Tale of a Hedonistic wizard

Now, with their departure, a collective sigh of relief rippled through the crowd. People gulped in the air greedily, feeling as if they had been underwater and had just broken the surface. The invisible weight lifted, and the dock slowly began to return to its normal bustling state, though the excitement and awe lingered like a heady perfume.

Jaegar, still processing what he had witnessed, was approached by the ship's captain. The older man's weathered face was a mixture of awe and confusion. "I've sailed these waters for nigh on forty years," he said, his voice low and reverent, "but I've never seen the likes of them before. Whoever they are, they're not to be trifled with, that's for certain."

Jaegar nodded in agreement, his mind racing with the implications of what he had just witnessed.

Their attire and their features were completely foreign to him, and the look on the people in the surroundings seemed to be the case. Those of A'rkalan's three swordsmen alone had brought had such a fright with just their presence. And no one was brave enough to stare, not even a peek at them. From the time they entered the dock until they left, everyone seemed to be looking down at their feet.

Sighing, Jaegar finally disembarked, stepping onto the solid wood of the dock. Right now, he needed to get back to the empire. He wanted to see his aunt very badly, as he missed her terribly.

After exiting the dock, Jaegar found himself in a bustling, port town. He searched for his next means of transport, his wand securely hidden in his robes. After asking around the dock, he was directed to a station that was a couple of miles from the dock.

He reached the station with the help of a passing wagon. The station was not well built, but it had its own unique charm.

He entered the station and looked at the ticket counter. He still had a few coins left, hoping that they would be enough for his journey. Jaegar approached the ticket counter, manned by a wizened old man with spectacles perched precariously on the end of his crooked nose.

"One ticket to Sphepet Circle, please," Jaegar requested, fishing out the last of his coin.

The old man eyed the coins carefully before stamping a ticket with his wand. "Platform 3, leaves in 20 minutes," he croaked.

Jaegar made his way to the platform, where a train stood waiting. It wasn't like the ones of the Empire's Express, but it was impressive nonetheless - a gleaming, deep blue engine with silver trimmings that seemed to shimmer with magical energy.

Jaegar boarded the train and walked to his seat, and waited for the train to move.

***

The city of Scroartint Central, the metropolitan giant, was now retired for the night, after a long, busy day. The bustling streets were now quiet, with only the occasional sound of a passing car breaking the silence.

Residents and workers alike were finally able to relax and unwind in their homes, preparing for another day in the urban jungle tomorrow as it now lay shrouded in darkness. Thick clouds of rain started to cover the city, shrouding the moon in the process.

The outskirts were battered by a relentless storm. Rain poured from the heavens in sheets, driven by howling winds that whipped through the streets and alleys. The night sky, usually a canvas of stars, was now a roiling mass of angry clouds, intermittently illuminated by brilliant flashes of lightning.

Each flash was followed by a deafening rumble of thunder that seemed to shake the very foundations of the city.

In this chaotic maelstrom, a lone figure on a broomstick suddenly burst through the cloud cover.

The rider, clad in dark robes that whipped frantically in the wind, was hunched low over the handle of his broom, pushing it to its limits. His face was a mask of determination, and his eyes narrowed against the stinging rain as he navigated the treacherous air currents with the skill of a seasoned flyer.

He looked back and put the goggles on, tightening his grip on the stick. The storm was intensifying, with lightning flashing dangerously close to the figure on the broomstick. Despite the fierce elements, he pressed on.

Close behind, a group of pursuers emerged from the clouds. There were five of them, each mounted on their own brooms, their wands at the ready. They wore distinctive robes obscured in the dark, cloudy skies. Their faces were set with grim determination as they gave chase, undeterred by the perilous conditions.

The pursued wizard, aware of the closing gap between him and his hunters, reached into his robes with his free hand. In a fluid motion born of countless hours of practice, he withdrew his wand. The polished wood gleamed dully in the intermittent flashes of lightning, its surface slick with rain.

With a quick incantation lost to the howling wind, the wizard aimed his wand at the stormy sky above. The clouds seemed to respond to his call, swirling and thickening around him. He banked hard to the right, diving into the magical fog he had conjured.

The pursuing men, caught off guard by this clever bit of spellwork, found themselves suddenly engulfed in the dense cloud. Visibility dropped to zero, and they were forced to slow their pursuit or risk collision. Shouts of frustration and hastily cast revealing spells echoed through the magically enhanced storm, but to no avail.

Taking full advantage of the confusion he had sown, the fleeing wizard pushed his broom even harder. He weaved through the storm with a combination of skill and reckless abandon, using the clouds as cover and the wind to boost his speed. The occasional flash of lightning revealed his position, but only for a split second – not long enough for his pursuers to react.

As he flew, the wizard's mind raced. He had come so close to being caught this time. He didn't know who they were exactly, and they had been tailing him for a couple of days. He didn't want to risk getting caught by them.

With one last burst of speed, he broke free of the storm, leaving the confused men far behind.

Adjusting his course, he set his sights on Sphepet Circle. The magical trade city was his best hope for losing himself in a crowd and finding a secure way to contact his allies.

*

The journey to Sphepet Circle was arduous. The wizard pushed himself and his broom to their limits, stopping only when absolutely necessary to rest and check for pursuit. As the first rays of dawn began to paint the eastern sky, he finally caught sight of his destination.

Sphepet Circle was a hive of activity, even in the early morning hours. Witches and wizards from all walks of life bustled about the crooked streets, haggling over rare potion ingredients, examining the latest in magical artefacts, or simply enjoying a steaming cup of coffee at one of the many cafes that dotted the city.

The wizard descended into a narrow alley on the outskirts of the market district, dismounting his broom with shaky legs. He was exhausted, his clothes still damp from the storm, but he couldn't rest yet. He had to make contact.

Looking around to ensure he wasn't observed, the wizard approached what appeared to be a dead end. To the uninitiated, it was nothing more than a brick wall with faded poster advertising. But the wizard knew better.

He tapped a specific sequence of bricks with his wand, muttering an incantation under his breath.

The wall shimmered and began to shift, bricks rearranging themselves to form a narrow passageway. Without hesitation, the wizard stepped through.

As he walked deeper into the passage, the space around him began to change. The narrow, damp walls gradually widened and dried. The rough stone underfoot smoothed out, becoming polished marble. The dim light of the alley gave way to the warm glow of magical lanterns.

Soon, the wizard found himself standing in a spacious dining hall. The room was elegantly appointed, with rich tapestries adorning the walls and a large, ornate fireplace dominating one end. A long table of dark, polished wood ran down the centre of the room, surrounded by high-backed chairs.

The wizard stood just inside the entrance, his sodden clothes dripping onto the immaculate floor. He ran a hand through his wet hair, pushing it back from his face as he tried to catch his breath and gather his thoughts.

Suddenly, a blur of movement caught his eye. A young woman, who had been anxiously pacing near the fireplace, spun around at the sound of his entrance. Initially etched with worry, her face transformed into a mask of joy and relief.

"You're here!" she exclaimed, her voice echoing in the large room. She rushed towards him, her long robes flowing behind her like water. She threw her arms around him without hesitation, pulling him into a tight embrace.