[Definitely Normal Errands]

"Just the standard elemental summoning techniques!" the distraught gnoll wails. "A magic circle with a sympathetic item in the center and antipathetic items ringing the circle to bind! But I used brownies for the antipathetic item those are the opposite of pancakes aren't they?"

Oh no!

There's the problem right there.

"Brownies aren't the opposite of pancakes!" Zee hastily informs the gnoll as she dives behind a cart full of stabbages to avoid another volley of pancakes. "Pancakes are round and flat and homogeneous! Brownies are the same except they're usually square!"

"These ones weren't square they were brownie cupcakes," the gnoll clarifies as the pancake elemental howls in fury and releases a wave of pancake batter that sweeps away several nearby spectators.

"That's just as bad!" Zee retorts as she invokes Matter to cause a maple syrup detonation on top of the elemental. The elemental is now sticky and sweet and Zee is getting really hungry but otherwise this doesn't appear to have helped. "You needed a CUBE of something! Like a cube of lasagna!"


[Glimmer Mist Park]

Psychic wounds can be just as deadly as the real thing, as these horrors have already shown.

They may be resistant to such harm themselves, but they are NOT resistant to crashing to the earth. There comes a crunch as the beast slams into the floor at an angle, utterly ruining the pair of wings on one side and cracking its carapace, spilling luminous, glittering fluid from the wounds. The dragon howls in pain and opens its jaws wide to try biting down on the swordsman and shaking his astral form like a rag-doll.

As it turns out grabbing spirits in its horrid mandibles is something this abomination can do quite well.


[Normal Escort Mission]

A whisper.

A secret.

Hidden aim and hidden intent.

The King's touch are on these, carried by the current of narrative, a grand story in the weaving.

Neshiyahel can not, will not allow this. The King must be forgotten again. And to render him forgotten all of his stories must never be known. To deny such a being renown is to deny them everything.

"I have found what we seek; the first step in this journey, yours and mine," Neshy, still looking for all the world like any unremarkable older teen from the dozens of fishing villages in Seaside, declares. She falls into step behind the trio and twists the world. She and her traveling companion are below notice, mere hazy background figures in a crowd simply there to make the stage look alive and vibrant. They are merely extras, not to be seen. "Tell me, what do you know of violence?"