“Master of Magic,” proprietor of “Wizard Stuff” on Moss Street, just south of the market square.

The sign says Wizard Stuff. It is being generous to call this place a guild, for it is little more than a desk in an office with some office supplies. Inside sits Wizzy. That is the name. Not Wizzael the Thrice-Bound, not Wizzimar of the Ashen Tower. Just Wizzy the Wizard. The kindest and only accurate account anyone has managed of the man himself is that he is “a goofy looking wizard.” Not what I expected at all.

He speaks, when he must, in a flat and level line, as though each sentence were a coin he resents spending. Nothing moves him. Tell him you have slain a beast and he says “good for the beast.” Tell him the world is ending and he says “sounds like a lot.” In a town packed to the rafters with people convinced they are the hero of some grand tale, Wizzy is the one soul who has plainly, profoundly, and permanently declined the role. He is the straight man at the center of everyone else's saga, and he would like you to wrap it up.

Here is what keeps me at this desk. I cannot for the life of me decide whether Wizzy is the single laziest soul ever to hold a spellbook, or the greatest wizard who has ever lived, in hiding. Whether he is a man who truly commands the arts, or perhaps nothing more than a clown filled with lazy bravado. Ellie polishes her counter. Gorin braids his beard. Perhaps the truth is, real power cannot be bothered – perhaps it's very potency beguiles with a simple and direct nature, with no need to impress? Perhaps underneath his idiotic appearance, he is the greatest wielder of magic since.. since… Garaldor the Crystal-Minded?

So I leave the entry unfinished, with nothing much to write. Go to Moss Street. Buy your scrolls and learn your spells from him – he is, whatever else, the only one in Mosgaard who will teach them, if he can be bothered enough to do so.

Things Wizzy says, in the same flat voice, often while not looking up from his work, such as they are:

• “Welcome to Wizard Stuff. Buy something.”
• “You want to learn magic? Sure, show you a trick. Oh wait, is that a coin behind your ear? No, wait, It's a rejection letter.”
• “Scroll of identify? One silver. It identifies things. I don't know where you people keep coming from.”
• “Fireball? I've got some fireballs right here, behind the counter.”
• “You're looking for an an amulet and a staff? What game do you think you're playing?”
• (if anyone remarks on the name) “It's short for Wizzy. Good talk.”
• (quietly, to no one, as the door shuts) “Next!”