Day 4: What world does your character exist in? Real or imagined? Scientific? Fantastical? Write a scene where your character is shown in their world.
There’s not a lot of magic in this world. None, really. Just what’s wrapped up in people. It can’t exist in its pure form. It just can’t. Doesn’t hurt them what’s got it though. It’s like a human in a steam room. We’re about 90% water or whatever while all the pure stuff evaporates around us. We sweat a bit but we’re fine. That’s what magic is like here. I’m what I am because of what some ancestor of mine was. You can’t learn it.
There was a holocaust. Long before we had a word for it. No one on Earth remembers much about it. We don’t even know who were the aggressors and who were the victims. We just know it happened. It led to someone slamming the door on magic. That’s why there aren’t any ogres working in the local Wall-Mart. It was also why Dominik would always be sick.
He sat across from my desk – and by desk I mean the corner booth at my local – and looked like a pale bag of dry twigs. He was asking what so many people ask me. I was in the middle of the same answer I gave everyone.
“I’m sorry, but there just aren’t any portals to other worlds. It’s just not possible.”
“But you trade in information!” the elf wheezed.
“I do. So believe me when I tell you that there’s no information to be had.”
“My blood is too pure. I’m going to die.”
Yeah, okay. Elves are a thing. But they’re like handicapped white supremacists. The more elven they get, the higher their ranking in elf society… and the more likely they are to die young or have stillborn children. As you can imagine, elf meetings are always wheelchair accessible.
“I’m sorry, Dom. You know I’d do anything to help your family. You and yours have always been good to me and mine. That doesn’t change the reality.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Hunt down an alchemist who can make you more human? I’ve heard there are guys out there who can do that kind of stuff. Give me a week or so and I can probably get you a name.”
He made a face like I’d offered him a platter of shit on toast.
“I’m Dominik of the Fifth Moon, Librarian to the King!”
“Those are your choices, Dom. I’m sorry. It’s humanity or death.”
I won’t repeat his response before he was wheeled out by a much more human bodyguard. Needless to say, he planned to take his chances with the afterlife. Elves were good people, but xenophobic to the point of suicide. He’d probably hidden his meeting with me from the whole clan. You don’t ask humans for help. It’s just not done, old boy.