An Arsonist and a Necromancer Walk into a Bar

A Bargain Bin Witch

The city of Firozzi had a long and sordid history. Beginning as a small town during the reign of the First Empire, it gradually grew over the centuries, expanding into a bustling metropolis by the turn of the last millennium. And, unlike the rest of the continent that had suffered greatly during the Demon Wars, the city's remote location allowed it to flourish, becoming a hot spot of mercantile trade and religious refuge. Following the end of the Demon Wars, with the Heartlands of the Second Empire becoming an uninhabitable wasteland, the city became a prime spot for refugees fleeing demonic oppression, whose people now made up around a third of the city's population.

One of those refugees was a young girl named Palmira, an orphan who'd made her way to Firozzi many years ago. Not that someone could tell at just a glance—with chestnut brown hair, tanned skin and a round face, she could easily be mistaken for a local. A fact she took full advantage of, dressing in local fashions when she could and copying the local accent in the hopes of passing herself off as a citizen.

She, like most of the refugees who'd failed to find stable employment after the wars, lived her life on the streets of Firozzi. In the mornings she helped out one of the many shanty towns that clung to the edges of the city, while in the evenings she sat in one of the city's many plazas, begging for scraps from a mostly indifferent population. And at night, hidden far from the city watch's eyes, she practiced her magic, letting flickering flames burn to life across her skin.

Today, however, Palmira would be doing something she'd never done before.

She'd be buying something from a store.

The Armamenti Ambrosiani seemed to loom over her, the high-end armory feeling almost too fancy for her to enter. The sign above the door showed a golden rose, the symbol of the Ambrosi Famiglia, denoting its goods as being high quality enough for one of the richest Famiglias in the city. The outer walls were freshly painted, and the shop even had glass windows for crying out loud! Could she even afford anything in here!?

She felt herself begin to heat up, and started breathing through her mouth to cool down. Almost absently, sparks began dripping from her fingertips, and she had to clench her hands to stop anymore liquid fire from spilling out.

A sack of piccoli sat heavy around her waist, the few dozen copper coins being the most money she'd ever owned in her life. Every few moments she would reach out and touch it, just to make sure it was real. She glanced over her shoulder, paranoia telling her that any second now a street urchin would dub her an easy mark and try to steal it off her. The Lady knows she'd done the same enough times to deserve it.

She let out a nervous breath, a puff of smoke pouring from her lips. Giving her cheeks a quick smack to psych herself up, she entered the store. A small bell rang above her as she entered, and she glanced around, taking everything in.

On one wall sat spears, swords, and staves, all of superb quality, while along the other stood armor stand after armor stand holding up polished, glimmering steel. On display was everything from the riding leathers of eastern Janissaries, to the poofy outfits of landsknechts, to the classic steel of a western knight. A barrel of pikes sat in the center of the store next to a rack of swords and a pile of shields, each individually worth more than she'd ever owned in her life.

She took a moment to take it all in, the armory sat in the middle of the city, filled to the brim with armaments of unmatched quality.

All of which were far, far out of her budget.

Luckily those weren't the only things the shop sold.

Skirting the edge of the store (and ignoring the wary gaze of the shopkeeper on her back) she came up to the back, where piles of mismatched weapons and armors sat haphazardly under a large sign that read 'SALE'.

Kneeling down she started looking through everything, eyes scanning over each of the minimum prices scrawled beneath the armaments.

As her eyes alighted on the price for staves, she couldn't help but grimace. Three silver grossi was the cheapest. Three silver grossi. She only had forty and a half copper piccoli! She couldn't even afford the minimum asking price!

A quick glance over at the other armaments showed a similar story—only the daggers fell below a single grossi, and even they would bankrupt her!

Her grimace deepened as she shuffled through the cheap iron swords and tattered travelling cloaks, looking for something, hoping by some sort of miracle that there would be something in the piles of crappy armaments that she could afford—

There!

It was a box, sat off in the corner. A crate, half falling apart, with four wizards staves sticking out of it and 10 piccoli in faded red paint on the side.

She launched herself at the crate like a drowning man at a raft, leaning over the edge to look inside.

Only to be immediately disappointed.

The first thing she noticed was that there were not four staves in the box, but two staves and two halves of a broken one. The second thing she noticed was that one of the staves had a human skull attached to it.

She shuddered as its eyeless stare bored into her.

She turned to the last one, hoping beyond hope that it was just a normal staff.

It was simple, little more than a long wooden stick, barely even polished. It looked like it might have been oak. She frowned when she noticed it didn't have a catalyst though, and reached out to prod it with her magic…

Her face went blank. There wasn't any magic in it! This wasn't even a staff! It was just a big stick!

She almost slumped over the edge of the box in defeat as she realized that only left a single staff.

She turned back to the skull staff with a grimace. It was… it was creepy. And gross. And had probably belonged to an evil wizard or something before it'd been shoved in the back of this shop, but it was a working staff. The only one she could afford.

And it wasn't like the Ambrosi would be selling an actual cursed staff. It just looked creepy! Probably why it was on sale.

If she bought it, she'd be fine. She'd be fine.

Repeating that mantra over and over in her hand, she reached forward and grasped the cold, wooden neck of the staff.

She froze, suddenly terrified, waiting for that moment when the staff would curse her into oblivion for daring to lay a hand on it.

Nothing happened.

Palmira was starting to feel a bit silly.

Swallowing her unease, she lifted the staff out of the box, prodding it with her magic. It had a polished mahogany hilt, leading up to a white stone (was that marble!?) catalyst where it attached to the human skull at the top, which seemed to be filled with some sort of dark, purple crystal and had thin lavender strips wrapped around bronze rings hanging from its jaw.

She was a little bit in awe of the casual wealth on display in the staff. It probably would have been worth a fortune if it weren't so obviously evil.

With her staff chosen, she also grabbed a small, chipped dagger before making her way to the counter, where the clerk was still staring at her.

She placed the dagger and the staff on the counter awkwardly, staring a hole into the clerk's shoulder.

The clerk, for his part, glanced down at the human skull she was buying, before pinning her with a judgmental stare.

She flinched, shame filling her, but she forced it down. "It was on sale," she squeaked out, as if that could justify it.

The clerk stared at her for a moment longer, before sighing and shaking his head. "Whatever, I guess we don't have room to talk considering we're selling it. Not like I get paid enough to care anyway. That'll be twenty-two and one eighth piccoli, no less."

Palmira nodded and handed over the coins. There was no bartering in these types of shops.

The clerk gave her one more look as she gathered her weapons, seeming to be debating something with himself, before he leaned under the counter with a sigh.

"Here," he startled her, shoving a burlap sack into her arms. When she gave him a confused look, he nodded at her new staff. "So that people don't give you odd looks on your way out."

Oh. Oh, right. She was going to have to walk home with that thing.

"Thank you," she rasped. The clerk just shrugged, going back to ignoring her.

And so, with a dagger on her hip and a staff in hand, she began making her way back home.

It hadn't gone exactly how she'd expected it to, but…

She'd succeeded. And that was all that mattered.

--

​

Walking through the streets of her home had never been as nerve-wracking as it was now.

Where once she could have slipped between the crowds with ease, she now walked stiffly, her new staff now matching each step she took with its own 'clink.' Anxiously she turned her head this way and that, her paranoia skyrocketing with every person who so much as glanced at her, worrying that any minute now someone would call the authorities on her and she'd be arrested and burned with holy fire as a necromancer.

Well, not that the fire would work on her, but that just meant they'd get creative.

She shuddered, another puff of smoke slipping past her lips. She sped up, wanting to get home as quickly as possible.

As she made her way past a marketplace one of the city watch pinned her with a look, and for a moment she worried he could somehow see through the burlap covering her staff. Then she realized that he probably saw the street rat carrying a wizard's staff and assumed she must have stolen it.

Well, she knew how to deal with that. Turning her head she looked him in the eye, tilting her head in a pantomime of confusion. The routineness of the act calmed her down, allowing her to keep up the confident act long enough for the watchman to decide she wasn't important and move on.

A small smile spread on her face, and she rode the high of that victory all the way home.

It was only once she arrived at her home that the tenseness of her shoulders loosened. She side-stepped her way down a thin alleyway. It was barely large enough for even her to squeeze through and was crammed between a candle shop and a butchery. Its location was superb, as besides being in one of the better parts of the city, the stink of the two stores helped chase away anyone who would've otherwise looked too closely at the small crevice between the shops.

Halfway down her alleyway sat a section of the old sewer—bricked off, overgrown and a little damp—but wide enough for a fifteen-year-old homeless girl to lay down in without needing to worry about anyone finding her. On the floor she'd laid out a ratty old tarp—which while itchy was dry and softer than the dirt—on top of which sat all of her worldly possessions; half of a broken abacus she'd taught herself numbers with; a fraying basket filled with stale breads and cheap pasta; a metal pan filled with water she used to boil said pasta; and an old stuffed cat named Signor Baffi, who'd been by her side for as long as she could remember.

Slumping, Palmira let herself finally relax, pulling the cloth cover off of her new staff and setting it and the dagger next to the rest of her collection. That done, she cracked her back, getting ready to start on dinner—

"Nice place you got here. A bit wet for my taste, but hey, beggars can't be choosers."

Palmira jumped, smacking her head on the roof of the old sewer grate. She let out a low whine, but didn't stop moving, stumbling to her feet and spinning frantically to find whoever'd spoken. Fire instinctively danced across her fingers—a cantrip, the best she could do, but enough to scare away the average mugger or worse who stumbled into her alleyway looking for a soft target.

However, no matter how much she looked, she didn't see anyone.

"Who's there!?" she spoke loudly, but didn't shout—she still had enough presence of mind not to alert the city watch. She crouched down, putting her back to the wall and didn't move further. If it came down to a fight she'd—

Palmira blinked, suddenly feeling foolish, and leaped forward, grabbing her newly purchased staff off the ground and jumping back to her feet. "Show yourself," she called out, pushing her magic into the staff. Despite the tenseness of the situation, she couldn't help but feel a little giddy at seeing the flames spawn into existence around the skull's head, far brighter and hotter than anything she'd be able to accomplish herself. "Whoever you are, I'm armed! Do not test me!"

The alleyway was silent.

Palmira grit her teeth, wondering if whoever it was had just up and left once they saw she was a mage. It'd happened before, but if she didn't know for certain it would just be another sleepless night waiting for—

"Psst. Hey! Down here!"

She looked down, and came face to face with the grinning skull of her staff, its eye sockets glowing with ethereal power.

"Hello, little lady! Nice to properly meet'cha."

The voice was coming from her staff.

She screamed.

She fell backwards onto the ground, chucking the talking staff as far from her as she could, the staff shouting out "AH!" "URGH!" and "OOF!" each time it hit the ground, before it finally rolled to a stop at the other end of the sewer.

"What… what…" Palmira muttered, staring with wide eyes at the staff which had—somehow—rolled to a stop in such a way it left the skull staring directly at her.

"Ouch, kid. Don't you know you're supposed to respect your elders? If I still had a brain, you could've given me a concussion!"

Focusing on it now, she realized she wasn't actually hearing anything. Rather, it felt like the staff's voice was being transmitted directly into her head. It's rough and scratchy voice pushed and wheedled its way into her mind, making her think thoughts not her own.

"…What are you…?" she whispered, terrified.

"Hm? Oh! Right, I forgot you were broke, not evil. Ah, this is gonna be a harder sell than I thought," the staff hummed, amusement coloring its words. "Well, to answer your question, I'm your fancy new necro—wizard's staff. Yup, definitely a wizard's staff. And do I have a deal for you! See, here's what I…"

She ignored everything else the staff was saying, picking up on what the staff almost said. A necromancer's staff. A banned weapon in all of the civilized world. Each staff was cursed beyond belief, and only wielded by those who were arrogant enough to defy the Goddess.

Had she really wasted all of her money on a cursed staff!?

"…yes, I am very scary. However, that's just surface level stuff, and really, isn't it what's on the inside that counts…"

And what if the city watch found her? What about the guilds, how would she join one now? Necromancy was one of the worst sins in the world! Wait, did owning a necromancer's staff make her a necromancer?

"…that's why—wait. Uh, kid? You listening?"

Was her soul already forfeit? Would this one mistake rob her of even her afterlife!?

"HEY! KID!"

Palmira jumped, snapped out of her thoughts. "What are you going to do to me!?" she yelped, pushing herself harder against the cold bricks of the sewer. "I—I pray to the Goddess every day, you know! Nothing… nothing you do can hurt me, demon!"

The cursed staff seemed to give out a long sigh. "Look, kid, I'm not going to hurt you, okay? I couldn't even if I wanted to—my creator designed me so that I could never harm my user. The worst I could do is talk your ear off. Which I will! My creator shoved me in a chest some twenty odd years ago for that very reason!"

Palmira scowled at him, as anger began to war with the fear in her heart. "How do I know you're not lying?"

The staff let out an affronted gasp. "Are you saying you don't trust me? You think I, the human skull taped to a stick, is untrustworthy?"

"Yes."

"Then you're smarter than most!" the skull cackled. "All I'd have to do is offer unlimited power, wealth, or women, and countless fools would wield me without a second thought!"

Palmira felt her face sour. The anger was winning. "Stop laughing at me! Or I'll… I'll turn you into the guilds!"

"Haha… Ah… Kid, I'll level with you. We both know you aren't gonna do that. You live in an alcove in an alleyway and grabbed me from the bargain bin. You don't have the cash to replace me." In the low light of the alleyway, the skull's grin almost seemed menacing. "So I'll cut you a deal. I'll be your mage's staff. No fuss, no muss, just a witch and her magic stick against the world."

Palmira licked her lips nervously. She couldn't believe she was considering this, but… he was right. She couldn't afford a new staff, and the guilds would sooner arrest her than accept she'd just accidentally bought a cursed staff. "And what do you get out of it?"

"Someone to talk to, of course!"

"…That's it?"

He laughed at her shocked expression. "What's the matter? Not willing to chat with old skullface over here? Is it the lack of skin? I'll have you know I haven't had a decent conversation in, what, twenty years now? Thirty? This old man is lonely, I'll have you know!"

Palmira stared at the skull warily, turning the offer over in her mind. If he were telling the truth, then she'd be able to fulfill her dream.

But she was pretty sure he was lying.

"Oh? Cat got your tongue?" the skull goaded her. "C'mon, it's a good deal, don't you think?"

"Quiet! I'm trying to think!" she huffed at him.

Shaking her head, she forced herself to ignore the talking staff that wouldn't shut up.

Her choices were either make a deal with a cursed talking staff… or lose her one chance to get off the streets for good.

Grimacing, Palmira realized there was only one real option.

With a sigh, she glared at the skull with all her might. "Fine. Fine! I'll accept your offer. But you'd better not be lying to me, got it?"

Despite being inanimate, the staff's eyes seemed to glow with eerie delight.

"Lying? Of course not! Swear on my very soul," the staff cackled, making her feel that oath wasn't as binding as it sounded. "I, the great… ah… Morte, swear to serve you as your loyal wizard's staff, from now until the end of time."

Palmira swallowed, and prayed that she wouldn't regret this.