First Spell: nQeuom, Identify
Magdala watched the fetid mixture sizzle and bubble in her cup, wondering where she’d gone wrong. Cautiously, she poured a drop of the liquid on the table and watched it burn a hole through the wood and down to the floor. Covering the hole with her cup, Magdala returned to blaming her lord uncle for being late and giving her time to experiment. Her nQe spells were always unstable, but they got worse when she was tired or stressed. Well at least this result was new. She pulled a vial from underneath her cloak and poured some of the former cider into it. When she got back to the academy, maybe she could shock her teachers with her “creativity.”
“Need anything else, ma’am?”
The waiter smiled down at Magdala. Magdala tried to return that smile. The corners of her mouth strained with the effort.
“I’m fine,” she said. Seeing the pained smile on her face, the waiter politely bowed and fled. Sighing, Magdala heard her mother’s words echo in her reddening ears.
If you smiled more often, it wouldn’t scare people off!
Her mother scared people off too. Mostly members of her own family sure but still-
“Do you want more cider? That one looks… done.”
Not bothering to smile this time, Magdala looked up and growled, “No, I’m-”
Her jaw dropped. On hearing his classically melodic Souran accent, she’d expected to see a wide ruddy face with brown eyes underneath light brown curls. Instead she saw a face that was the color of stained hard wood with nearly black eyes that watched her reaction. His wide lips moved.
“Sorry?” asked the Wesen man.
“I-I…uh…t-thought you were someone else,” Magdala said as her face started to match the color of her hair. “You’re not, ha ha…”
“Lady Magdala Gallus, right?”
Her father’s training kicked in. Magdala grabbed the knife in her cloak and searched the man for weapons, finding only a large tome strapped to his side. However, he was wearing a worn leather cuirass from the Farrells, Magdala’s family armorer. That gave her pause.
“Lord Kalan was supposed to meet you here?” the man asked, stepping back and showing that his hands were empty.
“How’d you know it was me?” asked Magdala, her hand still on the knife. The rest of the tavern was watching them.
“He described you as a ‘short red haired girl with a spine like an iron rod.’ You’re taller than he remembered. I’m Dwayne.” He offered his hand. Magdala noted he didn’t offer his family name.
“A pleasure,” she said, wondering what to do with the hand extended towards her. Before she could ask, Dwayne pulled it back, gave stiff bow instead, and sat at the table. As he settled in, the rest of the tavern started cautiously to go about their business.
Admaeus Speaks 
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