#wizard ethics

Gershom stalked to the other side of the room, his robes flowing behind him. “Hussex is the greatest wizard of this tower. No! Possibly the greatest wizard in all of Konigs! Your friend must be very important indeed to be able to contact him so leisurely. No matter. I will take you to him at once- no need to even check the registry. He resides on the second-highest floor of the tower.”

“A personal escort? You’re too kind. Perhaps I should be calling you munificent instead.” Aurion grinned as he too rose from his chair, then gestured towards the door with a graceful bow, as if inviting Gershom to dance. 

Gershom found himself to be unimpressed. Even if this particular guest had been rude to Gershom, the wizard found himself partial towards the old rules of hospitality. Simultaneously, he could not allow a random sorcerer to roam about, even if said sorcerer did have correspondence meant for Hussex the Ox-Eyed and Munificent, Venerable Elder of Konigs, Protector of the Fourth Spire. “I know where the door to my own office is, thank you. Furthermore, I cannot just leave you unattended. It would be untoward.” 

“We wouldn’t want that,” Aurion smiled, and rose from his bow. “Now, shall we?”

Gershom nodded, then strode out the door, robes fluttering behind him. Aurion made to follow. Then Gershom immediately turned around and pushed past Aurion, back into his office. Gershom opened a box and began to sort through, shifting pieces of fabric around. 

Realizing what was happening, Aurion groaned. “Oh, please no.”

Triumphantly, Gershom pulled one of his apprentice hats from the box. Over the years, Gershom had come to appreciate a brimmed hat, but this hat was a solid, bright red cone. Two embroidered stars twinkled, as if happy to be freed from the box prison. The stars came from a time in which Gershom had been considering studying in the School of Astronomy, gleaning magic from space and stars. It had not kept his interest for long. 

He held out the hat for Aurion to accept. 

“Must I?” He croaked out. To Gershom, he did seem to be something of a vain creature, with his unblemished skin and wavy locks of golden hair. However. 

“You must,” Gershom insisted. Aurion seemed to know it too, the way he steeled himself with resignation and placed the wizard hat on his head. The hat, together with his long, pointed ears, made Aurion’s head look not dissimilar to the Spires.

Gershom nodded, then finally led Aurion to the base of the stairs. He put his hand on the stair rail, then stepped onto the second stair. Indicating for Aurion to step on the first, he pressed the sequence that would take them up to the office of Hussex the Ox-Eyed and Munificent, Venerable Elder of Konigs, Protector of the Fourth Spire. The penultimate floor. Their chosen steps began to move upwards along the staircase.

Looking over his shoulder at Aurion, who was studying the steps with interest, Gershom spoke. “You’re quite fortunate that you came this early in the morning. If you try to use the stairs around lunch, you sometimes find yourself waiting upwards of thirty minutes for your stair to move! On such occasions, I find it faster to go manually, even if it does mean dodging any moving stairs.” 

“Are there no other ways for people to get to higher floors of this tower?” Aurion asked. 

“Aside from the servant’s stairs, no. I don’t believe those have been spelled for ease of transport either. Those who know spells that can make them fly by any means could likely travel through that method as well, though it’s not accessible to those who don’t have such spells in their repertoire.” Each tower tended to have their own special ways of making transportation easier. Gershom had once heard of a tower that had birds spelled to be a hundred times their original size, just to ferry residents from floor to floor.

Aurion considered this, then laughed shortly. “I see now why your tower insists on hats, even for visitors.” 

“Most towers encourage residents and visitors to wear hats, you know,” Gershom said. “Though most do have spells of protection against certain spells, and to preserve the head in case of injury, it began as a sign of respect. Your wizard robes and wizard hat tell people your skills and status.” Gershom noticed Aurion study the embroidery on his robes. He continued talking. “These days, as towers have become academic institutions as opposed to intellectual hermitages, the wizard hat became practical as opposed to simply decorative.” They passed a mid-level floor, as they briefly heard the loud boom of an explosion resonate. “Case in point- that floor has numerous classrooms and labs.”

“Wizards aren’t usually known for their skills in creating explosions,” Aurion pointed out, “unless we consider Ignus the Explosive, of course.”

“Of course,” Gershom conceded. “However, in certain schools, such as the School of Kinetics, explosions may happen by accident. The discerning wizard could even record their movements, so if a mistake is made and a reaction happens, one can see if it’s a newly discovered incident. The wizard presiding over that class could then recreate the circumstance and publish information on a new spell.” 

Gershom paused, then spoke again, this time at nearly twice the speed. “Did you know, historically, the first wizard recorded to professionally wear a hat was Gingkus the Electric? That was before he went mad and used lightning to cleave Mount Valiant into the Valiant Valley. Supposedly, his hat had a plain design, but he wore robes with storm-like embroidery. To reflect his mood, I imagine,” Gershom chuckled to himself. 

“I didn’t know that,” Aurion answered. 

“It’s good to learn at least one new thing every day. Or so I like to think.” Gershom turned around and smiled at Aurion. Aurion smiled back. “Not much longer now until we reach the top. Then you can deliver your letter and be on your way.” 

“Getting rid of me so soon?” Aurion teased. 

Gershom considered that. Aurion had been rude at their introduction, slighting him and his tower. Even still, it had been quite a long time since anyone had been willing to listen to Gershom talk- willing and happily. It was always possible Aurion was just being polite, in fact, that was the most likely reason why anyone would listen to Gershom go on and on about the origin of hats. Though, the origin of wizarding attire was rather interesting…

“Gershom?” Aurion asked, still smiling. 

It was a meticulously kept space- pens and pads in a neat line at the end of his desk, unnecessary items kept in decorated boxes against the wall, artworks of famous wizards hanging on the walls behind clean, polished glass. The only sign of disarray was in the large chalkboard making up the entirety of one wall. It was covered in letters and words, in indiscernible charts and frustrated scribbles yet to be erased. The board was unusual itself- most wizards tended to use concentrated light or dictation to cast words on a board. Gershom, however, found himself enjoying the tactile aspect of putting chalk to board, and word to paper. It was much faster too, which made for an easier time recording notes, quotes, and other thoughts.

He had always been the type to ask too many questions in his student seminars at the tower, and had always loved to create problems for himself. His former mentor, Toadstle of the Gloaming Dream, always loved to share the story of how Gershom had put so many annotations in his copy of Nortootin’s Poem of Spring Rains that instead of calling rain, he called a plague of locusts. Toadstle had lunch for several days, but his other students had fled in terror. 

Though Gershom studied under Toadstle, and successfully graduated from apprentice to wizard, it was readily apparent that the Poetic School of Wizardry was perhaps not the path Gershom was meant to take. His poetic spells were perfectly metered, and always rhymed beautifully, but they underperformed next to romantics like Ofelia the Romantic. They were too logical, lacking in emotional resonance and beauty. At one point in his career, Toadstle had advised Gershom to consider transferring to a mathematical path, or even linguistic, but Gershom had stuck true to the School of Poetics. (At no point did Toadstle suggest a kinetic path, or even worse, forsake wizardry for sorcery or artificiery. Gershom had the mind of a wizard, no one could deny this.) 

There was still debate onto whether or not the style of spellcasting Gershom was slowly inventing was poetic, mathematical, or even linguistic, but none of the schools were interested in absorbing him and his studies, leaving Gershom in a liminal, unliked in-between. 

Gershom seated himself on his side of the desk. His own chair was old and had been patched up numerous times, and would likely be uncomfortable to anyone other than Gershom, with the way it had long molded to his exact shape. The other side of the desk had a cheap, unwelcoming and uncushioned chair that he had liberated from a classroom. 

Aurion made to seat himself in Gershom’s guest chair, then spotted Gershom’s workboard and sauntered over to examine that instead. “And what’s this?”

“Something I’m working on at the present.”

As Aurion’s eyes moved over the board, his expression changed from amusement into something indiscernible and closed off. “And what’s this,” he said again, this time in a low voice. 

“It is unfinished, and none of your business.” Gershom sighed and reached for his spare cloak, then tossed it on top of the workboard. “Spare me your opinions, please. I get enough of them from the other wizards.”

Aurion lifted a bit of the cloak with two fingers. “I can see why. Most wizards aren’t keen to operate around restrictions when they could be reaching new heights.” He let the cloak drop. “But what would I know? I’m no wizard.”

This was true, but as a sorcerer, the work wizards did had a direct impact on his own line of work. Furthermore, he had just been at Palladium Tower, and was meant to be delivering a message to another wizard. However, Gershom reflected, even those who practiced magic but were not wizards tended not to understand the full extent of wizard politics, nor the technicalities behind the scenes of spellcasting. Gershom let it drop. “It’s never too late to resume your studies, should you wish to become a wizard.”

Aurion looked at Gershom through the corner of his eye, then finally settled in the guest chair. One leg was thrown over the arm of the chair, and he leaned back over the other to accommodate the position. “Only if you’d be my mentor.”

“You don’t even know my name.”

“Tell me then,” he answered, tilting his head so it could rest on the palm of his hand. “Maybe you’re the one I’m meant to deliver this to! Wouldn’t that be something? And it would make my life much easier.” 

“I doubt it is addressed to me. I don’t receive much correspondence.”

“Correct me then.”

“I am Gershom the Logical,” he said. 

Aurion’s smile stretched into a perfect grin. It was roguishly charming, and struck Gershom as incredibly practiced. “I’ve never met a wizard with that epithet before. Clever, dextrous, hard-working, but logical?”

“I am exceedingly logical,” Gershom replied in monotone. 

Aurion laughed in two short bursts. “Maybe I should take lessons from you, then! I’d love to learn more about your unique perspective. I’ve always found logic to be quite dull. My winning smile has done more for me than a practiced argument.” He showed off said winning smile. Gershom studied the line of his straight teeth before he nodded to concede the point.

“Your hypothetical burgeoning career as a wizard would be immediately made static if I was your mentor.” Gershom settled into his own chair, smoothing out his robes as he settled. “Now, what was the name of the wizard you were sent to deliver a message to? I can look it up in the floor registry.”