“You can just drop me here, you’ll get stuck going any further.” I said, as we came to a fork, one path leading to a dairy, the other down the valley towards camp.

“M-hmm,” grunted the Taxi driver “That’s 16.50 please mate.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s in my bag, do you mind?” Stepping out from the car and tapping rhythmically on the roof. Gesturing towards the boot.

“Course mate, part of the service, good thing you didn’t get one of those fucking Uber drivers.” He opened the boot and pulled at my bag lazily, he only succeeded in compressing his suspension slightly.

“Gotta support my local, Uber’ll die out by 2020 anyway right? And you might wanna use your knees.” I stood rummaging in my pocket for a wallet I knew full well wasn’t there.

“Jesus, what have you got in there?” He said, finally getting the bag on my back so I could get my arms through the straps.

“Oh you know, kit and … stuff. Is paper alright?” I said, pushing a piece of lined paper that I had written ‘£20’ on with a muddy finger. “Keep the rest mate.”

“Thanks, have a good time yeah? See ya.” He got back in his taxi, the illusion would hold right until someone else was there to question it; I wasn’t quite good enough to pass the illusion on without being there myself.

Paper Money was a signature of mine. I had others of course, Illusion was a school of breadth, and at level 24, I was pretty broad. The extra focus on charisma didn’t hurt either, the interesting thing was, it didn’t make anything I say actually more charismatic, but everyone just naturally assumed it was. I love Illusion, but there are plenty of grifters and thieves in the world already, and we don’t need more, what we need are environmentalists; bushmen, and that was why I was donating my valuable time to bring in the next generation of Druids.

But first, I had to look the part.

I used a basic cantrip to grow out a bit of stubble, something I couldn’t quite do naturally, threw a few handfuls of dust at myself and finally undid my rather expensive boots and tied them around my neck. The other casters would smell an illusionist a mile away, but I would be able to trick the kids long enough to get them comfortable around me. That was my game, it doesn’t have to last forever, I only had to trick people just long enough.

That’s the issue with Illusionists: nothing we do lasts. Of the five schools, we are dead last for power and longevity. A Transmuter’s structures would stand forever, an Enchanter could, even at low levels, create a simple charm to keep a mundane material in one piece until the heat death of the sun, a Druid’s beasts would live for, around as long as a beast would; even an Evoker could leave scorch marks from a fireball that might need some fairly rough scrubbing to remove. Yet the finest, most lovingly crafted Illusion would stand for a week at most, and the vast majority would only last for minutes; enough time for the getaway vehicle to go around the corner. We do however, in my opinion, top the list for variety, and I’m proud to be called both a Jack-of-all-trades, and Jack Chaque-Travail. Not the name my Mum chose for me of course.

---

I had made it to the first gate. In years past we had a golem that would either ask riddles or duel the little neo-druid, but now we just have a gate, some of the kids still struggle to climb over it. Druids are a dying breed, no other schools have a bar for entry, but to be a Druid you have to have a real, actualised connection to the land, going to the park once a week just isn’t enough. If you’re one of those poor saplings living in London, Manchester, or – I shudder to think – Birmingham; you just can’t do it. And even then, you might live in some pokey village, but if you get so much as a whiff of pollution, you can wave your hands and cry out all the ‘Raise lesser beast’s that you want, but nothing will answer. A Druid in a city is alone. Truly alone. They’re solitary by nature (harhar) but to be totally disconnected like one of those unawakened peasants that drive taxis and sell me expensive boots I never wear? To know that there is something more, but the ‘more’ doesn’t want a thing to do with you. There is no worse fate.

The solution to the extinction of the Druid is Druids, they can clean the land to pave the way for more, and more. If that means I have to teach some kid who’s never going to crack level 10, then so be it.

I’m almost here now, one last gate. This one was always just a gate. We want an air of calm, and serenity as they cross the border from the city, to this world, the better world. Our favourite pocket within time. Where nothing changes, and everything is slow, and deliberate. I turned the bend in the path to see, flanked by ash and cherry and oak all the way up the sides of the valley, a hand painted sign on a stolen estate agents board, reading:

Welcome campers!

Goblin Combe starts here