“There you are Jack.” I was bought into a crushing hug by my boss and dear friend. “We’ve missed you.” Robin held me at arm’s length, looking up at me through vulpine eyes and a sandy mess of hair, an even covering of freckles darkening his wiry arms, clamped either side of me. The man oozed the Wisdom he had cultivated so well. “How have you been, friend?”

“I’ve been alright,” I said, patting the older man’s head, as if I didn’t know it annoyed him. “Mostly preparing mentally for this, it always takes a lot out of me, you know?”

“I know! I know, and I understand you. Don’t worry, you can take it easy this year brother.” A smile crept onto his face. “But not before you dig us a shit pit, you lazy prick!” He slapped me on the shoulder and began rolling a cigarette from his felt pouch. “Shovels are over there. You want one?”

“No no I was gonna dig it with my fucking hands. Of course I want a shovel.” I said, already turning towards the tool tent, he needn’t have told me, I knew where we kept them.

“I meant do you want a rollie you dick.” I turned to see him brandishing a packet of rizlas* at me.

“No, no thanks. I quit.”

“Course you did,” he scoffed, “Just ask if you want one. Hey Jack?” He called.

“Fuckin’ – yeah?” I said, clamping a shovel between by thighs as I pulled gloves on.

“You know Maja’s coming tomorrow?” he grinned.

“Yeah, yeah I knew.” I turned before he could see me smile.

I dug our shit pit without another word. It’s a job that sounds much worse than it is; before anyone has shat in a shit pit, it’s really just a pit. You might have noticed something strange: how is it that Jack Chaque-Travail, infamous level 24 Illusionist, physically equipped gloves and used his withered muscles to dig this shit-less pit? Why can’t he, in all his power, just use a basic cantrip to bippity-bopadi-boo the shovel into doing the work? I do the work myself for the same reason sometimes you walk to MacDonalds instead of ordering it: It saves money – or in this case mana – but also some things have to be done yourself, relying too heavily on magic is what got us into this mess, and if were going to get out, we have to learn to live without.

I stamped the last peg of the toilet tent into the ground, doubled checked the sanitary bucket had a bag and lid and set up my own tent. It was an old thing, just about holding itself together, £70 spent in Mountain Warehouse had served me well. I threw my things inside, double checking my facepaint was easily accessible and went to greet the rest of the camp.

---

“Borgan! How are you?” I said, pulling him into a hug, resting my head on his poorly dyed green hair.

“That’s not my name and you know it. You alright Jack?” Said the Scouse* Transmuter. He sported a terrible chinstrap we couldn’t get him to shave, and as bad an accent as you’d expect, but we were friends despite it.

“I’m good, we’ll catch up later huh? Maybe over a nice G and T?” wiggling my eyebrows I moved on.

---

“Hi, I don’t think we’ve met,” I said, pulling a short woman with a ponytail into a hug regardless, “I’m Jack, Illusionist.”

“Oh you’re Jack, Robin told me about you, I’m Jenny, Evoker.” Her hands were scarred and calloused, where mine were soft and manicured, typical of both our schools.

“Is this your first year Jenny? Sorry if I forget your name, I’m part of the furniture here now.”

She furrowed her brow a little at my misuse of the phrase, but let it go, such was the gift of charisma. “Yeah, I’m really excited to welcome in a new generation, they are the future you know?”

“Of course, of course,” I said, already walking backwards, “Gotta have Druids am I right?” I laughed at nothing in particular, “Okay Jenny I’ve got to go now, see you around, not like we’ve got much room to avoid each other.” She waved and I moved on.

As I turned I bumped into a large tanned chest. “Jesus, hi.” I said, looking up at a man who towered above me, with cornrows tied into a ponytail, wearing only shorts. He beamed.

“Hi, I’m Andre, how are you brother?” He lifted me off my feet and hugged me, like he was mugging me for my breath. He finally placed me back on my feet. “Andre, Knight,” he said, placing a huge hand in front of me to shake.

“Hi Andre, Jack, Illusionist, didn’t expect any of your lot to come.” I shook his hand the colour and texture of old leather, my fingers barely reaching around it.

“What’s is that supposed to mean?” he said, face suddenly dropping, fingers tightening around mine. “You didn’t think there would be a single black person?” Charisma only goes so far, and when it fails, Strength wins every time.

“No no, not that mate, I just didn’t think there would be any of the trade classes, I didn’t mean anything else by it. Sorry.” I saw the five magic schools all the time, but the five trade schools were rarer in my field, although actually more common. Despite the name not one of them are carpenters, although they could easily become one, either Bards, Paladins, Knights, Hunters or Rogues. Although I doubt Robin would let a Hunter or Rogue in, the former as they were rather detrimental to our cause and the latter because I liked all my things in my own possession.

“Oh, Right,” He released my hand, face picking back up again. “Well even Knights can be passionate about the environment, sorry about that, my Magic Resistance is so low, being around all you mages sets me on edge.”

“That’s fine, no harm done, see?” I said, wiggling my still intact fingers. “I’ll see you around mate, pity you couldn’t dig the shit pit for me!”

---

Once I felt I had schmoozed sufficiently, I went into the woods to meditate on it. As a Charisma based class, I drew power from socialising, Robin’s Wisdom made him more powerful the more he thought and planned, and Andre’s obvious proclivity for Strength made him more powerful the more he flexed and used his muscles. I let it sink in, felt the new faces and voices find their place within me and then I felt it. A little internal click that I had not felt for so long.

*Ding!*

No words appeared in front of my eyes, but I felt it somewhere within, I was level 25. I could feel around in that back part of my mind that I had grown as a mage and a person. My newest unlock was called Set Scene. I knew, just as a baby knows how to suckle, that it would allow me to affect the moods of others by using a mish-mash of subconscious illusions in a localised area, I would be able to weave them while I spoke, like breathing. It would have been powerful, twenty years ago. Then I could have held down a quarter of a battlefield on my own, wracking enemies with fear. But nowadays it was fit for parlour tricks and flights of fancy. I was pleased, nevertheless, this didn’t happen every day.

A wolf howl knocked me from me reverie. I knew it meant to assemble at camp. Years ago Robin would have used his wolf Metta’s actual skill piercing howl, but now she, and all summoned beasts, was not much more than a pet. She had lost her grey mane and slowly changed into a ridgeback/Labrador. A beautiful and hard-working dog, but a dog, not a wolf. No, this was just Robin howling himself, a poor imitation, but not bad for long distance communication. Not an ounce of magic in it.

I came down the track from the east into camp.

I took a seat on a stump in the circle around the fire we called the hearth. There were 22 of us in all, ranging from level 15 to 35.

“Cool, everyone’s here that’s meant to arrive today,” Robin began. “Well, welcome staff, to the 13th Goblin Combe camp. I see some new faces, and a lot of old ones,” He stopped at me when he said this, his rheumy eyes twinkling, “I want to start by thanking Jay for the lovely dinner he has prepared,” He nodded at a portly American Druid who was putting the finishing touches on a Jumbalaya or something similar. Jay smiled back. “But I do have to start us out on a bad foot, I’ve been going through the administration for the kids and according to the parents the highest-level Druid we’re getting this year is sitting at level 3. Now I know there’s been a bit of a downwards trend each year but this, for me, confirms it’s only getting worse, and faster. I fear that this may well be our last year awakening Druids. I think, we may have lost against Unilever, Shell and BP.” There was a collective hum when he said those names that we held as our antithesis. “I worry that too much pollutant has seeped into their bones, and,” He sniffed, a very real tear escaping his eye. “and…” He trailed off, wiping his face with his sleeve.

I stood, taking over. “What Robin is trying to say is that this might be the last year we will awaken new Druids, but he knows we have done enough to push the tide, to make sure we can live with the Earth again, not against it. And this year, we’re going to make the best fucking Druids we can, as our last hurrah. Deal?” I was faced with blank stares and wet eyes. “Let me set the scene.” I said, creating an exact replica of the hearth, on top of the real one, but it somehow felt more real, more triumphant. “We are going to welcome these kids in. We are going to show them a good time. We are going to awaken them. We will save them, so that they can save everyone. Deal?” This time I got the response I wanted, people stood, wiped their tears and looked proudly at me. Robin sat still sobbing, either not fooled by set the stage or too upset to notice it. Likely both.

“Deal!” they chorused back.

“Good, now shall we bless the food?”