7’ were two more pillars and ‘8’ was another rib vault. It was not difficult to do. All the real work had been done on the other end. Planning out and creating all of these numbered enchantments. They were fully charged with mana at Runehold, and they would not be able to refill till he got back. Thankfully they didn't need to. One full charge on each was all he needed.

A deck of construction cards… The idea still made him chuckle. He shuffled through the deck at a steady rate. Fully forming the bones of the pools in under five minutes. The Paradisians didn’t need to know how long it had taken Timothy to plan out, carve and charge his deck. It was the height of good magic in his humble (not in the least humble) opinion. Lots of hidden time prepping the magic only to be carefully triggered in a blaze of glory leaving the audience bedazzled, completely ignorant of the massive amount of work hidden behind the curtains.

The finale was a ramp leading to the surface. He had to manually form this portion. He had no idea where the Paradisians were going to put the place before he got here. Manually was still a ramp condensing tool. It just had to be angled by hand instead of from the central peg board.

He walked to the surface with the smile of a showman. “Alright everyone, feel free to take a look, just bring your own light. There are pinpricks where the skylights will be but it's still pretty dark down there. If you would take a look below and mark out the size you want for the central fire I would appreciate it.”

Oscar stared at him in disbelief. “... you finished?”

“Of course not! I just said I still need to put in the sky lights and the fire. No, I just finished the boilerplate standard bath format. We have a lot of nit-picky stuff still to do.”

The older man stared at him as if he had grown an extra head, then carefully made his way down the ramp, one of his spirits lighting up a hanging bone ornament as he moved.

Timothy waited for him to disappear down the tunnel to fist pump his victory.

It was good to be the wizard.

He grabbed a shovel and a few sacks as he moved over to the first of those pinpricks. He carefully removed most of the center two feet by two feet, just leaving a thin layer of essence stone intact to form a mold. He even plugged the pinlight hole while he was at it. “Sven, could you grab me one of those bags of glass?” Glass wasn’t easy to form in large clear sheets without magic. Try impossible with their knowledge level. But making crappy, cloudy glass ingots of whatever size and shape they pleased was not a difficult proposition. The Paradisians had stored up over two dozen largish bags of the stuff and Timothy planned to use it all.

“Dump it out and condense it into bricks if you don’t mind.” Sven looked doubtful but complied. He was familiar enough with the process not to need any further guidelines. Good subordinates and all that. If you had to explain every little detail then it was faster to just do it yourself! Timothy used the remaining time carving out the skylight hole to have the proper curvature on the bottom.

“Here’s the glass essence Timothy.” Sven brought it over in the same sack they had started in, just as heavy as it had started, but taking up a fourth of the volume. It would have to be enough, it was a big sack.

Timothy dumped the now shapely bricks into the hole and used a specific joiner to liquify them, adding bricks as the previous ones collapsed inward. Soon enough his mold was properly filled, including a ridge of material around the middle that stuck into the surrounding essence stone. The glass was not going anywhere once the joiner field was removed.

A final bit of work with a specific material removal shovel and the remaining essence stone was removed. One skylight, as ordered. It took about the same amount of time as the entire bath house did. Damn custom work. Thankfully that thing about great subordinates still applied. “Did you see it all Sven?”

“No problem, Ben, Trent you get started on carving the skylights out. Make sure you don’t break through. Perry, Will you’re on the essence glass bricks and Nate you get to do the joining.”

And good subordinates have good subordinates of their own. Timothy pitied that hermit wizard hiding out in the woods, he missed so much not having people to take care of the fiddly bits. “The rest of you are sticking with me, I take it?”

“Like a fat kid on a cupcake.”

“Fair enough fat kids. Grab a sack full of this removed essence stone gravel will you?” They were filled with the material removed for the skylights and were heavy as hell. Timothy grabbed one as he asked. Unlike the glass sacks these were fairly small with a drawstring to fit them over the back end of the shovel.

He trooped down the ramp, followed by his remaining bodyguards with a smile. A bit more custom work for the fire pit, an hour or two to carve in all the cleaning runes and safety interlocks, then a bit more time for a politician breaker on the stage and this project properly whipped.

It really was good to be the wizard!