The Tower: Book One of the Legend of the Artificer

Chapter 6

The rain eventually passed a full month after it first hit, leaving him more murderous than he thought possible, and just about ready to fight the first person he met with any degree of elemental power just to prove a point. But, finally, his suffering plants were moved back outside to bask in the real sunlight. The sun rock was taken down and deactivated, saved for another rainy day that would hopefully never happen again, and then he went on a spiteful cleaning spree. The garden was yielding another harvest that was far inferior to all of the fruits he had pulled from it so far, despite the creation of another artificial sun for the crops, and another two days were dedicated to pickling and the making of more vodka to replenish his vinegar batches. The bees he had managed to lure to another balcony near the bottom floor were finally set free from a magically induced hibernation, which was about the only thing that had kept them alive, and he found himself stomping around his tower for a full week in a fine temper.

People were so irresponsible. Honestly. Didn't anyone here think about the ecosystem? His damn basement was flooded. The fish were angry, and they already had the temperament of an ostrich on a good day. The limb regeneration had been put in for a reason. That damn owl had been needlessly cruel about the whole thing. Couldn't he have had salmon or trout or something?

Needless to say, the week following the rain was one of high tempers as he worked to get his house in order. There were a lot of baths that week that consisted of him angrily sitting in a tub with his hair in a towel, face submerged to centimeters below his nostrils, glaring at steaming water as he tried to will himself to calm down. It rarely ever worked, but eventually his bad mood fizzled out as he got to focus again on gunsmithing and the things he had been planning on doing. One of the spare bedrooms was cleared out to make room for a firing range, and several different kinds of guns were made and enchanted, only to produce worse and worse results until he finally managed to craft two revolvers that were up to his admittedly high standards.

"You know, Teach," he said as he fiddled with the circle inlaid into the handle of the first one, "it's a good thing this isn't in DND, or I would only be able to have, like, two enchantments on these things."

"D-n-d?" Teacher echoed as he set the six shooters a good three feet away and backed up, flicking out his enchanted fingers before flexing his hands as he plopped down on the floor. The revolvers faded, and then snapped into place in his hands, and he beamed.

"Dungeons And Dragons," he clarified. "It was, uh, a tabletop role playing game from my old universe. Pretty much only functional when the dungeon master made twenty seven new rules to fix it."

"I see," Teacher said in a tone that indicated it did not, in fact, see, nor did it particularly care.

"If we had more people, we could play one," he said thoughtfully.

"Well, we would have to---"

"Leave the tower, I know," he finished and came to his feet, checked the sights again. "Honestly, making these was way more complicated than magic circles."

"I struggle to see why. I educated you thoroughly."

"More hand eye coordination," he said, like that explained anything, and fired off twelve shots as he slowly walked from side to side. A flick of the wrists, and the revolvers reloaded themselves, much to his delight. "Hey! All enchantments are working!"

"Excellent. I believe your soup would be overboiling at this point," Teacher said passively, and his eyes widened.

"Shit."

Another two weeks passed, and then it happened.

It being someone at his door.

Or, more specifically, at his balcony.