Oh gods, yes. Meet Zelda the Vaguely Competent, a hedge-witch of considerable raw power but absolutely no filing system whatsoever. Her arcane prowess is matched only by her total disregard for spell-naming conventions, leading to a chaotic grimoire littered with spell titles like:
fireball_but_bigger (finalFINALreal).txt
newdoc2 (3) (copy) (use this one).grm
She has—somehow—accidentally summoned minor deities while trying to relight a candle.
Zelda stands in her cluttered tower, surrounded by half-melted candles, drifting incense smoke, and a magical filing cabinet that keeps weeping gently in the corner.
She mutters, flicking through her leather-bound Book of “Whatever,” each page etched with near-identical scrawls.
> “Okay. I think the levitation spell is either floatyfloat.txt or bananaaaaaa.docx. Or was it untitled 9? Dammit.”
She tries bananaaaaaa.docx.
A cloud of bees emerges from her sleeves.
> “Ah. Right. That was for diplomacy.”
Her familiar, a grumpy toad named Regret, croaks:
> “You could rename them.
> “Do I look like I have time to organize things, Regret?”
> “You spent three hours yesterday enchanting a teacup to insult you in French.”
> “Yes, because that was urgent.”
She’s somehow respected in the magical community not because of organization or intent, but because every time she tries to do something, some spell does happen—and occasionally it's even the right one.
> “Behold,” she once said at a wizard’s duel, pulling out a spell labeled AAAAAaa.
“This either cures hiccups or creates a sentient forest.”
