Dix was working his way through his throwing knives practicing his Inscriptions. None of the ones that Lilliana had given him were hard to use, particularly for someone who could already cast spells with all of the elements that she had given him runes for. In reality, all he needed was the framework and binding instruction, both of which were easy for him to handle after his experience casting spells was added to his graphic arts education and work. His main goal was to speed up the process, as well as make it an almost thoughtless process. He didn’t want to have to think about making an Inscription, he just wanted them to flash onto a weapon when he thought about it. There was no way he would end up with that sort of result in the little time he had to practice, but he figured he would grab all of the practice time he could get. Looking over at Lilly, he realized there was more than just a new skill to learn here.

“So, Lilly, how’d you get all of those repositories anyways? I can’t even think of one you might be missing.”

“Hmm?” She had been absentmindedly watching him practice, and needed a moment before her thoughts got back on track. Her eyes flickered to his briefly, before she once more stared at the knives sunk into her training dummy. He hadn’t missed once, and each blade was either someplace deadly or disabling. The elements that he added would not only increase his damage output, but also had the chance of status and elemental effects. His attacks had been placed to have increased chance of the elemental effects impacting someone’s movement and fighting ability. She’d been surprised to find the Folk was not only still Classless, but also level 0. Considering his proficiency with his weapons, his learning speed, and his clothing under the armor, he was a very intelligent and well trained transfer. As her thoughts cycled around her mind over the mysteries of the Folk next to her, the answers to his questions just rolled off her tongue. “My parents were great crafters. Between the two of them they taught me all of the Appraisal options, as well as the crafts they practiced.”

Over the next little while, Dix managed to tease out the whole story of Lilliana Stonehammer. Her parents were a dwarven couple that had run away from their home city when their marriage was refused by the clan patriarch. He had apparently wanted to marry them both off to his own children, so the young couple fled to the lowlands to escape their unwanted nuptials. They had built a home in Pursue, it was hidden behind one of the largest junk piles so he hadn’t spotted it, and the underground shop to continue their crafts. Her father had been a blacksmith and leatherworker, while her mother was an enchanter and alchemist. The tailoring and woodworking were more necessary addendums to the things that her parents already did. Blacksmiths needed woodworking skills to make handles for hammers and axes, and tailoring had a lot of overlap with leatherworking. From the time she was a child Lilly spent much of her time following and helping her parents throughout their massive workshop. She learned to read on the books they had gathered on their professions, and math from doing inventory and stock orders. It was all she ever wanted from life.

Then came the problems. Her parents were mildly famous because of how well they worked together to produce the best possible product from the materials they had. They could push a weapon made from basic steel farther up the rarity and power scales than most believed possible. In addition, they created a number of things other than weapons, armors, potions, and enchantments. People would seek them out for alternative options for their problems. Those looking for a more mechanical than magical solution to their problems often found something created by the Stonehammers to be just what they needed. This creativity and ingenuousness brought in a lot of money, and money brought a lot of trouble. Thieves, con men, insistent nobles, and a host of others were always sniffing around, searching for a chance to take what they couldn’t create for themselves. Lilly had no proof, but firmly believed that someone from this group was behind the death of her parents.

Their greatest creation was also their last. There had never before been any trouble during their testing of any of their devices, but somehow, that time, there was. The device itself was a marvel of magic, mechanics, and mobility. Specifically it was an Automated Gatherer. Although she didn’t tell him what it looked like, Lilliana did explain its purpose. It was a mechanical creation that could walk out of town on its own to track down, gather, and store all sorts of crafting materials. Herbs, ores, wood, leathers, the list went on and on. Dix was intrigued by every aspect of its performance. To him it sounded like an AI equipped drone with multiple adaptive tools to do a multitude of jobs. In other words, something even Earth was incapable of making.

During testing, her parents had followed Aggi, as they had called it, around on its quest for more goodies. Aggi came back with torn ropes on limbs and protrusions, a broken leg, and gashes all over. Lilly never knew exactly what happened to her parents, but the evidence pointed to someone attempting to steal or entrap Aggi, and her parents dying in the crossfire. The dwarfette seemed to believe she knew the culprit behind the entire mess, but refused to elaborate. There was no mention of the Automated Gatherer being taken or sold, so Dix was unsure where it ended up. Either way, it would remain none of his business unless she asked for help, something she certainly wouldn’t do at his current level.

Satisfied with the new tricks he had learned, as well as the story, Dix bid adieu to the wee irish lass of dwarven descent and headed off to his next appointment. He planned to return once he started gaining levels, both for gear and conversation. Despite not telling her, they had similarities in their pasts that he could perhaps help with. She wasn’t someone who should follow his path, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t walk that portion for her. He contemplated the possible forms of Aggi while he headed to his meeting in a vain hope to stave off boredom. By the time he arrived he had mostly settled on a form that was a strange chimeric image in his head of a beetle armored octobear wearing a giant backpack. Why the backpack had to be hot pink with blue and green polka dots he didn’t know, but the rest of it made a disturbing amount of sense.

His next stop was far less interesting than Lilly’s shop at the junkyard. At least from the outside. As he set foot on the path leading to the small, worn down cottage surrounded by dead hedges the entire view shifted. Each element of the original view melted and flowed like tie dye candles thrown into a hot pot. Unperturbed by the swirling vortex of color, Dix simply walked through. The trip was quite dissimilar to the teleportation of the gods, mainly by being something he could see, and therefore brace for. It also had the distinct difference of having an actual sense of motion, making you actually feel the travel. Despite these variances, it was still a fast way to travel.

Blinking to clear the distortion to his vision, Dix eventually looked up to find himself on a typical wizard’s retreat. A squat tower lay at the end of the small stone path that was suspended over open air leading to the rune scribed stone circle he stood upon, also hanging unsupported over the long drop to the ground. The flying island that the tower had been built upon wasn’t much wider than the base of the tower, and was mostly just rock and dead grass. Standing in the doorway of the tower was a man in a dark suit with long tails from the jacket, and white gloves. Dix was a little surprised to find a butler at first, but a closer look revealed he was definitely not human. The red skin, vertically slit yellow eyes, and glossy black rams horns gave the whole thing a different outlook.

Dix didn’t stop as he continued his walk to the door, but he did contemplate a variety of responses. In the end, he decided to do what he always did, treat the man by the role he was presenting himself as. When the demon butler bowed, Dix returned his greeting with a deeper nod of his head, saying, “My name is Dix. I believe I have an appointment.”

“Of course, sir. This way.” The butler turned, missing the vast disappointment on Dix’s face that the red man’s accent wasn’t British. He’d never met a real live butler, and was curious if it still counted if the man wasn’t British. Dismissing the thought from his mind, he followed along behind the Deman, letting his mind make stupid puns around the racial characteristics of his guide. He barely curbed his intense desire to ask the demon if his girlfriend was the chupacabra.

The inside of the tower was much like Dix had expected. The ground floor was mostly avoided as they headed for the stairs, but managed to catch a glimpse of a kitchen and a possible servants quarters tucked into the corner. The rest of the floor was a grand entry room with a number of plinths displaying a variety of magical artefacts and tomes. The second floor was obviously the living quarters of the owner of the tower, but Dix could be excused from believing it was a college dorm room. The furniture would have been out of place, but the amount of filthy clothes, empty bottles of a number of types, and misplaced study materials hidden under the miscellaneous clutter definately matched his initial assumption. He was still shaking his head when they got to the third floor, which was a library. The stairs continued up at least another level, but Dix’s current host was located here.

The man was the young version of a stereotypical mage. Beard and hair both were unkempt and longer than necessary, and his robe was stained with ink and other unknown substances. He was human, a bit on the short side, with dark hair, but bright, vibrant blue eyes. He was mumbling to himself while reading from a very small book filled with tiny handwriting. The butler coughed slightly, bowed, and spoke. “Your guest has arrived, Sir Fireball.” When the obvious mage groaned at the name, Dix spotted the sadistic smirk the butler quickly tried to hide.

“I’ve told you repeatedly to call me Marcus.” The mage’s voice was tinged with resignation. It was obvious they had had this conversation many times, and, judging by the smirk on the butler’s face, it would happen many more. The human turned to study Dix, waving off his servant. As the demon left, the mage said, “So, you are Thunk’s newly transferred project. He tells me you need some help with training and spells.”

“Yep.”

“Hmm. Well, have a seat.” He gestured to a chair covered in books, frowning when he saw its condition. Waving a hand at it, the books floated off to make a new home on an already overfilled table, allowing Dix to sit. The mage sank into his own chair, tucking the small journal into his pocket as he did. “Introductions first. You’ll have to forgive Bradly, he is aware of my unfortunate naming error upon my arrival as a transfer. Like many of us taken from Earth, I didn’t believe any of it was real. Mistaking it for a video game, I named myself accordingly and claimed the name Fireball. It was only later that I learned that not only was this all real, but I was something like the four hundredth person to name themselves Fireball.” He chuckled, only slightly bitter. “So, please, tell me your name, and know that I won’t judge you for it. Literally everyone has made the same mistake.”

“My name is Dix.”

“Well that’s not too… I’m sorry. Did you say Dicks?”

“You got it. But I took the name a long time ago. My real name is basically a bunch of dick jokes, so, why not?”

“Uh, yeah.” He paused for a moment, something Dix was used to from people. There were essentially two types of people when dealing with his name. They either laughed, or paused to contain their laughter. It wasn’t anything new for him. Fireball coughed into his fist and got himself back together, saying, “Well, call me Marcus.” There was another pause, longer this time. Once more it was something Dix expected. Normal people wanted him to tell them his given name so they didn’t have to call him Dix. He would just smile, and let them stew in their own discomfort. Like so many others, Fireball, Dix refused to call him Marcus, eventually gave up the passive attempt and got it back on track.

“So, the most important question for any actual spell caster is which route do you want to go: Mage or Wizard?”

Dix shook his head. “What’s the difference?”

“Ah, maybe the D & D version, Sorcerer or Mage?” When Dix just looked blankly at him he sighed. “OK, let me explain. Here on Mantra, Mages are those who just use skills that look like, or are spells. They don’t need to know the runes, or how to modify them to change the effects they can produce. Instead they simply use the skill until they can upgrade it in some way. This also limits the number and variety of spells they have access to, as they are all skills. Wizards, on the other hand, have skills that enhance their ability to cast or modify spells. They can use any spell they can create the runes for, along with any modifications they can think up and create. Theoretically, this means they have access to all spells, but it does take time and study to learn new ones. Modifications are the same way.”

Fireball’s hands turned over. Above one a ball of fire instantly popped up. The other had a spinning mana structure, the solid form one that Crossroads had told him was the norm for human casters. He raised his hand with the fireball first. “As you can see, there are a number of differences in application. With my Fireball skill, I can pull it up immediately, but I can make no changes. This gives me a quick, reliable, damaging spell. It’s a staple of my combat style. On the other hand,” he raised his other hand, the spinning mana structure dropping away to reveal a smaller fireball. It wasn’t just smaller, it was almost white in color, and somehow denser. “This fireball took longer to call up, but it will do far more damage. It will burn hotter, have a stronger detonation, and affect a much larger area. A good wizard should be able to call up a basic fireball only a bit slower and use a touch more mana than a mage, but, with more time and effort, they can make something much more powerful.” He gazed into the small white ball of fire magic above his palm before letting both constructs fade away.

Looking back to Dix, he leaned back in his chair and continued his lecture. “Mages can hammer something with the same spell over and over without having to think through their options, and it can be very effective and efficient. But if they are fighting something that has a hard counter to whatever they use, they can become useless. Wizards don’t have that benefit, or problem. Sure, they can drop the same fireball spell over and over, but why would they. Instead, they can hit with a fireball, then throw a bunch of wind magic into the burning monsters to increase the temperature and the rate at which everything dies. Or use a water spell, followed by lightning or ice. You have a lot more options as a wizard, able to tailor your spells to fit your needs, but in most circumstances, it is easier to be a mage. They also can have much higher damage output at higher levels with evolved versions of their skills.”

With a goofy grin he made his final pronouncement. “Or you can be the best of both worlds, like me. I have a couple of skills made in the mage style, and a number of wizard skills that help with spell formations. If you use opposing elements for your mage style skills, then you will almost never run into something you can’t fight with those skills. Adding in the versatility of wizard style spell casting gives you the versatility to add extra tricks to your repertoire. As you can imagine, the hybrid caster method is the abso-”

“Ignore this idiot,” another voice interrupted. Dix saw a significantly older man turn around a nearby break in the shelves. He really was the image of a stereotypical wizard. “He’s just trying to convince people that he isn’t upset about the foolish mistakes he made when younger. Bah, tell him the real truth about your ‘mage skills’, you blithering popinjay.” Amusingly, to Dix, the older wizard made his finger quotes with a couple of middle fingers waving at Fireball. “The only thing stupider than your insistence that you did it on purpose, is that idiotic name you gave yourself. No wonder Bradly ridicules you mercilessly. It’s even worse than a fiend named Bradly. You’d know that if you had grown up with that name, instead of choosing it.”

As the younger caster turned red and slumped further into his chair, the old man peered at Dix. A cane suddenly appeared into his hand as he rapped it against the younger man’s hand. “Mind your manners, boy. Introduce your master to your guest.” He went on to grumble in what was obviously supposed to be his internal thoughts, no matter the volume. “Blasted youngsters, always forgetting the basics. Aught to blast him for making his master look bad in front of a guest. Mage’s skills won’t help him then, will they? Hmph.”

Fireball seemed a bit depressed, sighing in resignation. “Arlus Greybeard, meet Dix. Dix, Arlus Greybeard.”