Wraithvine gives Scramble hir first wizard's hat. And Chance unexpectedly grows dragon-like wings that sorta match his adopted father's own. -- BKF
"The time has come," announced Wraithvine. "Prentice, you have the fundamentals of magic to a point where you can use them reliably and with intent. We... are making your hat."
"What?" said Scramble. "But I still suck at it."
"Nevertheless, the world must know that you are a Wizard. Since you've proven that you can learn and use magic, it is both a sign of your status and a warning to others." Wraithvine smiled. "It will begin as a simple form and, like its wearer, will become complicated as time passes." Ze gestured at hir own hat to indicate how complicated it could get. If there was a thread of original material remaining in its construction, it was crying because it was alone.
It had been Wraithvine's hat since the day it was made. Patched, repaired, added to as circumstances required of it. Wraithvine would be unrecognisable without it.
Similarly, a Wizard was not a Wizard without the funny hat. They were as much a reflection of the Wizard who wore it as any other clothing. When Scramble had hir own Wizarding hat... ze would also be a Wizard.
It didn't feel real.
Not even as ze was looking at hard-wearing, weatherproof fabrics to make hir first hat with. Colours. Every one from the rainbow. Patterns. Everything the weaver's art could create.
"Pointed is traditional," said the shopkeeper. "Most chose a nice, weather-shielding brim. There's a more modern leaning towards a brimmed eight-point for a flatter silhouette and less difficulty with low overhead spaces. A stiffer fabric choice will lead to volume and presence, and there's always a wide choice of feathers and ribbons for the importance of making an impression."
"I'm... not... up to adventuring, yet," said Scramble. "I just want something simple. Sensible. Blue." And in a moment of thought for hir origins, ze added, "Cheap."
"Ah." The shopkeeper nodded. "We have a hard-wearing cotton serge in blue. Tradesfolk use it for pants and overalls, but with a little bit of weatherproofing, it'll make a fairly humble eight-point cap." There was a knowing smirk. "I've got a symbol you might want to put on it."
They were the open hands of the faith that revered Wraithvine. In bronze. Not silver or gold. Humble, yet enduring.
"Yes," said Scramble. "That'll do nicely." Ze kept it in the wrapping all the way back to where Wraithvine had set up hir tower. Reluctant to put it on. Ze knew ze wasn't ready to acknowledge it hirself.
There, in the tower, Bibrid was exasperated, exhausted, and almost defeated. Which was quite an impact for a Dragon as old as the world. Childish giggling from the rafters filled in the reason why Bibrid was at his wit's end.
"What in the hells?" Wraithvine murmured, looking up.
Chance was up in the highest part of the room, cackling like -well- a demon. The little Hellkin launched with a whoop... and spread large, draconic wings to glide a little way down before flying around the room.
Bibrid, chasing underneath to catch them if they failed, leaped and somersaulted around various pieces of furniture in his Gnomish body.
"I know Draconic heritage can count for adopted children," said Scramble, watching Chance swooping around the place. "But that worked on the following generation. Never directly."
"The devilborn are special cases, it seems," said Wraithvine. Ze summoned a gigantic, phantasmal hand that caught the swooping child as gently as one might hold a bird.
"Aaaawwww..." whined Chance.
"No flying indoors," sighed Wraithvine. "It is very clearly not safe."
[Photo by Second Breakfast on Unsplash]
If you like my stories, please Check out my blog and Follow me. Or share them with your friends! Or visit my hub site to see what else I'm up to.
My Prompt Forum is currently down, but if you want to send me a prompt, post it on my Discord's emergency prompt supply.