Biracial Edgelord Can't Make Immortal : Power of Ten, Book Seven

The Followers of Fire were punished by their Immortals for their foolishness, doomed to wander the worlds until all of the original Followers had perished. Then their Patrons took enough pity on them to guide the survivors to Noum as well, and brought them to the land now called Zanzyr (after many battles, wars, subjugation, independence, i.e. Immortals playing with toys).

If not so intact as the Delphans were, the current Freir were still a people with a strong magical tradition, and they had discovered the existence of the gammathauma field and eagerly settled here to exploit it. House Tilian was effectively the ruling family of the ancient Followers of the Flame, fanatically proud of their bloodline, contemptuous of clerics and the Immortals in general, and irked by the very idea that anyone could claim to have settled these lands before them.

Ah, if only they knew.

Thus, the Freir had bones to pick with the Delphans, and any and all elves, especially fair Sidhe-bloodline elves. I might have been an odd duck with my black hair and crimson tips, but I was still a fair elf, and so I was noticed… and him being a sexist shit and having to deal with elven Princesses, he wasn't too impressed with me at all.

That was fine, as I wasn't too impressed with him, either… although he was like the third most powerful native human Wizard in the country, maybe equal in raw power to Belle now… and technically Grandmaster Jean-Arc shouldn't count, since he was an Immortal Avatar.

Well, whatever. The fact I knew a lot of inconvenient truths about him, his family, and his background only made listening to his diatribes and expositions about the plane of Elemental Fire, its denizens, and relationships with Summoner mages more amusing.

Not that I was an expert on such things, given that I did NOT like to abuse Summoning magic. It was an extremely powerful and volatile branch of magic, but yanking random Elementals out of their home plane, among other things, was not what I liked to make happen. Few Wizards bothered to compensate their Summons for their time, even if they couldn't actually be killed when they were yanked here, and the whole idea of Summoning them in to become slave soldiers or unpaid labor for whatever projects the Wizard wanted were things most spellcasters here just didn't think about, or care about if they did.

I knew every Elemental I Summoned, and I could Call on them because I asked permission to, got their Names so the spell was directed to them, and I paid them for their time.

Really, the idiots should just look at Druidic standards for bringing in Elementals, right?

Most amusingly, I was effectively a Child of Ice and Fire, and this arrogant twit talking about how to deal with efreet wasn't even a Child of Fire, technically. The fact his Elementalism allowed him to more effectively enslave denizens of fire gave his words an edge of arrogance, as did his nigh-invulnerability to the attacks of such creatures.

I noted pointedly that his words veered away from talk of helions, sollux, and archons, all natives of Fire, and all beings who really got irked with enslavement Summonings. It was true most Casters weren't able to Summon such beings, but bringing up efreet was a devil's trick on Wizards too arrogant for their bones, certain that extorting Wishes was going to lead them to easy power and fortune.

'Ask him the most amusing misinterpretations of Wishes efreet have used to his knowledge,' I told Nico Bastionelli, seated three seats away, who promptly raised his hand for attention as the discussion of some of the rules when visiting the City of Brass came to a close.

"Prince Tilian, can you give us a few examples of Wishes that went rather wrong by efreet deliberately misinterpreting them?" he asked with the urgently sincere air of an Alchemist looking for truth.

The yellow eyes of the Grandmaster of Flame flashed once, a little annoyed, but also slightly impressed. "Ah, yes. Those who think Wishcasting, the penultimate power of magic, is so easy to command, especially with genies taking all of the risk," he mused aloud, everyone stirring at the dark humor in his voice.

He then launched into a short tale about Mortimus Vendrax and the tower he Wished raised, and the affronted fire genie happily razed his own master's tower to satisfy the Wish. Then Lucky Ingrid Luciano, who Wished for youth, was turned into a baby, and eaten alive by her own hell hound. Tempras Aendyr, who Wished for a mighty storm to assail the lands of his foe, and turned a spring storm front smashing up his foe's lands into a full-blown hurricane that had also reduced his own noble lands to ruin.

The Prince actually got into the subject with rather morbid enthusiasm, trotting out a dozen examples of overeager mages who thought careful wording would allow them to outsmart the efreet and plumb the true depths and power of Wishcraft.

When he was done with the tale of Barnabas Crofter, who Wished for eternal life and was bound into a painting, bound and unaging but experiencing everything while affecting nothing, the student body was wincing. He looked over everyone, his voice heavy with schadenfreude, and asked, "Is there anyone here with a Wishcraft story of their own? Such deviousness is not restricted to the genies, of course…"

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Oh, oh, I had to contribute something. I raised my hand idly, the flash of red catching his eye. "Ah, the Lady Edge, is it?" he asked neutrally. I didn't look like a typical fair elf, after all, so I stood out. "Wishcrafting is not normally the province of elven magic. What tale do you have to present us?" he asked with only a faint sneer to his voice.

"Has the Prince ever heard of the Office ex Temporalis de Cupio?" I asked him calmly as I rose for my question.

He tilted his head slightly. "That… sounds like something that might be part of the bureaucracy of the City of Brass," he conjectured ably. "I understand they have a wing there for adjudicating the disbursement and responsibilities of those granting Wishes."

"The Office ex Temporalis de Cupio is actually maintained by all the genie races and several other species capable of granting Wishes. Its management is handled by archons, and its purpose is to punish the Wizards and overly clever who think that with sufficient wording, legalese, contract language, clauses, definitions, codicils, and subtexts that they can make unfettered Wishes with certainty." I let that hang in the air, reading the faces of all those who had notions of doing exactly that. "Naturally all such forces have encountered such things from mortals for years uncounted. They even have a name for it, a nod to the first arrogant Mortal who thought he had written up the perfect Wish, employing skilled lawyers and wordsmiths to craft a Wish so marvelous that even if it failed, he gained a fortune in gold for even attempting the Wish!

"It is called... The Brian Clause."

----

You are transported to…someplace else. You can move your eyes. You cannot seem to move otherwise. You notice after a moment you are not breathing… nor does your heart seem to beat.

You see in front of you books… endless rows of books. They tower up into the mist out of sight.

Floating back and forth before you are creatures you recognize somehow as modrons… very low level, triangular modrons, base creatures of Law who seem to be transporting stacks and stacks of books back and forth for their perusal.

Unfortunately, as they examine the books, other modrons come by, and relieve them of some tomes… and other books seem to slide free of their own power and go flying off towards the stacks of their own volition, perhaps taken too long from the shelves.

To your sides, you can dimly make out other individuals. They seem powerful… clad in bright colors, shining armor, flowing robes of styles you have never seen before, and some of species you have never seen.

All of them have despairing eyes.

Notably, on all of their laps are papers… papers with many, many words written on them, in many different tongues.

Papers just like the one on your lap, with the first page of your complex and beautifully crafted, unmisinterpretable and perfectly defined Wish upon it.

One of the triangular modrons pops out of nowhere, and lands in front of you. A single triangular eye blinks at you once, then fixes on the sheets on your lap. A three-fingered semi-hand reaches out and latches onto the papers. Slowly, it picks up the first page, holding it up for examination.

With a sinking feeling, you notice your clean, crisp, professionally paid-for and administered calligraphy for your customized, nothing-can-go-wrong-with-this Wish is being held upside down.

"Research. Much research," the creature intones, squinting at the paper. It sets it back down on your lap in perfect line with the others, turns away, and begins shambling away… slowly.

Five minutes later, it is back again, looking at the first page again. This time, you notice it is trying to read the blank backside....

You aren't aging. You aren't hungry, or thirsty, or uncomfortable. For all purposes, you might very well be immortal...

And you've a feeling you are going to be here a very long time.

A mild and genderless voice rings out in your ear.

"Welcome to the Office ex Temporalis de Cupio, where those with finely worded Wishes are sent until the proper meaning and wording of their Wishes can be correctly adjudicated and then granted. Do enjoy your stay."

---

"The Office of the Forever Wish has never failed to correctly adjudicate and dispense a Wish exactly as spoken or written, a record they are most proud of. Of course, that is because they have never managed to complete the process of adjudicating any such Wishes at all," I finished with icy solemnity.

I sat back down, feeling hackles rise and faces go pale on the clever sorts who had entertained thoughts of outsmarting hostile Wish grantors, now realizing that they were indeed far, far behind the curve.

"An interesting tale, Lady Edge," Prince Tilian admitted, fixing me with his bright yellow eyes. "Is this merely a parable of fancy, or be there some truth to it?"

"Your Highness, my first reply would be… have you ever heard of a particularly clever wordsmith of a Wizard ever getting off a magnificently-crafted Wish successfully and reaping the benefits thereof?" His mouth opened, closed, and suddenly he looked very thoughtful. "The second is… have you ever heard of such a lawyer of a Wizard making such a wonderful piece of wordcraft, and failing?"

There was a buzz as ever single Wizard in the class scoured their collective memories, and came up absolutely blank. Eyes shifted my way, and then up to the Prince thinking solemnly up in front of us.

His fingers were moving as if counting through examples, his eyes flashing as he enumerated Wishes of the past… and past a certain threshold, he could bring no such examples to mind.

"That… is a very disturbing story, young elfin. I can recall no claims of such a tactic working, and even if one could keep from boasting of their success, the benefits of such would encourage them to Wish again, and again, and again, and such things would certainly be noticed," he stated meaningfully.

"Likewise, I cannot recall any examples of miserable failures, lessons to those who might try something similar. And given the nature and power of the magic, I cannot believe that such things have not been attempted…" he admitted slowly.

"As if all memory of those who have tried such things have been wiped, until they exit the Office of the Forever Wish some time in a very distant future?" I wondered aloud, my voice full of very grim irony.

I heard the students around me swallow. I was sure some of the rash, arrogant, proud, and too-smart-for-their-shoes would still try something like that in the future if they could… but they were warned.