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show me torches or oil lamps in a library, I’ll show you a moron
Atmos Rasbastion? You may have heard of him. The Cloud Maker. His lightning bolts seemed threatening, though his knowledge of the dangers of metal and conduction were not so. His corpse is still smoking.
I can draw you a diagram, if you like. Us on the road to First Light, being shot and killed. Me making a very explicit gesture to you in my last moments.”
I groan. “Remind me why you’ve accompanied me again?” “Because when you get going, you sound like you’re reading from a thousand-year-old scrap of parchment, whereas I can talk to people in ways they can actually understand.” “I didn’t realize it was that hard to communicate with coingirls and bartenders.” “Work on that joke, old friend, and in a few years you’ll get some jest out of it.”
I did a speech. Sage would be so proud.
I warn you, though.” His face suddenly sobers up and he points at me with a jabbing finger and that steel jaw of his. “If it comes back to me in any way—in any way—I’ll round up my lads and we’ll find you and send you back to your Archmage in pieces, neatly wrapped in that poncy robe of yours. Do you understand?” “Pretty vividly, yes.”
“Or so says whiskey-breath over ’ere,” says Alanna. “I do not have whiskey breath,” replies Jacob. “I can smell your fumes from over here, mage.” “They’re not mine,” says Jacob, smelling the inside of his robe and wrinkling his nose in disgust. “That, on the other hand, is definitely mine.”
“Don’t worry, Jacob. If I had come for you, you would be dead already.” “Oh. Very, ah, reassuring, Lady Ansbach,” he replies, turning paler. “You don’t mind if I carry on having heart failure, though, do you?”
I bit his foot off because I was getting a little bit bored. It landed just before the vault, so I suppose his foot was a bit better than the rest of him at running away.
