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Eddwick, as a simple model you are absolutely correct. I, like you, had once been enthralled with idea of modeling complex social phenomena, but when I mentioned this interest to my old master, she, quite simply, slapped me bin the face and called me a dolt. The next morning, an intimidating tome appeared on my dresser, written by the great Dandeleius, a mind beyond the beyond. Quite simply, that tome convinced me of the futility of such an endeavor. Briefly, the variable interactions between each element of the model cannot be discounted, and quickly lead to a combinatoric explosion of terms that is quite intractable without erm, some computing machine better than several stadiums full of half starved scribes...sure one might object that the Camp and the wastes represents a simple environment easily modeled, compared to what might expect in the great cities at the very least true, but even a system of just 10 variables can lead to geometric explosion of the errors of measurement, leading to predictions less confident than a virgin bookworm in a house of the rising sun.
Iyon thinks about it but he honestly hasn't hear about the finer details of spells like detect evil and their limitations so listens intently. "Interesting, I think it's broad strokes with what registers to abilities like those Ulave is blessed with but I don't know the finer points I will confess."
And thus, explains the wizard to himself, why no one talks to him at parties.
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Agyen's lips crease upwards with the thinnest of movements.
By his standards, he is displaying great amusement indeed.
"I remember having a far greater intuitive grasp of these matters, akin to Ulave's I imagine. And I think it is another subtle reminder of how potent the divine is that a mote of their power is more effective than such a stadium full of scribes."
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The wizard opens his eyes. Fey nestles next to him, yet unwilling to meet the dawn. In a few hours yet, the first rays of the sun would dart from the horizon onto the Camp, yet steeped in a fog that clung like death upon every limb. Time to go. Ammonis quietly rolls his gear, then begins to read from his worn book of conjuration. Fey enjoyed this time as he’d no requirements of her, and his low murmurs would usually coax her back to a light slumber. Summons. Of course. Fireball. Three. Phantom Steed. Two. Black tentacles. Merciless. Mad Monkeys? Devious. Greater invisibility. Gorgeous. Ammonis deposits his book into his haversack, and slowLY stands, stretching old bones. He was going home.
Ammonis was an outcast. Last year, Ammonis had been explaining emphatically to the city council that his garden was NOT impeding upon his neighbors, when a dozen infernal demons had materialized before the council and killed Jandice as he sat in his councilor’s chair. Naturally everyone blamed the conjuror who’d been waving his hands. …not that anyone actually liked that man... . Ammonis grimaced in remembrance. In any case, Jandice’s son, secretly relieved to be rid of the father, had convinced the judge to make an offer of corrupt leniency. If Ammonis failed to die in the wastes, and indeed discovered some wealth, a reparation of over ten thousand gold pieces to the judge and councilor’s son would earn Ammonis a public pardon. Recent fortunes and a small loan from his brother, Ammonis calculated, meant he had a chance to get his life back. But not before Ammonis finished business in the camp.
Fey was not thrilled with his plan, but acquiesced. Putting a sack over her faerie limb, she flew high into the air until she was the tiniest of dots. Silently saying farewell to his friends, Ammonis cast invisibility upon himself, and secreted through the camp. First, for Ulave, the mortuary. Now! Two small flasks dropped silently through the night to land upon the mortuary’s roof. Liquid fire ran along the shingles. Quickly! Now for the most dangerous part. Ammonis races invisibly to the Usurer’s land whilst summoning four aurochs, one to block each exit of the Usurer’s home. Silently, he whispers the words of madness, calling forth swarm of wicked monkeys. Mad Monkeys, take his iron. Take his gold!
Time to go! Calling a phantom steed, Ammonis flees the Camp, invisible and shrouded in fog. Heading to better lands and a better life.