Edgar Spelljack
48 Spring, 514 AV
By the time Edgar had finished his paperwork, it was already the fifth bell past midnight. He had gotten not but a wink of sleep, and now that the sun was rising, his brain went into mass disarray. But that was alright, for he was on schedule. Edgar checked off his work for that day and closed his book. He was tired, but not sleepy. He sat in his chair and thought about what he could do about his problem. When he had no time, Edgar’s mind raced with things to do. Now that he was free, however, he drew a blank. Perhaps... he needed a bath… or maybe a massage. Actually, when he came to think of it, Edgar was not really aware of the services provided at Soothing Waters, since he had never gone there.
After dressing and grabbing a quick bite, Edgar left his apartment, on schedule, in the Maiden District and headed for the bath house. Even the stuffy, smelly castle was better than being imprisoned in his apartment for twelve bells. The short distance meant nothing with the thousands of people bustling through the halls; it was morning rush hour, and Edgar was caught in the midst of it. Today, however, there was no work for Edgar, only pleasure at the end of the tunnel.
He finally made it to the bath house; he pushed open the double doors and descended the staircase until he reached the reception counter, which was on the fourth floor. Edgar turned toward the reception counter but, to his surprise, it was empty.
To pass time, Edgar looked around the whole of the room. He shifted his eyes around and noticed the intricate details of the enormous structure; the rough, grainy stone of the castle walls; the arching geometrically-beautiful shape of the stairs; the humming sound of the baths; the hissing of steam; the splashing and giggling of the bathers; the smell of soap lye and the thickness of the water vapor; the moistness of the condensed water on the desk.
The receptionist appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. “Sorry about that," she said, "What can I do for you?”
Edgar did not reply. He was mesmerized by the place. He looked down at his hands; the scars on his palms and the burns on the front of his hands. The serenity of the bath house juxtaposed the history of his scars, both physical and mental, so greatly that he was in shock. He was sure he might let out an inferno from his hands at that very moment.
He suddenly looked up with his pale serpent eyes. The clerk jumped back.
“What is it that you wanted, now, sir?” she stammered. He ignored her and turned to face the way he came from. He didn't want any bath nonsense. He decided to go work- any work. As soon as he turned around, however, he slammed right into someone and knocked them down.
“Magic can be found in stolen moments.”
